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amdiriel · 2 days ago

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lonely

Azriel x fem!Archeron!reader

SUMMARY: Reader, the second Archeron sister, finds herself overwhelmed by the sight of her sisters in their respective happinesses one day. Luckily Azriel stops by her room in time to comfort her.

WARNINGS: feelings of loneliness (real), fluff, Azriel being hot (that’s a given), slight suggestiveness at the end, first time writing

NOTE: hey, i’m diri! been sort of a silent spectator on this tag for a while but then i wrote this and thought hell why not!!

WORDS: 2.5k

main masterlist PART 2

•••

The emptiness of loneliness burned hollowly in my chest, blooming when I entered my room at last, stumbled onto my bed.

Pathetically, I just wanted what my sisters had. I didn't dare show it, but I ached to be held, loved, to love fiercely and be happily, healthily devoted to someone.

I wanted to be touched and adored. I wanted to build a life with someone. To not have to look, wish, hope, or dream about it anymore.

My knees curled up under my chin as I sat there in the nest of my bedding, looking blankly at the wall as the tears came.

I hadn't realized that I had been softly weeping until the knock came to my door. Fuck. I heard his soft, beautiful voice announcing himself, asking to come in.

When I don't reply, frozen in terror that he'll come in and see me in this state, Azriel calls my name again in question. I know he can sense me behind the door, and when I sniff, he calls lowly, "I'm coming in."

Panic sweeps through me as he pushes open the door, eyes falling on me in concern as I wipe at my face. The book he borrowed from me goes from his hand to a side table as he comes to me, forgotten. "Hey. Hey, what's going on?" he asks with the softest tenderness I've ever heard him speak. To know that it was reserved for me makes my chest ache for it even more, and another little sob slips from me. He sits on my bed and reaches for me, hands going to my arms and rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, shaking my head and trying to draw back and wipe my face. He doesn’t release me.

“No,” he says firmly, squeezing my arms. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. Let me help you.”

I shake my head again, can’t seem to stop, trying to wave him off. “It’s not something you can help with,” I rasp. “It’s my own shit, I’ll deal with it—“

“Tell me what’s going on.” His tone brooks no argument.

I can’t speak for a long moment, for several long moments. The words are embarrassing, stuck like molasses on my tongue. To say them would be to humiliate myself. But he isn’t relenting. I realize that five hundred years of extracting information from people as spymaster had made him patient in a way I could never outpace.

“It’s just hard,” I finally settle on, not quite processing my own words. “It’s hard seeing them—my sisters, I mean. Sorry, I think I’m just tired, out of it—“ He shakes his head with a squeeze of my arms.

“Stop trying to excuse your feelings. It’s merely how you feel,” he murmurs, watching me carefully. A breath puffs uncomfortably in my chest, but I go on.

“I’ve always made myself content in the fact that something like that didn’t really happen to people like me. I’ve never known why,” I rasp, the color finally rising in my cheeks as I gear up to admit, “But I’m—“ I choke. “I just see them and I feel so lonely.”

His expression shutters and his eyes soften. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, stroking my arms. To hear that word from his lips is already a shock, but knowing it’s directed at me makes me fall apart more.

“I’m not one for self pity, ever,” I get out as another cry raises the pitch of my voice. “I just feel so alone.”

A huff of a sigh leaves Azriel’s lips and he draws me forward. “Come here.”

My breath shudders in my chest as I try not to lose it, try to calm myself as the tears stream hotly down my face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper again. “I feel ridiculous. It just hurts sometimes. Right here.” I rub my chest where the hollow ache is.

He hums and soon I’m in his arms. He gently scoops me onto his lap and tucks my head into the crook of his neck. He’s so warm, so strong, and smells so good that I shudder again and let myself break in his embrace.

His hushing and stroking over my hair lulls me as every bad feeling seeps out of my body. He holds me quietly until my crying ceases, until my shaking stills. Until I am merely breathing tiredly against him.

I could fall asleep like this, could die peacefully here. His hand strokes my hair again. “Feel better?” he asks, his voice a quiet rumble that rumbles in his chest, therefore mine.

I blush profusely at how ridiculous I’m being, but make no move. I nod. I can’t move, can’t look at him. I must be the silliest, most ridiculous woman—female, I correct mentally—at my age that he’s ever seen. He’s centuries old and has a better grip on things than I do. I know he feels bad for me, but any respect he had before must have loosened considerably in the minutes he’s seen me in this state.

As I’m trying to overcome my embarrassment, he strokes my hair softly and begins on a murmur, “I get this way too. I feel it right in my chest, like you said. I have for a long time.” I don’t dare breathe or move. He’s revealing very vulnerable feelings and I fear one move will scare him off. He sighs. “It is difficult—seeing everyone pair off and be happy. Just as difficult to see my brothers as it is for you to see your sisters that way. But you aren’t alone. You’re never alone.”

I sigh, whispering haltingly, “I know. But—it isn’t the same, is it?”

He shakes his head. “It isn’t,” he concedes, “But you shouldn’t doubt that you’ll find that. You’re more than deserving of it.”

A little flutter in my chest, and of all things, a smile blooms on my face. “You are too, Azriel.”

I feel his smile against my hair.

I sigh and draw away even as my body screams in argument, not looking him completely in the eye. “I really am sorry. For—this.” I gesture nonsensically between us, eyeing the wet stain at the collar of his shirt with a small wince. “I really am not usually like this,” I grumble.

His soft chuckle draws my eyes to his face, and I find him looking down at me softly, amusedly. “I know. You’re usually very formidable, self-assured. It was a surprise to see you so…” I raise my brows as he searches for the word, something he usually never has to. “Weighed down,” he settles on.

I don’t know what to say. I settle on a small shrug of my shoulder as I take my sleeve and wipe my face again, sighing as a calm settles over me again.

When I glance back over at him, he’s still observing me quietly. “What?” I croak.

“Nothing,” he says softly with a shrewd yet not unkind look in his eye. “It’s just funny.” I frown, but he continues on before I can interrupt. “You give yourself a private moment to let it out, then you reset. Like nothing happened.”

I feel a heat in my face at the accuracy.

“It’s funny because, well,” he shrugs, “It reminds me of myself.”

I glance warily over him with questioning tilt of my head. “You don’t seem like the type to deal in self-pity. Or crying at all for that matter,” I reply wryly.

His lip curls in amusement, and something hot curls in my stomach at the sight of it. My expression remains carefully composed, as it always is. “I have my moments,” is all he says.

I roll my eyes, shifting on the bed and sniffing. “Cryptic as always too.”

His laugh is quiet yet rumbling, and even though we don’t touch anymore, I feel the sound tumble deliciously through my muscles and bones, all over my body. “There she is,” he practically drawls, mirth lighting his hazel eyes. Cauldron bloody boil me.

Then he softens again. “But know that anytime you feel like this, you don’t need to wait for a private moment to yourself. Come talk to me,” he offers. Tingling warmth blooms in my chest. In my handful of years since turning fae and finding my place in Velaris, he’s been a kind but somewhat infrequent friend due to his busy nature. “What you feel isn’t anything to be ashamed of, and I’d rather you not bottle it all up.”

I eye the impenetrable Spymaster again, brow raised. “Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, aren’t you?”

He laughs in earnest now, and I watch in wonder as it lightens his features. And again that sound—

I’d been careful not to let my foolish mind not delve too deep in daydreaming about the silent, beautiful specter I had met in my house in the human lands those years ago. Everything about the fae then and even now had just seemed so elevated above my little life. And as hard as I worked, as skilled as I had become with my new body and abilities, I still felt like a complete novice, like a schoolgirl amongst grown men and women most days.

So no. I would not be the fool that fell for the male way above her very modest level, not when I knew he’d be too nice about it, and make me feel even more like the fool.

“What are you thinking about?” his voice breaks through my reverie. He’s eyeing me with amusement now, and a hint of fondness.

I force the heat creeping to my cheeks way down within the depths of myself, determined not to make more of a fool of myself than I already have. “Just wondering why you came in here. I wasn’t—“ A blush rises to my cheeks in earnest now. “You couldn’t hear me crying from the hall, could you?”

He shakes his head, hands creeping forward over my bedspread as though to placate me. “No, no. I just came to return the book you let me borrow,” he replies gently, and again my eyes fall to the book he had dropped on the table near my door as he came in to comfort me. Oh. Right. “You were right. I did like it.”

A small smile creeps up on my lips. “Of course I was right.” He chuckles again, and I relish that I can make him do so.

“Will it inflate your ego terribly if I tell you that you have surprisingly good taste?” he drawls. I let out a playfully indignant noise and gently shove his shoulder.

“Says you. You may be quiet, Shadowsinger, but don’t think I haven’t noticed you peacocking more than once,” I toss back. He draws closer with a little grin. Holy fuck.

“Well when I’m as talented as I am, why shouldn’t I?” he purrs, the most Rhys-like I’d ever seen him. I hold onto my composure for dear life.

“Yeah, well, you can take your peacocking and incredible talent off my bed and out of my room,” I retort with a scowl, shooing him as I fight blushing like a schoolgirl. He laughs, but slides smoothly off my bed and stands, hands raised in mock surrender.

I realize then that he had taken me from my depressive state, comforted me until I calmed, then goaded me until I smiled and bantered with him again.

His eyes go from mirthful to soft, and a beat passes where he’s looking down at me still sitting on my bed, and me at him. His lips quirk. “I’m glad you’re alright. Come to me with anything. I mean it,” he reiterates with gentle firmness. I nod my head.

He begins to leave, but I blurt his name and he halts. As soon as he looks at me again, I murmur, “Thank you.” He nods his head once, eyes kind.

I expect him to turn, to leave. But he steps toward me. I still as his hands gently hold the sides of my head, and he drops a single kiss to my hairline. I don’t move or breathe until he leaves the room with one last look at me over his shoulder.

My door snicks shut and a rush of breath leaves my mouth as my hands fly up to my face. My back finds the duvet.

I was fucked.

—

Azriel walks leisurely down the hall from her room back to his once more, musing on the hour that had just passed in her room.

He’d always found the second Archeron sister to be the most interesting female he’d ever met.

Clever, strong, funny. Beautiful, absolutely, in her own way. She was interesting to look at—that counted far more than conventionally beautiful.

The kind of person you don’t let get away.

He’d have to play this carefully. Had he had thoughts these past two-three years about the fact that they were both the remaining unmated ones of their respective sibling units? Yes. But he knew that even as it drew the two of them together in a careful dance around the line, it could also end very poorly if that was the only assumed reason that he wanted her.

Which it wasn’t.

Sometimes he curses that of his brothers, he hadn’t met her first. He could have, should have wooed her. Then, at least he could be enjoying the same felicity his damned brothers were currently enjoying with two of her sisters.

But she’s proving to be a tough one to crack.

It was no matter, he decides. He hadn’t failed to notice at least some attraction on her part. But she brushes off most things with a clever joke, much to his frustration.

Tonight had been a step forward. Even as it had killed him to see her in such a state, he thanked every bit of fate that led him to her room as she had been breaking.

So he could be the one to hold her, put her pieces back together.

He could have held her in his arms, in his lap until the day he died.

But he knew getting her to come back out, to grin and tease him again was more important than his selfish desires. And gods, what a sight she was when she did.

It was no matter, he thinks to himself again. He’d be patient. He’d be the person she’d lean on until he could make her want him. Maybe she’d allow him to touch her in the way he envisioned in his most needy moments in the dark of night. He enters his bedroom and sighs.

Fuck. It might be another one of those nights after all.

•••

NOTE: hey so uhhh if literally anyone cares i’ll make a part 2

#azriel x reader #acotar #azriel #rhysand #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elain archeron #cassian acotar

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randombush3 · 2 days ago

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ojalá te amara

alexia putellas x reader

prologue, que te quiero, busco lo de antes, te hacemos falta

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 2664 (short and sharp i would say)

content warnings: just me feeling bad for what i'm presenting you with

notes: it's being set up for a resolution te lo juro

“You’re watching me.”

Eyes, that’s what you catch a glimpse of. And it’s obviously Alexia, because who else would be here?

You feel her look away, but that does nothing to veil the tension she carries around with her, the charge she puts between you whenever you are remotely close. The guitar in your hands feels like it is fizzing – or maybe that is your skin, your fingers familiar, familiar for once, and itching to play it.

“You haven’t touched it in years,” she replies after careful consideration. “Reminds you of your father.”

“He never played for me–”

“You played for him,” she cuts in. You forget that you are not a stranger to her. She does this a lot, finishing sentences and stories and phrases as though she carries an encyclopedia around that details your life. Or as though she loves you, but that is more difficult to come to terms with. “Still, you didn’t want to remember anything about it.”

“I should be more careful about what I wish for,” you joke. She winces, unashamed of it.

A command rests on her lips, tickling the tip of her tongue. It’s an unloaded bullet. You shoot yourself.

“Sit,” you say.

She sits, her movements deliberate, slow enough that you can’t help but track every inch of her as she does. The bedroom suddenly feels smaller, tighter, as if the four walls have leaned in to listen.

“You’re going to play it.” It isn’t a question. She maps out your actions like they are inevitable, like she is omniscient, like she is your god.

“Didn’t say that,” you counter, though your voice lacks conviction. Her presence always seems to do this – pulls what little certainty you have left out by the roots leaving you exposed and flustered. It has worsened in the past few days.

You look down at the guitar, your fingers grazing the strings, and they hum under your touch. Here we are, they say to you. You’re not surprised that you hadn’t wanted to play it before now. You can only remember his favourite songs, the slow slump of his mask, slipping off his face until he resembled a happier man. A man he used to be.

It’s painful to not remember his death. Being told about it is not the same.

“Didn’t need to,” she says, leaning back on her palms, posture as composed as her words. But her eyes – God, her eyes – betray her. They dart from your hands to your face, they linger too long on your mouth, dark with something you can’t ignore. Something you haven’t been able to stop seeing ever since you caught it.

You swallow hard. “You’re good at making people do things they don’t want to do.”

“Am I making you do anything?” Her voice drops, almost a whisper, but there is a challenge threaded through it. She tilts her head, a lock of hair slipping loose from behind her ear. You watch it fall, noticing its dampness, noticing the faint sheen of her skin that tells you she has just gotten out of the shower.

She must have come back from training early, yet she looks anything but tired.

“Always,” you say, finally meeting her gaze. She doesn’t flinch, seemingly unfazed. If anything, her lips curve upwards, not quite a smile, not quite definable, but enough to leave your chest tight.

“You’re too dramatic,” she murmurs. The charge between you snaps, crackling like static. You realise too late that she has closed the space between you until you can feel her knee brushing against yours. It’s light, accidental maybe, but it sets off a pulse through your entire body.

“Alexia.” Her name leaves your mouth like a warning, but its direction is unclear. Is it to her, or to yourself? Is it a reminder that this isn’t something she has readily available to her anymore? Or do you simply want to tell her what she is getting herself into?

Her knee remains against yours, a bridge that is not prepared to cross this river. She doesn’t move, doesn’t pull back, and you are not convinced she will. Not unless you tell her to, and even then, she doesn’t seem like she’d listen.

Alexia is putting a stop to something. Or starting something else.

“You should stop,” you say, words hollow and frail.

“Should I?’ Her voice is velvet, teasing at the edges. She shifts slightly, just enough for her knee to press more firmly into yours. It’s deliberate. She’s deliberate. Every move she makes is calculated, intentional, and that knowledge burns through, bright and undeniable.

“You think you’re clever,” you murmur, hand tightening around the neck of the guitar, fingers moulding into the fretboard. The strings groan quietly under the pressure, but you barely notice.

And she says, “no.” She believes her answer. “But you are afraid.”

That hits like a blow. You blink, grip faltering, but she doesn’t look away. Her gaze is steady, sharp, cutting through the distance that you have maintained.

“I’m not afraid.” It’s defensive, said too quickly, and you both know it. The ghost of a smirk crosses her lips, but it vanishes as quickly as it came.

“Then what is it?” she asks, leaning forwards. The proximity is unbearable, intoxicating. Her scent – clean like soap, but faintly metallic, the lingering smell of exertion – wraps around you, making it impossible to think.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Your resort to such a childish retort is an opening. An opportunity.

“No,” she says, tone measured, blunt. “What I’d like to know is why you won’t fuck me like I am still yours.”

This is a battle you will not lose, you decide, inhaling sharply.

“‘Like’?”

She is searing, and her fire is contagious. You force your eyes to meet. You’re not going to yield.

“I’m still yours,” she breathes.

…

“So you fucked?” Mapi is out of breath, running alongside Alexia as she keeps a furious pace during their laps, motivated only by her yearn for gossip. Strong legs certainly help, but it is not those that spur Alexia on.

“Nope,” she grits out, speeding up as they turn the final corner, well ahead of the pack behind them. “And I haven’t had an orgasm since September,” she continues, Mapi trailing after her like an old dog who still wants to play, throat dry and chest heaving.

“How are you sprinting?!” she shouts between gasps as her legs drive her forwards somehow until almost collapsing to a stop.

Alexia hands her a water bottle, and Mapi takes it with her to the ground.

“I haven’t had an orgasm for months,” Alexia repeats with a shrug.

Mapi stares up at Alexia like she’s trying to decipher a code. Her brain, still foggy from the run, tries to plough on, mouth opening and closing a few times, but it takes a few attempts to get the words out. “That explains a lot.”

Alexia raises an eyebrow, amused despite herself. “Explains what?”

“Why you’re insufferable lately!” Mapi exclaims, throwing her arms out dramatically. The rest of the team are beginning to fill up their watering hole, but Alexia doesn’t seem to care. Mapi will probably let this slip to Patri anyway, and that will hardly allow her to keep this private.

“Oh, definitely. And not the fact that my fiancée was in a life-threatening accident and remembers neither me nor our daughter.” Your daughter? Alexia doesn’t feel like correcting herself.

“No, because she’s alive – you should be relieved.” Mapi bites her lip, “instead you’ve been left to stew in your horniness.”

“I don’t think she wants to have sex with me!” Alexia whines, outburst still somehow reserved but her grasp on herself slipping just enough for Mapi to truly want to help her out.

Mapi props herself up on her elbows, sweat dripping down her temple as she processes the conversation. “So you’re telling me she look at you like she wants to eat you alive–”

Alexia cuts her off with a sharp glare. “Keep it clean, Mapi.”

“I am keeping it clean! I’m just saying, she looks at you like that, and you still haven’t done anything?”

Alexia exhales harshly, squeezing her empty water bottle so tightly that it screeches out a burst of air. She remembers yesterday, how you’d seemed intrigued, how she’d pushed. She remembers how it had been working; she had you convinced, had you reassured. She remembers how she’d fucked it up, how she should hae waited for you to kiss her. “It’s not that simple,” she replies. An understatement, really.

“Isn’t it though?” Mapi stands, brushing grass off her legs. “She’s clearly into you, Ale. You’ve seen it, felt it. So what’s stopping you?”

“She has to want it,” Alexia says, her voice low but firm.

“She does,” Mapi insists. “You just said–”

“No, Mapi,” Alexia interrupts, her tone sharper now. “She has to know she wants it. Has to feel. It can’t just be some reaction she doesn’t understand. It can’t be because she feels drawn to me, or because her body reminds something her mind doesn’t. It has to be her choice. She has to choose me. Otherwise…” Her voice trails off; she is not going to speak these fears aloud.

“And so you’ve told her you could have sex with her, and she’s looked enticed, but you’re not going to do it unless she, what? Jumps you in the middle of your kitchen? What’s your eleven-year-old going to think of that?” Alexia swats her friend’s arm, Mapi instantly regretting her little joke after the reminder of how strong her captain is. “Ow! That’ll bruise, you know.”

“Don’t mention Amaia,” Alexia warns, not because Mapi is being rude, but rather bringing up her name in a conversation about difficulties fucking her mother seems morally wrong. “We’re trying to become a family again.”

“And I take it you haven’t informed your fiancée about–” Alexia shuts the conversation off with the decision to end the team’s break and shoo them into the gym where the trainers are expecting them.

…

You’re bored. Massively so.

A decade ago, you were up to your ears in essays and books to read, searching for jobs, exploiting your connections as much as you could. You were in a productive state. You were fighting to win, prepared to do whatever it took.

Now, you’ve been told to relax. You get sick pay. Your associates send you cards, your clients send you hampers.

You are fucking sick of opening hampers and pretending to care about various artisanal jams.

It’s nice for them to do that, although you assume it is more to uphold appearances then give you their deepest sympathies, but it is just another mundane task that everyone has conspired to give you in order to keep you distracted from the harsh reality of your situation. You can tell from your home office that you enjoyed your job. There are two desks, one is presumably Alexia’s, but yours, unlike her neutral backdrop for online interviews and video calls, is made for reading, for curling up in your leather desk chair and paging through bundles until every single detail of your case is known. It’s littered with reminders, scrawled on yellow post-its, about possible points and contacts and dates. When you look at it, you are jealous of the life you have built yourself.

You don’t need to work, as Alexia has told you, trying to be comforting. She makes more than enough and you have your inheritance and savings to ensure financial independence if worst comes to worst. You don’t need to do much of anything, it seems, with staff to help and Eli to care for Amaia (who had been employed as her nanny before you and Alexia had even met). But it’s agitating. Humiliating.

You don’t want to be a trophy… whatever label your relationship with Alexia deserves.

“You’re not a trophy wife,” Alexia agrees, her fork prodding at the risotto you’ve made (not from memory), bemused by the conversation topic but not entirely surprised. Amaia is sleeping at a friend's house, playing a match tomorrow that requires her team to be en route earlier than necessary. The girl’s mother, Lucía, seemed conspiratorial when she insisted you allow yourself to rest and that the game will not be anything exceptional, what with them playing a weaker team from a rural town outside the city. With no child to worry or censor for, tonight feels like a very domestic date.

“I’m not even your wife,” you can’t help but say, gently, humorously, but truthfully.

Alexia frowns, but it is subtle and not meant to be seen. “Do you want to know about how we got engaged?” she asks, steering the conversation in a far more constructive direction. You can hear your therapist’s approval ringing in your ears.

You think about it for a moment. The engagement ring was ruined in the accident and you haven’t been presented with its replacement. You’re not even sure what you’d want, though the delicate band on your finger (as seen in pictures) was a choice aligned with your taste.

“Who did it?” Being eager seems sickening. You’re trying to play it cool, especially after quite possibly being defeated by the incident.

“You,” she says without missing a beat, clearly still immersed in the moment, still engrossed in the timeline of it. You’re shocked, but maybe that is because in your brain, the last person you remember sleeping with was a man. The idea of women and how to date them has mentally not crossed your mind yet, though you have a family with one. “Rather abruptly, I must say. I really wasn’t expecting it.” You raise your eyebrows, scraping the last of your risotto from your plate. “See, I had planned to propose to you – I had a ring and everything. We’d had a Champions League away game, so it was longer and farther than usual. And you’d be in London for meetings the week before I’d left. We’d barely seen each other.”

“We weren’t in paradise the entire time?” Your sarcasm is ignored.

“The distance was making things a bit tense between us,” she continues, “and so I made sure to get a nice restaurant booked, one whose menu wouldn’t be too mature for Amaia.” You’re impressed she planned for Amaia to be there, but you try not to let that show on your face. Instead, you choose a mask of neutrality. “Anyway, we’d just arrived at the airport and I was expecting to get a taxi back home since it was late and, God, that law firm worked you like a dog. But you were there, in Arrivals. You and Amaia. And I just remember being so grateful, so thankful for my family, so relieved to see you guys.”

You want to comment, but you don’t. Her eyes are shining and you, off all medication now that most of your physical injuries have healed, top up the two glasses of white set in front of you both on the table.

“You asked me in the car, Amaia asleep in the backseat. I hit my head on the window, I was so shocked. And you’d said it so casually, a simple: let’s get married. Only you would be able to do that!” You laugh. She laughs too. “It was an easy thing to agree to. I still proposed formally at that restaurant, but you insisted you got all the credit.”

She watches as you take a sip of your wine, noticing the lipstick you’re wearing and how it smudges onto the glass. She notices most things about you. She can’t help herself.

“Alexia,” you sigh, the cool wine doing nothing to ease the tightness of your throat, “I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know how to make this work.” You take a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I can keep pretending that this is what I want.”

#woso x reader #woso #barca femeni #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #randombush3 #rm universe

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embbarnes · 23 hours ago

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Goddd sorry this took me so long to reblog! I read this three times and I absolutely adore it. Dofp Logan is one of my favorite eras. I love his attitude and look throughout the film. I was so excited this was the version you went with!!

More below the cut 💕

“Don’t use so much force.” You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault. You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him. You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass. A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

This entire bit is perfect. When I was a kid, I had anger management problems. I couldn't really interact with a lot of people because of it so it made socialization hard for me. I really like how you wrote the reader in this one, I can resonate with them.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

Logan, I hope you know, if I had pyrokinesis...that's the first thing I'm doing.

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs. His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly. You're putty in his hands. “I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

SCREAMING at this part 😍😩 I love, love, LOVE how you describe smut scenes sm.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator. As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away. Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

YES....YESSSSS. I love when things like this happen in fics.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.” “It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—” You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over. “Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

I'm always a big sucker for love-hate or relationships where the pairing isn't super fond of one another at first. The tension builds so well and I love how you incorporate the mutation with their emotions. Because fire is incredibly emotion-motivated, so these little hints are absolutely perfect.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his. “Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

This would actually make me so mad if I was already irritated 😭 Logan knows just how to get under her skin lmao

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath. “Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water. It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

I really liked this bit. It begins to show more depth between the reader and Logan. I admire how you can subtly plant these little seeds throughout your fics, it makes them feel more immersive.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk. “I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble. “No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

You know, technically, she could harness the heat to make a new glass from scratch, Charles. I feel like he'd value something made like that. I can imagine the classrooms full of drawings by the children.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself. “I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—” “What is it?” you implore. His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs – “It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

This situation is 100% believable. Things like this absolutely happen and you set it up perfectly. I love the approach and how you describe the fog, how it effects her body and makes her feel all the things at once.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?” Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

Logan knows how to drive me insane holy shit.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist. He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink. As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

I can literally see his expression rn.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth. His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

This would drive me INSANE.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows. “S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.” You aren’t going to argue with that. You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices. “Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.” “Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—” He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

Girl you're literally killing me 😭😩

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

The sliver of scent I can get from him ughhh that's such a good combo.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath. “What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?” “No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—” “What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest. “I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.” You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more. “I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

LMAO this was so funny and such a good ending!! I loveeed this fic so much! It was so well done, just like all your other stuff! You did such a good job with the personification of everyone and I loved all the dialogue with reader and Logan.

Perfect, as always 💕

where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

#fic rec #flowersforbucky

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wolveswolves · 1 day ago

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youtube

Old grizzled lone wolf in northern Minnesota

Voyageurs Wolf Project:

This large, grizzled old male was a lone wolf that wandered around our area last winter. He had a distinctive limp due to some likely older injury on his right foot/leg. We do not know much about this wolf, other than a few years ago, we observed him and 3 other wolves wander through the southern edge of the Windsong Pack territory. However, these wolves were not an established pack in our study area but it is possible they occupied a territory just outside our area, and just briefly trespassed on the another pack's territory (not that uncommon of an occurrence). Last winter, we know this old male had an encounter with the Bug Creek Pack on February 5 as we had one observation where this old male goes by a camera and a minute later two Bug Creek Pack members go trotting by. And then ten minutes later, we observed all 6 Bug Creek wolves traveling from the direction the old male was headed. They had to have encountered the male, who clearly was not in a position to outrun an entire pack. But obviously, this encounter ended amicably for the old wolf lived and was uninjured. We observed him numerous times after that. A few days before that encounter with the Bug Creek Pack, we observed the old male chasing a deer but do not know how that ended. This wolf didn’t seem like it could run that quickly, given its injury. And then in mid-February, we captured this old male scavenging some bones from a deer that the Thuja Pack killed. We suspect this wolf largely subsisted by scavenging. By the end of the winter (April), this wolf was still wandering by himself. Given how old he looks, we suspect he doesn’t likely have many years left but will be interesting to see if he is still alive and around this winter.

>> Follow Voyageurs Wolf Project

#wolf #wolves #animals #wildlife #gray wolf #Voyageurs Wolf Project #video #old wolf #lone wolf #minnesota #limping #limp #injured #Youtube

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tasteracha · 1 day ago

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a/n: hey @chvnnie remember when you asked me to write this like a year ago? i did it. inspired by that one skzcode clip of seungmin teasing felix and felix getting pissed off. warnings: seunglix x afab!reader, meanish dom felix, sub seungmin, smut - MINORS DNI.

you’re woken up by jarring voices, the tv that had been providing you background noise for your slumber having gone to sleep shortly after you did. it takes you a moment to identify the sounds, your brain coming online a few moments after your heart, beating rapidly in your chest from being kicked out of unconsciousness so abruptly.

“you don’t have to be so fucking mean all the time,” you register felix’s voice first, a dangerousness hiding in his dark tone that doesn’t come out often. he’s usually so positive even when he’s in a bad mood, optimism cracking away at any negative emotions in a way you admire.

“i wasn’t being mean,” seungmin scoffs in return, and you can hear him walking down the hallway towards the living room where you laid with bated breath. “you’re just being sensitive, lix.”

oh, he’s done it now.

seungmin sees you first, a blinding smile taking over his face as he walks over to you to run a hand through your hair. you relax into his touch, relishing in the comfort while knowing that a fight was about to break out soon - you knew the difference between felix being sensitive and being genuinely angry.

right now, even without seeing his face, you knew it was the latter.

felix walks into the room and you swear he looks six feet tall, standing with his arms crossed and a look on his face. it makes you shiver though it isn’t directed at you, and it goes unnoticed by seungmin even though his hand is still buried in your hair - he was too occupied with smirking at felix, pouring gasoline into a fire that was already blazing towards the ceiling.

you know what they say, play with fire and you’ll get burned. you hope that seungmin was prepared for what is about to occur.

“you want me to take care of this, lix?” you ask, your role of Professional Seungmin Tamer coming increasingly more natural as the days went on. it is a last ditch effort to calm the flames.

“no,” felix’s jaw is set in a hard line, and you can see his teeth grinding together. “i’ll take care of him myself.”

“take care of him myself,” seungmin mocks, snickering to himself for a moment before choking around it from the sudden feeling of felix’s hand around his jaw. felix has moved like a ghost, crossing the room in quick strides and covering seungmin’s body with his own in a silent motion. seungmin’s hand falls from your hair, reaching up to wrap around felix’s wrist - not moving it away, but rather bracing himself against the storm.

seungmin is usually taller than felix, but he’s left looking up at him because of how his knees buckle. despite his clear disadvantage, seungmin lets out a growl at felix’s touch.

“awh, you going to bark for me?” felix coos at him, not an ounce of warmth behind his words. “puppy.”

“you wish,” seungmin hisses out, the breath leaving him completely when felix tightens his grip on his jaw and uses the other one to brace the back of his neck, trapping seungmin completely against him.

“how can you say that when i can tell you want me so bad already?” felix says, looking something wicked as he wedges a thigh between seungmin’s legs. from where you are you can’t see the younger man’s crotch but you’re certain that his jeans are tented with arousal; your own core was starting to pulse with heat just from watching them, despite you not being touched by either of them.

“i don’t want you,” seungmin scoffs, trying to turn his face out of felix’s grip and failing. he was lying; seungmin always wanted felix, but nine times out of ten it was on his own terms. you can only imagine how fast seungmin’s head was spinning right now at the sudden change in dynamics.

watching seungmin twitch his hips against felix’s thigh was maddening. this is the first time you’ve seen felix take control of seungmin like this. maybe felix would make seungmin ride his thigh - that was something you’d be delighted to see.

“then why are you so hard?” felix’s mouth twists into a grin, wicked and sharp, as he presses his leg further forward, putting pressure on seungmin’s cock and making him moan.

seungmin, for all his false bravado, submitted beautifully and easily when it was for you. it didn’t surprise you that he did it for felix too, but the sight of his muscles losing their tautness all at once was something to behold. he falls into felix’s arms, boneless and grinding his hips in little circles against the older’s thigh, the fight drained out of his body as quickly as it had arrived.

“i hate you,” seungmin mutters weakly against felix’s chest as he chases a high he must know he won’t be allowed just yet. the fight left his body, not his mouth, evidently.

“you’re just making this worse for yourself with every word,” felix chuckles, dry and mean, as he turns seungmin around and pushes him roughly forward. seungmin stumbles and throws a glare over his shoulder, but the effect is lost when he continues to let felix manhandle him.

“baby,” felix calls out to you, his tone shifting to warmth instantly. you perk your head up and you can’t suppress the shiver that wracks through your body as he cocks his head towards the bedroom while leading seungmin there, a clear invitation to join them for whatever felix was planning to do. you’re on your feet before you can blink, anticipation burning through your veins.

you have to pause and take a deep breath when you reach the door frame before going in; you knew that what was about to happen was like a fantasy pulled from the deepest depths of your mind. when you gather the nerve to peek inside, seungmin is already naked on the bed, his bottom lip hidden between his teeth as felix fastens his wrists to the headboard with the soft ropes that typically adorn his own.

“open your mouth,” felix digs his fingers into seungmin’s lips, ignoring how the younger thrashes against the bonds keeping him in place. felix leans forward so that he’s kneeling over seungmin and slides his free hand into his dark hair, scratching softly at his scalp before curling his fingers into a fist and pulling. “this is all the lube you’re getting, so unless you want me to fuck you dry you’d better do as i say.”

the words sound unpracticed as they spill out of felix’s lips, but seungmin’s lips part with a gasp nonetheless. he chokes on the digits as felix explores his mouth, reaching every crevice and swiping around his annoyingly white teeth. his fingers coming out glistening with saliva, wet and dripping as he lines them up with seungmin’s hole.

felix opens seungmin up brutally, sliding two fingers in and cooking them up with a look of satisfaction on his face when seungmin jumps. it was a caricature of their usual dynamic, with felix typically melted into the sheets as seungmin uses him however he sees fit. felix finds seungmin’s spot with practiced ease, letting out a laugh when seungmin cries out at the intense pleasure. he avoids it after, scissoring his fingers almost clinically, teasing seungmin with the sensation that is so close but that he won’t be granted.

contrary to his claim, felix squirts a generous amount of lube on his cock once he undresses before he pushes in slowly, letting seungmin feel the drag of every inch. the younger’s breaths come out in violent shudders, and as you step closer to look his pupils are almost completely blown over his irises, barely a hint of chocolate brown to be seen.

felix presses a kiss to seungmin’s forehead when he bottoms out, the gentlest touch he’s given him since he started. it shows how spaced out seungmin is that he leans up into the touch, craving felix’s touch like he would starve without it. seungmin’s eyes are glassy, a spaced out expression taking over his face that you’ve never seen before. he tends not to let his guard down, even during the most intimate moments that you share, and you hope that you get to witness this again.

felix keeps a steady pace, dragging out slowly before pushing back in with a snap, driving seungmin further up the bed with every movement.

“love?” felix calls out, and both you and seungmin make a noise. you know that felix was talking to you only when he ignores seungmin completely, continuing to snap his hips, pulling breathy whines from seungmin with every thrust. “will you come here?”

he says it like a question but your body thinks of it as a command as you float over to him, stopping just inches from the bed. felix unfastens seungmin’s wrists from the headboard, keeping them pinned together, and pulls him up. he turns him and wraps his arms around his chest until they are both kneeling upright, flush against one another. his cock remains buried inside of seungmin the whole time and you can’t help but give him a look of impressed approval. he looks pointedly at you and then the space he cleared out in front of seungmin in response, and you flush as you kick off your sweatpants and climb into the bed, laying on your back.

when did felix learn how to tell you what to do with just a look? you didn’t know where this was coming from, but you loved it.

felix places seungmin gently onto you with the carefulness that you expected from him on any other day. if it weren’t for him not wanting to crush you with seungmin’s weight, you were sure he would have thrown the younger onto the bed with little to no thought. seungmin settles against you like he belongs there, nuzzling his face into the juncture between your shoulder and your neck, and you can feel how hot his cheeks are against your skin. his cock settles between your thighs, hard and rigid, and you let out a sympathetic hum when felix stops him from rutting up against you. he reaches around seungmin and lines the younger man up against your hole, a little clumsy with his movements, and you can feel his leaking cock twitch against you.

felix pushes seungmin into you with a snap of his own hips, driving himself deep into seungmin as he gets buried into you in one motion. the moans you and seungmin let out harmonize into the thick air, the scent of sex swirling with the noises in a colorful kaleidoscope. the colors burst into fireworks as felix sets a fast pace, pleasuring the both of you so naturally.

felix leans past seungmin to kiss you over the younger’s head, and seungmin keens at the sight of it. he’s sandwiched between the two of you, chasing pleasure from every angle, and witnessing the two people he loves most in the world make out on top of him - you’re not sure that he can even think in coherent sentences right now. with his cock surrounded by your tight heat and felix’s own ramming into him, you’re surprised he can even keep his eyes open. you know that this is the moment where he surrenders himself to felix completely.

you reach your limit faster than you ever have, your clit untouched and throbbing; just the obscene sight of seungmin being used between you and felix is enough to bring you to the brink of pleasure.

“seung- lix, can’t,” you gasp out, every push of felix’s hips driving seungmin’s cock further into you, making you jolt - it’s too much.

if it’s too much for you, you can’t imagine what it’s like for seungmin.

you thought that felix would take pity on you and let you finish, too focused on punishing seungmin, but instead he pulls out of the younger man and pulls him out of you with a harsh pull.

seungmin all but wails at the loss, bucking his hips down onto the mattress. you hadn’t realized how close he was, too lost in your own high, but his brow was pinched and his lips were twisted just right to tell you that he was.

“please, please,” he begs, flipping himself over to kneel in front of felix. “let me come, please.”

“you think you deserve to after what you did today?” felix looks down at him, eyes cold as ice. your own neglected orgasm was brushed away by the sight of seungmin begging. he was usually too proud to beg, too in control of situations to even need to, but in this moment he was completely helpless to felix’ whims.

“i’m sorry,” seungmin loses control over the tears brimming in his eyes, fat tears dripping onto his cheeks. “‘m sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to-”

he falls forward into felix’s chest, entire body shaking with his shuddering breaths, and you see felix falter for the first time tonight. he looks at you with slight panic, the coldness melting away into affection towards the man crying into him, and you simply nod at him. you know what to do, you blink. you can do this, you smile.

“puppy,” felix shushes him, running a hand down seungmin’s spine. “it’s okay. you’re being so good for me now, right? my good boy.”

“‘m good,” seungmin hiccups into felix’s chest, nodding his tears into felix’s skin.

“you’re sorry, and you’ve been punished, right?” felix coos at him, trailing his blunt fingernails up and down seungmin’s back. “you’re alright.”

“i can come?” seungmin’s words come out nasally from his tears.

“yes, puppy,” felix moves his thigh so that it’s between seungmin’s legs, trapping his weeping cock against the flexed muscle there. “take what you need.”

seungmin whines out a broken thank you and starts his hips at a rapid pace, chasing the high that he had been denied over and over. you lose count of the sniffles, whines, and moans he lets out, but you can tell exactly when he comes because his entire body seizes and his throat constricts around a high keen.

felix strokes his back through it, shushing him and pressing gentle kisses to his cheeks and face. you can’t help but smile at the gestures, a little overwhelmed at how naturally felix fell into this rhythm. your smile freezes when his own turns sharp, and he winks at you before flipping seungmin over and sliding back into him. he pushes seungmin down onto the bed and the push of hot breath he puffs out at the impact hits your forgotten cunt. felix pushes one hand down onto seungmin’s nape as he fucks back into him, chasing his own high and nurturing your own.

you can feel seungmin’s lips trembling against your core with every thrust, his body pushing up against yours until he’s trapped between your legs. he licks at you un uncoordinated motions, but it’s enough. a few beats of time later, between the harsh slaps of felix’s thighs hitting seungmin’s ass and seungmin reaching up to squeeze his hands around your thighs, you come with a content sigh. your legs tighten around seungmin, keeping him close as your hips jerk against his mouth, and the sounds of felix coming are drowned out by the blood rushing through your ears.

the next few moments pass by like snapshots, blurred images separated by shocks of camera flutter, and by the time your brain catches up with your body you’re laying down in a new position. your head is pillowed on felix’ chest, him sandwiched between you and seungmin, the latter’s fingers tangled between yours.

“what the hell just happened,” you blink a few times, jaw almost dropping open when you see the utter contentment on felix’s face.

“i think i discovered something new,” felix’ voice is languid, rumbling against your ear like a muted symphony.

“if this is what it takes for you to learn things, we need to piss you off more often,” you tease, teasing a finger around felix’s nipple just to hear him hiss and see the soft glare he sends towards you. like a kitten.

a puppy and a kitten; what were you going to do with these boys?

“speak for yourself,” seungmin mumbles from felix’s other side, coming back to himself slowly. he glances blearily at you, and his drying tear tracks and red rimmed eyes make him look so incredibly beautiful. “i can’t move a single one of my limbs.”

#skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #lee felix imagines #kim seungmin imagines

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sylusdarling · 3 days ago

Text

Spa Day

Sylus x esthetician reader

✧Time for your husband to relax a little

Content: Husband Sylus, Esthetician reader, you give him a facial, over all fluffy, you want him to relax

A/N: This idea has been in my mind forever. As an esthetician in training I want nothing more than to pamper him

Handing Sylus a golden glass of Whisky, you sat down beside him with your own.

A smile danced on Sylus’ lips as he took the glass from your hand and took a swig of the amber liquid. “Hey dove, how was work?”

Cradling your glass in your hand you spoke, “It was good! Actually, I have a question for you.”

Sylus hummed acknowledging what you said.

“We have a promotion going on right now where we’re able to bring in our partners or family members for half off. I’ll be able to give you a facial!”

Sylus clearly noticed your excitement on the topic. “For half off? You know i’d pay all the money in the world for your services, dove.”

“That’s not the point Sy!” You giggled, “I know you can more than afford the normal prices but I still want to bring you in. Are you interested?”

“You’d like me to come in?” You nodded, your eyes shining. “Then I’ll come in.” Leaning in, you hugged your husband. “Thank you my love.” His arm wrapped around your waist bringing you tighter into the hug, “Anything for you.”

Checking the IPad, you smiled when Sylus’ name turned green. He was signed in and waiting for you. You made your way to the waiting room with a gown thrown over your forearm. “Hello honey!” You exclaimed.

The crimson eyed man stood up and approached you, “Hello dove, I’m ready for my treatment.” Sylus watched you as you directed him towards the change room. He thought you looked adorable with your scrubs on and your hair up. He rarely saw you in your work look.

Pointing towards the white door, you spoke. “There’s the changing room. Take off your top and throw the gown on for me. There’s a robe and slippers in the locker if you’d like. I’ll be waiting out here for you when you’re finished.”

Standing outside the door, you waited for your husband. In just a minute he emerged from behind the door with the white gown and slippers on. “Awh you’re so cute Sy!”

“Am I now?” He stood there with his arms crossed. Chuckling you began walking, “follow me again. I’m going to take you to the facial bed.”

He followed you into the dim room with spa music playing. Taking the corner of the bed sheet you opened it up for him. After toeing off his slippers he slipped into the bed. “I’m going to put the headband on you now, ok?”

He looked up at you and hummed. Scooping his bangs back with your hand, you velcroed the two sides of the hairband together. Taking out your camera you took a photo of your cute husband. His eyes opened immediately at the camera shutter sound.

“Someone must of forgotten to put her phone on silent. Isn’t it against the rules to take photos of your clients.”

“Not when it’s my adorable husband it’s not.” Sylus playfully scoffed at that.

“Ok close your eyes we’re going to begin.” Sylus obliged, closing his eyes without another word. Taking a pump of oil, you rubbed it on your hands. “Ok we’re going to begin with an inhalation. Breathe in with me, then breathe out,” Following your instructions, your husband breathed in and out at your count. The citrus scent filled the room.

“Doesn’t this oil smell so good? It’s one of my favourites.” He nodded with his eyes closed, “It’s quite refreshing.”

You then began the service. Grabbing all the cleansers and oils you needed, you placed them down on your trolly. Your hands roamed your husbands porcelain skin. For someone who gets into dangerous situations as a living, he had absolutely no scars or marks on his face. He was gorgeous. You took this time to study your husbands face, encoding every detail of it into your mind.

Seeing your husband relaxed was an unusual sight. He was always tense and on guard keeping an eye out for anything all the time. But here, he was able to let his guard down. He seemed calm, less tense. It was the touch of his beloved that calmed him.

Arriving to the massage, you kneaded his shoulders which made him let out some groans. “Feel good, honey?” Your hands roamed his neck and shoulders applying soft pressure with the warm oil in your hands.

“So goo-ah good, dove.” That made you smile. You were happy that you were able to help your husband relax even if it was only for an hour.

The end of the facial approached. Removing his hair band, you sat him up and positioned his slippers by his feet. Handing him a hand mirror, he was able to get a good look as his fresh skin. “You’re glowing Sy. Don’t you feel so refreshed.”

He nodded, “I do thanks to a wonderful someone.” Standing up, he grabbed both of your hands and placed them in his. Tilting his head down he gave you a soft peck on your lips. “Thank you, dove. I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“You know i’d do this anytime you want me to.” You gave him one more peck before escorting him back to the changing room. You were able to clean up your station before he returned.

“Do you have any more clients today?” Your husband asked.

You shook your head, “Nope, only you!”

He hummed, “Perfect let’s go home, and i’ll show you my appreciation with my…own massage.” He drawled.

Your face heated up at his comment. “Sy!”

He chuckled at your reactions. “You did a great job today, let’s go home.”

#love and deepspace #lads #sylus #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace drabble #lads drabble #sylus x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #sylus x you #fluff #lads fluff #love and deepspace fluff #sylus fluff #husband sylus

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occamstfs · 17 hours ago

Text

Work-Study

Coach Decker molds job-searching Jeremy into the athlete he never wanted to be, before now that is. Soon enough he'll never want to leave.

As football season nears its end I figured I'd get one last story out of it! Hope you enjoy this Academic -> QB -> Coach TF! Best! -Occam

“Jeremiah eh? Can I call ya Jere?”

“I’d um, rather you didn’t sir.”

Jeremiah was less than thrilled about visiting the university’s head football coach to ask for a job, but when the tutoring program he was basically running for the university was shut down he was left with little other choice. The overworked clerk in charge of the school’s work-study program barely allowed him sit down before ushering him over to the stadium. Something about the coach Jeremiah didn’t even know the name of needing an assistant.

Staring at the burly man he now knows as Coach Decker, Jeremiah can scarcely believe he let the mousy bookkeeper strongarm him into meeting with the coach. Had he paid more attention at the work-study office perhaps he would have noticed just how frantic the clerk was, as if his neck were on the line had Jeremiah not gone. At any rate, Jeremiah clearly needs to work on his willpower, and what better chance than running calmly walking away from the beyond intimidating coach right now.

Speaking of the man, Coach Decker scratches his beard as he looks at the neat resume in his hands. Looking up to sneer at the applicant he sees Jeremiah smile docilely as the will to puff out his chest and flee immediately vacates. The coach, seeing this as supplication, switches to a hungry grin and drops the resume to the table, “Have a seat Jerry, would ya?”

Jeremiah hesitates though acquiesces, instead choosing to focus on the assigned nickname once more, “Would you mind just calling me by my full name Coach Decker? I’d like to keep our relationship strictly business and I feel like treat-” Decker raises his hand to cut Jeremiah off. “Oh worry not lad. Trust. I won’t be having you do anything you don’t want to do.”

There’s some bizarre glimmer in the older man’s eyes that Jeremiah neglects to make a deal of as Decker directs his attention to a small bowl filled with snacks in front of him, “Why don’t you have a treat lad.”

“Oh I don’t know Sir-” The coach clicks his tongue and Jeremiah almost flinches, “I insist, Jeremiah. And while we’re on the subject of names let’s cut this Sir shit out. Call me Coach.” Jeremiah nods in agreement and shakily reaches to grab some protein bar he doesn’t recognize from the bowl, averting his eyes as to not meet the stare of the man. Yet, he still feels the burning gaze as he unwraps the bar and takes the first bite.

Jeremiah isn’t quite sure what happens after that. He blinks and suddenly Coach is laughing. The student smiles to pretend he understands whatever Decker is laughing at as the coach reclines and throws legs on the desk, scuffing up his neat resume underfoot. The younger man feels he should be bothered by this blatant disrespect, but he simply sits in a daze.

“Glad you enjoyed it Jez hah! The boys all love those things. But anyway, back to the interview eh? What made you wanna sign up to be an assistant coach?” Jeremiah’s eye twitches as he hears Coach refer to him as Jez. But then, it’s what he’s always gone by, right?

The overtures of a headache begin as he tries to recall if that is indeed, but he shakes it off. Stupid to get hung up on that, not like Coach’ll call him by something he doesn’t want to be called. Better to just go with the flow, trust the man. In fact, he now vaguely recalls his mom whining when he first started going by Jez. Which obviously only made him want to go by it more. He exhales a quiet laugh as he remembers.

It’s at this moment he takes heed of the second half of Coach’s statement, assistant coach? Finding his mouth dry from devouring the protein bar he clears his throat and speaks up, “Sorry, Coach I thought I was just going to be your personal assistant?”

Decker doesn’t try to hide the smile on his face as he pretends to think, “hmmm no no son. You came in to be a real part of the team didn’t ya? Not some pen-pushing pansy.” Jez’s eyes glaze and Coach watches as his words begin to sink in. “You were just sayin’ how much you love the sport, boy.”

Love the sport? Does he? For the life of him Jez can’t remember having watched one game all the way through. He’d never, uh. And then like a wave, Coach’s words wash over him- through him.

Of course he has. He’s always been a fan of their team though for sure, he bleeds orange and white. What’s possibly more important than watching his team curbstomp. Memories of helping out his mother in the kitchen on Thanksgiving burn like old film as he recalls broing out with his dad and brothers in the living room.

Like he’d be any help in the kitchen anyway, hah! His hands are good for nothin’ besides catching- uh. No, no he’s never played. He’s just a fan. Jez furrows his brow as he adjusts to his new memories. Clear recollections of scowling at his dad for shouting when his team scores are wiped and replaced by his own screaming alongside the man, screaming even louder.

Under his breath he whispers, “just a fan.” Some fight in him yet as some subconscious self-preservation sees the changes occurring and understands what Coach Decker is going to do next. This only excites the coach more, he knows Jez doesn’t stand a chance, but even this petty struggle will help heighten the severity of his upcoming transformation. Let’s see what a stud he’ll be able to mold.

“Well now Jez I wouldn’t say you’re just a fan. Hardly any of your classmates near the dedication you got to our team!” Jez’s eyes half return from vacancy, the sound of his sucking up drool fills the office as he speaks up, “my uh, dedication?”

Knowing he has Jez on tenterhooks he pauses to truly perfect his next attack on the man’s reality, “Well yeah Jez! Not anyone’s just up and switch their majors to be a better athlete.”

True alertness arrives to the younger man’s expression, eyes quiver with what can only be fear. Coach wonders if he’s stepped too far, too quickly. “I- I don’t believe I did do that S- Coach?” Even as he disputes the man, Decker watches as his will is enacted.

He certainly paid no mind to what Jez, Jeremiah, was wearing when he walked in, but he could be sure it wasn’t athletic wear. Coach looks down from the man’s pained expression too late to see his pale legs revealed as his dress pants shift to cheap shorts. He almost laughs as his button up sews shut and shades to their school colors.

“Well if ya so Jez,” Coach does little to disguise his intentions, “now what did you say your major was again?” His face drops as a pit develops in his stomach, “it’s engi-erk” he gags as he tries to speak it allowed. Gulping he tries again and is totally unable to say engineering.

He gasps and reaches for a drink on the coach’s desk to avert choking on his words. Throat wet with some electrolyte-ridden concoction, an idea worms its way to the foreground of his mind: as if he’d waste time learning the best way to stack blocks. Fuck that noise- he followed the same path Decker did way back when, a B.A. in Sports Management.

Mind over matter, Coach smirks as he sees the man truly begin to be molded by sheer suggestion. Eyes narrow under thickening brows. Jez speaks up with a thicker baritone now rife with vocal fry, “uhhh, ‘s that a joke coach? You gave me the rec letter for the program?” Glasses no longer sit right on his face as it slowly begins to square out.

Coach guffaws and pats his meaty though, “Hah! Just pullin’ your leg champ! How could I not know your schedule, basically made it for ya every semester after all,” he pauses to let the words sink in. Jez tilts his head and adjusts how he sits, unfamiliar with how to rest in a body on the precipice of change, “given you’re my star player.”

What happens next is too impossible for Jez to even begin to remain cognizant of, Coach Decker however watches with delight. The man still reclining rubs his thigh and adjusts his pants as he sees Jez shaped to be the perfect stud QB.

Images of drills throughout almost a decade of play invade his mind as the sound of his, once dressy, now tennis shoes shredding to tatters resounds. His feet become unto paddles that allow him to tear down the field, toes stretch and soles widen to propel a man much larger than himself into brutal action. A trove of curls grow across its top as it grows indeed large enough to hold the brute he is to become.

Jez has always been partial to a man’s legs and would surely lust for the trunks that he seems to be growing. His mind is thankfully absent as calves seize, flexing and bulging into what can only be described as ham hocks. Scars from a few minor surgeries hide under the new furry forest of hair as in his mind he recalls training with a furor to recover and ensure he never had to spend time off the field again.

This is all well and good, but now his mind and body move into the real meat of the matter. Eyes twitch though remain glazed over as the trail of hair racing up his new bulky thighs reaches his hips. Even lost in the delirium of his changing mind, he bites his lip and still unchanged hands cannot help but reach towards his cock as he feels the most oppressive changes yet begin.

Jeremiah was never much of a size queen, nor was he ever emasculated by his average cock. And now, Jez is more concerned with the asses of other men, men he was more than happy to dominate on and off the field. Though one look at his own cock was more than enough to get him harder than anything. Rapidly it fills the jockstrap his briefs had become, and just as quickly as his pants tear through his cheap athletic shorts does his cock burst from its containment.

Pubes blanket it from every angle as they race across his inner thigh and cover his needy balls pulsing heavier. His hands struggle to grasp the dick as it surges harder and twitches girthier as thick veins travel up the length and pump it larger with every racing beat of his heart.

Opposite his immaculate cock grows an ass he would have killed to have in his past life. Likewise his increasingly impressive cheeks refuse to be hidden by his shredded shorts. Bursting free from the frayed pants his new ass forces him to sit higher in the seat as it packs on the exorbitant weight needed to stick out from thighs so impressive, and buoy a core excessively powerful. Curls decorate his rounded ass like a peach as it fills out to a degree that even straight men will find it hard to not appreciate.

Speaking of filling out, his stomach rumbles as it too begins to grow to become his most powerful asset on the field. Joining force with his tree-trunk thighs and racing ahead of bulging biceps to-be, abs burst onto his torso as a treasure trail traces up towards his chest. Already altered memories of his watching the football team shift to insert himself into the massive shoes of the QB.

Body hair races across his form as a harbinger of the growth that is yet to come. Every pore begs to display his masculinity and his rapidly increasing testosterone is more than happy to let this be the case. His pits and face race to fill with hair dense enough that sunlight could never break through as he gropes at the heavy balls aiding and abetting his changing mind. As hair continues to spread his growing strength is soon to follow.

His hands depart from his quivering cock to instead feel his new cobblestoned core before they are to be evermore covered up as his waist bulks up to give him the strength needed to be a powerhouse. Memories of striving to do his best in various academic contests and electives evaporate as all his free time instead pours into days at the gym and hours upon hours of studying tapes and techniques to excel at the game. He distinctly remembers staring at his impressive form in the mirror, getting off to his six-pack and feeling up the heavy pecs that lie above them, he was, is, irresistible.

His stomach begins to bloat as pecs pile onto his chest. “Gonna need to put on some pounds if you wanna play in the big leagues boy.” Jez creates new memories all by himself of his years training under Coach Decker. Sitting there he grunts as his hands are pushed by a torso trading definition for pure power as his chest grows to hold arms as strong as pistons. In his mind’s eye Jez sees himself throwing a ball down a field under the watchful eye of Coach. With his current arms he sees them max out a throw of not even fifty yards. Seeing the grimace on Coach’s face he grits his teeth. He must be better. The empty stadium is filled with the sound of his biceps bursting the sleeves of his shirt, muscle summoned from nothing as he hurls the ball well past the end of the field. He needs to do more. Better.

New footballs appear in his rough hands as soon as the last is sent rocketing down the field. Each one further and faster than the one that came before. His eyes are filled with determination as his mind loses the care to focus on anything but hurling with efficiency towards men who aren’t there. With each hurling sphere his biceps progressively pack on more power, more strength. Thick veins travel down the radius of them before they are joined by a litany of pulsing others trailing from every angle as hair thickens up from his forearm to hopefully meet with the sweaty garden teeming in his pits.

Coach’s laughter echoes through the empty stadium as it blares in every corner of Jez’s mind. The new athlete goes to wipe his sweaty brow and is caught off-guard as he feels the scratchy hairs on his wrist rub against his wider forehead and thicker eyebrows. He grunts in confusion and then grabs at his own throat as it produces a sound, “whuh?” duller and dumber than he’d ever produce. At least in an uhh, interview?

Looking around he almost goes into shock as he seems to be standing on a football field. Hyperventilating he goes to steady his breathing, pushing at his chest only to find his hand bump up against pecs too large to be possible. Dreading what he is to see if he looks down, he does so anyway and falls backwards in shock as he sees what has become of his bookish body. And then, just as soon as the subconscious paltry remains of Jeremey awakens, he finds himself sitting opposite Coach again in the office.

Struck with a powerful headache he groans and rubs at his forehead as his hair pulls into a choppy look. He mumbles in his fried voice, “ughh what’d I drink last night Coach?” Decker laughs again as he prepares the final assault on his new player’s mind, “Well Jez, after winning the big game I’m sure you drank half of what the bar had Hah!” Jez’s eye twitches as his jaw squares out and his stomach bloats just a tad more.

“Now that you’ve graduated though I’m sure you’re off to the big leagues huh?” The rusty gears in Jez’s hungover mind struggle to understand what he means, when did he graduate? Half-drooling he wipes his mouth and scratches his forearm on facial hair that has evolved from messy stubble to something intentional. He’d never abandon his team, his Coach. Seeing his brows furrow in as deep a thought as he can muster, Decker speaks up, “Well if you wanna stay Jez, you’ll need a few more years under your belt. That’s for sure.”

Jez’s pulse quickens with excitement as he looks back at the coach, he can be Coach’s right hand man. The chair he sits in groans as he puts on weight from a few years of playing the sport from the sidelines. Behind Coach the trophy recently summoned from Jez’s victory is joined by a couple others from his years coaching QB’s at Decker’s side.

A few premature greys dot his beard and hairline as his figure continues to fill out. He loses a bit of speed but his strength stays steady as the years working out alongside his team keep him ever-honing his own form, muscle tediously maintained and defined by his slowly increasing years. Seeing him near the end of his transformation Coach scratches his own beard, “How old’re you now kid?”

The once university senior again struggles through his foggy mind, “OH! Uhhh twenty-” No that can’t be right, looking down at his tanned hands on thick thighs. He’s gotta be at least thirty something right? Seeing his confusion Decker moves on, he’s been scrambled enough, “Ah don’t worry kid, we’ll work out the details later. Gotta finish this interview and all. So, Jez, you still interested in bein’ my Offensive Coordinator?”

The heart of the younger coach skips a beat, facing burning with blush under a beard rising higher on his face. “M-ME?” His chest pumps larger yet with pride as his whole form almost vibrates with excitement. Fuck it feels like he’s 22 again! Suddenly he’s standing, his meaty hands pounded on Decker’s desk as the head coach reaches out for a shake.

Jez feels more fulfillment than he ever thought possible as he shakes Coach’s hand. Brings him back to holding that first trophy in his hands. Even further back to committing to play QB for Decker, his parents proudly standing to his side. He can’t wait to see where the team’s going next under his tutelage.

The new offensive coordinator feels Decker’s heavy arm around his massive shoulders. Looking down at the man he would’ve sworn was taller he smiles and deepens his newly earned smile lines. Decker pats the sweaty man on his back, “and to think! You just wanted to be my assistant!” The pair share a hearty laugh as Jez doesn’t quite understand what he’s implying, “Psh- Sure Coach, as if I’d do that chicken-shit work!” The pair head off laughing to greet the team and announce Jez’s new position.

P.S. If you're interested in some more football TF's check out HairyJockTf's Artist to Athlete, which uses the penultimate image of this story quite superbly!

#male tf #mental change #muscle tf #personality change #reality change #male transformation #jockification #jock tf #dumber #hair growth #age progression

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speed-world · 20 hours ago

Note

Hello, im a fan of the self aware scenario you did with the coward y/n cookie, and I was wondering what their reactions would be of meeting the beast cookies

To be honest, you had no interest in going to Beast-Yeast, at all. After all, why would you? Whatever conflict the Ancients and other cookies had with each other didn’t concern you, not to mention that just the name - “Beast-Yeast” - already freaked you out.

If it weren’t for Pure Vanilla Cookie promising that your safety, due to the agreement between the Ancients and Dark Enchantress Cookie, you would’ve stayed comfortably in the Cookie Kingdom far away from the other continent.

You wish you never listened to Pure Vanilla now, because this beast - Shadow Milk Cookie - immediately wanted to make you run far, far away.

The jester scared you with his sinister and maniacal behavior. If you had a fear of clowns before entering the cookie world, then you’d pass out the more his actions continued.

After seeing the mental turmoil Pure Vanilla was experiencing, the loss of Elder Faerie Cookie, Shadow Milk’s terrifying powers and his “plays” that were mockeries of all the adversaries of the Beasts—the color blue might be your most hated now.

Yeah, you’d be completely fine and dandy if you never saw a hint of Shadow Milk’s Cookie ever again

However, he couldn’t stand to think of this meeting being your last…

How were you convinced to go back to Beast-Yeast a second time?? Suppose you can be grateful for that promise with the Ancients and Dark Enchantress Cookie.

You actually really liked the Ivory Pagoda. The atmosphere was so serene and otherworldly, and warmly inviting…or dangerously alluring.

The company of Dark Cacao Cookie, Caramel Arrow Cookie, Crunchy Chip Cookie, and the Cacao warriors made this trip a whole lot more comfortable and relaxing. However, their presence couldn’t make things better when you finally came face to face with the other Beast - Mystic Flour Cookie.

You thought the slow creepiness of Cloud Haetae Cookie would be the worst of your problems, but at least the story they told was directed to the Ancient instead of you.

The second you saw that spider pop out of that cocoon, your soul ascended to the crossroads. Your body went so pale that Dark Cacao thought you succumbed to the pale ailment.

You really couldn’t articulate how much Mystic Flour scared you. Shadow Milk was insane, but this?! She’s so uncaring, so unrelenting in her belief of apathy, is it too late to stay with Peach Blossom Cookie for the rest of this journey?

Let’s not even get started on that face. You hated any related horror stuff in the real world, and now you’re seeing that in front of your face!!

Yeah no, forget this. Awesome job on Dark Cacao awakening, time to get on the first airship outta this place.

As much as you wanted to be as far away from Mystic Flour Cookie as possible, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Stared at by a force that you couldn’t look back at, no matter how hard you tried….

Hell. To the freaking. NO

Naaaaaah Golden Cheese Cookie, she’s crazy if she thinks you’re going to accompany her to Beast-Yeast. Promise be damned, they clearly didn’t account for the mental pain that you’ve suffered through.

Smoked Cheese Cookie seemed dead serious on agreeing with you, but Golden Cheese wouldn’t take no for an answer. You decided to stick close to Smoked Cheese, because the Beast is only focused on Golden Cheese after all, right?

Had it not been for the presence of Golden Cheese and Smoked Cheese, you wouldn’t have even thought of coming to this place. It’s hotter than a truck engine in the summer, a lot of these Spice cookies are pretty hostile, and—Oh God the sandstorms are the crumbs of dead cookies?!?????!

And then, you met him-Burning Spice Cookie. He’s already scary to look at, so you just hid your face whenever you saw or heard him.

His power is also way too scary-he doesn’t care about any collateral damage caused, heck he probably loves if there’s more of it! Smoked Cheese spent his time making sure that not even a crumb of you were harmed during the fight of Golden Cheese and Burning Spice.

You weren’t sure what freaked you out more: Nutmeg Tiger Cookie’s unwavering devotion to such a being like Burning Spice, or the fact that Burning Spice Cookie does all that he does…for entertainment.

All the death, destruction, suffering he causes, everything, all for a cheap laugh?! Why-why again did you ever come here?!?

To make matters worse? Smoked Cheese and Golden Cheese were locked away in a cage. But you? No, Burning Spice didn’t want you in confinement.

He found it much more amusing to have you by his side, attached to his hip and sitting on his lap.

Your soul departs each time he speaks, your breath is taken away when he breaks something, because you’re scared that it might be you he breaks next. Seeing him be so casual and collected after crushing Cilantro Cobra Cookie in front of your face was what set you over the edge.

You were panicking, screaming, tossing around. You wanted to leave now, no ifs, ands, or buts. You can’t take this anymore and-…

He-he’s staring at you….he’s in the middle of his second round fight with Golden Cheese Cookie, and he’s staring. Right. At. You.

You were eternally grateful for Smoked Cheese Cookie being so understanding, and being so quick in trying to get you out of this God forsaken continent.

But even as you were getting away, you heard his laugh. You know Golden Cheese struck him down, but you heard his faint sinister laugh; virtually paralyzing you in place.

Please, for your sake, can you never come back to Beast-Yeast ever again?!?

…

Where did this ticket come from?

#cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #cr kingdom #cookie run #crk #shadow milk crk #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk x reader #shadow milk cookie x reader #mystic flour cookie x reader #mystic flour cookie #mystic flour crk #burning spice cookie x reader #burning spice crk #burning spice cookie

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rueclfer · 3 days ago

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evergreen

𖤓 part viii. | series m.list | prev | part ix.

you weren't sure how things got to this point.

with one hand, you were clutching onto a fitstful of touya’s t-shirt and in the other you had your fingers wrapped around his outer forearm as it slung over your shoulder.

touya's body weight threatened to drag you down with him as you two stumbled through the woods. with his phone flashlight haphazardly swinging in all directions in his loose grasp, you could only hope you were heading towards the right direction.

"move your fucking feet, touya," you groan, dragging him forward.

"the fuck do you think i'm doing?" he slurs, accidentally kicking the back of your foot for the third time.

you felt hot against the side of his body at all points of contact. your palm was burning against his waist as were your fingertips wrapped around his wrist.

it's fine. it's fine. it’s fine

how did a couple shots turn into another quarter of that handle of vodka? how were you somehow managing fine?

the first time you gotten drunk at camp was during your last summer. hawks and touya made it a tradition to sneak in a bottle or two since you were fourteen, but it wasn't until you were seventeen when tomura was old enough to be invited to partake and the weight of peer pressure had finally cracked you.

that night, you were met with your creator in the woods behind hawks' cabin at an ungodly hour with a blanket hung over your shoulder and touya holding back a fistfull of your hair.

"everyone's first time is like this, don't be embarrassed." he assures, biting back laughter.

"did i ruin it?" you drunkenly sob over a pool of your own vomit.

“no, you were perfect.”

at least this wasn’t that.

you could’ve at least enjoyed this experience and been a bit tipsy, but the responsibility of dragging touya of all people back to your beds was harrowing enough to sober you up.

"my phone died." he groans.

"yeah, i can tell," you huff, staring at the ground in darkness.

"i'm scared."

"of the dark? you're a twenty three year old grown man, babe," you scoff "i'm sure the woods are more scared of you than you are of it."

"in the dark. in the woods. alone. with you." he hiccups.

"i don't bite."

"wish you did."

you hear the smirk in his voice- the familiar teasing tone that never failed to twist your stomach and make your throat go dry. you don't respond.

the buzzing of your cabin's porch light called out to you like an applause at the finish line and you swore you've never been more excited to be reunited with a rock hard twin sized mattress.

“you’re gonna have to walk up a couple steps, okay?”

you pull him closer to you. how cruel would it be to leave him on the front steps of the porch if he doesn’t cooperate? of course you’d bring him a blanket and pillow. it’d be nice to be woken up by the rising sun wouldn’t it?

“heard.” he mumbles, resting his cheek against the side of your head.

you curse to yourself once your cold hand meets the warmth of skin where his t-shirt had ridden up his waist.

you almost reflexively rip your hand away until your fingers twitch against the sudden divide between soft flesh and unfamiliar rough thick grooves running up his torso.

your eyes dart back and forth between the concentration sewn in his furrowed brows, and the front door just steps away. your fingers freeze in place. touya’s focus remains down at his feet. he doesn’t notice.

you let your fingers press into his skin as you help him keep balance up the steps. your index and middle finger push against thick rubbery skin as your ring and pinky finger sink into soft flesh. you don’t know what to make of it.

once you two practically fall into the front door, you think about giving him a glass of water, and laying him on his back. you could let your hands glide up his torso, bringing the ratty band tee up over his head and onto the ground, and you could look at him. really look at him.

that white hair he used to complain about and slather in black hairdye had grown past his ears. did you stop dyeing you hair because you lost the only person you’d let touch it?

he added a few new piercings to his collection. did you do these yourselves again?

his cerulean eyes still has that gleam to them. i still recognize you.

this is the first time you’ve let yourself think about him all day. every time he crossed your mind since your meeting this morning, you’ve been quick to chased it off with a distraction. maybe you were drunk, because for the first time in years, you’re wondering besides the obvious, what’s changed?

a lot could happen in five years. new people. freak accidents. it’s all inevitable.

maybe it's nothing.

a/n: somehow leaning towards canon adjacent dynamics and snippets eeeeeeep and i also feel like we r finally moving the story along kinda sorta so yaay

tags:

@iluv-ace @bitchyfestivalbouquet @redr0sewrites @babylambdietcoke @bnhabadass @hanmastattoos @1ndee @starsryi @nesrynsblog @twoplayergaymers @suksatoru @ita606 @pookiebear16 @fictionalcharactersownmyheart @in-the-marina-trench @haruhi269 @itgetzweird08 @ilophilia @chimimon @emluvs-sugu @punishblue @whorror-complex @akumakitsune21 @maddie-rose-1 @ixeyi @commonmisery @ggriwm @exselily @kryscent @starrmage @vannyinthestars @burnishingbagels @soobhns @kaybug88 @lantsovheiress @0skullyard0 @albakugo @sleepyk0dyz @blu3-l0v3r @bakugouswh0r3 @kaldurahms-lover @thoughtswithbbg

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simpleparoxysm · 8 hours ago

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#oisuga || seijoh koushi , jealousy , slight iwaoisuga

koushi knows oikawa tooru has a large fanbase. the captain often goes missing before their games, getting barred by overly enthusiastic fangirls before he even gets into the gym. they give him chocolates, gifts, and practically anything they could. koushi doesn’t mind it, not at all.

“suga-san, your face is scaring the first years.”

hajime gently knocks his shoulder against his, effectively bringing koushi back from his thoughts. he glances in the direction of kindaichi. the kid glances back at him nervously before going back to warming up with kunimi. koushi rubs a palm against his face.

“i’m alright, iwa-san.”

and he is, for the most part. it usually doesn't bother him that tooru gets this much attention from adoring fans, but lately it’s been a struggle to contain the ugly green creature within his chest. he doesn't have any shortage of fans either, but it's different when it's tooru.

the captain finally shows up, looking a little too smug for koushi’s taste. he sidles up beside koushi like he hasn't been catering to his adoring fans just minutes ago.

“kou-chan!”

“oikawa-san.”

koushi can feel the team’s eyes on him. tooru blinks.

“oooh, oikawa’s in trouble,” issei whispers a little too loudly to makki, who only nods sagely. hajime sighs and goes back to warming up.

“kou-chan, what did i do?” tooru pouts as he follows him to retrieve a ball. koushi glances at him, spots a little red spot on tooru’s cheek, smudged like there's an effort to rub it off.

koushi flashes him an eerily serene smile. “nothing. don't worry about it.”

the referee whistles and signals that the match’s about to start. koushi’s aware how his mood affects the team. he chooses to focus on the game instead, ignore his feelings for the meantime, shouting encouragements whenever needed and ignoring tooru when he can.

they win in straight sets without acknowledging the tension between their two setters.

koushi moves ahead of the team, skillfully avoiding tooru’s attempts to talk to him. hajime has been trailing behind him and he knows that when hajime’s around, tooru will be following sooner or later.

“you’re avoiding oikawa.”

“good observation, iwa-san,” koushi hums. hajime sighs and whacks the back of his head firmly. “ow!”

“you’re being stupid.”

“/i’m/ being stupid? tooru’s being stupid!” koushi pouts and glares at hajime. the ace raises an eyebrow at him.

“he likes you, shittywara. he may be an asshole, but he likes you more than he likes his fans.”

koushi knows this. but he’s only human, he can’t stop himself from being jealous. especially when it’s obvious some fans are getting a little /too/ close.

he sighs. “i’ll talk to him when we get back.”

they eat a victory dinner before it’s time to go home. koushi lets tooru lace his fingers through his and though he’s still a little bit upset, he doesn’t stop tooru from kissing his cheek.

“what’s got mr. refreshing all pouty today?”

koushi raises an eyebrow at him, but can’t deny the pouting. he turns away instead.

“i saw the lipstick.”

tooru makes a small noise. he tries to mask it with a shaky laugh, but koushi knows what it meant. “i swear i didn’t kiss anyone, kou-chan!”

“i didn’t say you kissed anyone.” koushi’s lips slip into a small smirk when tooru realizes his mistake.

“i really didn’t! one of them asked me to lean down ‘cause they were going to whisper something but they kissed my cheek!”

“so you let them kiss you!” koushi accuses.

“kou-chan, i swear i really didn’t!” tooru whines. koushi has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling. tooru’s cute when he gets whiny. “i’d rather kiss you than kiss anyone!”

“even hajime?”

“kou-chan…”

koushi laughs, leaning close and pressing a kiss against tooru’s cheek. “don’t worry, i believe you. but next time…”

“there will be no next time!” tooru cuts him off, bringing their entwined hands up against his lips. “you’re still coming over, right?”

“mhmm. let me borrow a shirt?”

The next morning, koushi updates his instagram with a picture of him wearing his captain’s jersey. the caption says ‘yahoo~’ like he’s reminding people he exist. and maybe he is.

🌱🌱

Seijoh! Koushi

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unabletonotlovesatoru · 4 hours ago

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⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ teddy’s notes: hey guys!! back to bakugou x loser gf headcanons bc i need loveeeee and fluff and you guys need it too!! also not proofread sorry!!

bakugou, who absolutely adores you being yourself. gushing about a topic that interests you, whining over a dress you like, showing off your stupidly colourful nails that only look good on you, clinging onto him when he acts all annoyed and nonchalant — he thinks to himself “what a silly girl and wtf did she find in me” because you’re just so different from him and he is so different from you. but at the end of the day, katsuki finds that the love he has for you is mutual and that’s a common ground for both of you.

bakugou, who acts like he hates it when you pamper him, but you know better than that. you know that he absolutely loves it when you scratch his head with your nails despite how much he complains about you ruining it; he would never allow you to do that somewhere other than your share home, slapping your hand away with a glare, however, it’s hard to resist once he is comfortable. he’d dodge your hand at first, but you’re insistent, holding his head close as you sneak your hand into his hair and his complaints and curses die down instantly.

bakugou, who doesn’t like it when others see him being soft for you. it’s not about you, really, his personal relationship are important to him and the comments piss him off; dunce face getting all smug and shutting up once he’s told that “he is bitchless”, kirishima trying to praise him for opening up which earns him a couple of threatening explosions. mina is sneakier though, she tries to get information out of you, which is a lost cause because you only smile sheepishly and point behind her shoulder where bakugou is standing, a death glare directed towards pinky. you can only watch as he lunges after her, giggling at the sight of her horror and his rage.

bakugou, whose way of showing affection is a little different from what you’d expect a boyfriend to do. it shows in the way he notices your hair sticking out and his hands automatically fly up to fix it; calloused hands stroking down your hair, tucking it behind your ears or even gathering it all into something more neat so it doesn’t bother you, or him. if there’s a thread sticking out of the seams of your clothing and he notices there’s a micro-explosion going off from his finger where he burns it off and then scowls at your bewildered face. if you ever feel down he will do the small mistake of offering a solution as soon as you get out what’s on your mind, but then, he will understand that what you need is comfort and provide it the best he can because you’re his best girl.

bakugou, who kisses you unexpectedly because you turn into a jelly right in his arms. your smile turns wobbly and you start stuttering like a total idiot, eyes a little foggy and body heating up invitingly, and katsuki is having the time of his life, whilst trying to keep his own emotions in check since he’s just a guy and cute girl turning all putty in his hold is not an easy thing to resist. “earth to loser,” he bites your cheek playfully before kissing it, soothing the momentary pain, “let’s go to my room.” you can only nod dumbly and let him tug you in the direction of his room with his hand clasped tightly around yours.

#— teddy’s writing shop 𐙚🧸ྀི #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou katuski x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou fluff #bnha bakugou #bakugou katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #mha x you #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x you

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torturedtypewritersdept · 2 days ago

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blue eyes + bruises - part one

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

—

Sarah doesn't have lunch often with her brother, but she does today, placing the responsibility of taking care of him on herself, as she always does. Her latest manifestation of this fact is you – her best friend since her college days. He doesn’t know it, but she’s coming to him with a proposition; your sweetness and his intelligence – she knows they’d meld together like a puzzle and that’s precisely why she’s set up a date between the two of you for this evening. She enters the hospital cafeteria slowly, spotting him from across the gigantic space. His shoulders are slumped and she clocks a limp in his step, instantly sure he’s been on his feet for far too long. She smiles softly as they lock eyes and notices his are far more sunken in than she’d like them to be; in fact, they almost resemble the dark black holes of a skull missing its skin and as he makes his way feverishly through the cafeteria line, she wonders if he’s okay.

“Rafe – you look like you haven’t eaten in six days.”

She scolded as the older Cameron made his way to the table and sat his tray down across from her.

“I eat.”

He grunted in response, rolling his blue orbs into the back of his head at her incessant need to pick him apart in the form of worry. This was why he didn’t return to North Carolina after college, after all. Though he couldn’t in part blame it all on his baby sister, the discontent of his father and the enthralling energy of the city had wooed him and his bride.

“Yeah, okay, hot shot.”

She replied, laughing, throwing a french fry in his direction.

“You’re gonna be mad but I've promised your hand to someone for the evening.”

She said, giggling.

“Dammit, Sarah!”

He replied, the huff that escaped like that of an agitated dog.

“Come on, big brother! Please – she’s my sweet friend from college and she’s nice and shy and she –”

“I don’t care. I’m not going.”

Rafe interjected aggressively.

“Well, too fucking bad. I already told her you agreed and I’d really hate it if you stood her up. It was like pulling teeth to get her to agree to even give you a chance.”

“Too. Fucking. Bad.”

He gritted out.

“No – don’t play with me, I know you. Rafe Cameron is a lot of things, but he isn’t cruel and it took a lot of convincing for her to come out anyways, so please.”

Squinting her eyes in annoyance and shaking her head, she waged her war with him blatantly, tired of his bullshit only five minutes into the conversation in only a way that he could ignite.

“Tell that to Molly. She thinks I am.”

He whispered.

“No she didn’t – doesn’t.”

She caught herself, two years later still not used to talking about her sister-in-law in past tense.

“Just go – please. Get out of this hospital and those fucking ugly scrubs.”

She pleaded, her soft blue eyes always something he had to give into.

“Fine, Sarah, I’ll fucking go.”

He growled, jerking his plate closer to him as he began munching on the chicken tenders that sat in front of him.

—

Rafe was dreading this date, he didn’t know you or what you were even like and let’s be honest, he hasn’t dated in literal years, hasn’t even given it a thought. After Molly departed from him, he ate, slept, and breathed life in the hospital, too afraid to be in his home alone – too afraid the silence and lack of love would swallow him home; death by a thousand cuts. He felt like that was probably normal for the situation he had found himself in; divorce in the form of death. He stared at himself in the mirror of the locker room, being sure he was ready as his hand tousled through his unruly hair.

“Sarah’s right – I do look like shit.”

He muttered, suddenly wondering what this unknown woman would think of him.

He made his way down the linoleum lined hallway and out of the hospital door a few moments later, the familiar red shine of ambulance lights just out of his peripheral and the screech of the alarm coming from the rig coming to a stop. He watched carefully as they pulled a young woman from the back, her limbs splinted and blood covering her. He wasn't sure what it was; fate or an uneasy stomach, these days he hardly had the capacity to tell the difference. But, whatever the force behind it, she pulled him toward her and as he got close, the date he had planned for suddenly slipped his mind.

—

Everything hurt – that was the first thing your brain registered as you pulled your eyes open, the sound of a siren and the beat of your heart blaring simultaneously in your ears. The siren was close, you could tell, but you seemed so distant from it at the same time, so far away and fleeting. You closed your eyes, the darkness overcoming you. It only felt like they had been closed for five seconds, but you were sure it had been longer as you heard the sound of a man’s voice and felt wind around you, signaling your brain that you were moving by the sound of rickety wheels beneath you. The man sounded handsome and kind, his voice deep as it bellowed in the air around you.

“What do we got?”

He asked with urgency, looking pointedly at the paramedics, a team of doctors surrounding him.

“25 year old female, car accident. She went through the windshield – crush injuries, concussion, internal bleeding – she’s barely hanging on.”

He gingerly nodded at the words of the paramedic and brought a pen light from his pocket, pulling your eyelids back and shining it into them. A groan escaped your lips at the intrusion.

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

His voice penetrated your ears and for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain pulled your eyes open, fighting to get to whoever the voice belonged. As you took in the blue eyes that stood over you, you registered who the voice belonged to – sounds and words you could barely register coming from his mouth again.

“I’m Dr. Rafe Cameron, I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”

He spoke, sliding his hand in yours, giving you a kind smile.

“Can you squeeze my hand, for me?”

Your senses weren’t intact, numbness infiltrated your being but you could feel his calloused hand as it slipped into yours and with all the energy that remained in your body, you squeezed his hand weakly. He smiled – bright and breathtakingly beautiful, teeth so perfectly in line that you were sure he had orthodontic work at some point. You noticed the crinkles by his eyes as his lips parted and his lips turned up. You suddenly regretted not shaving your legs this morning, taking in his handsomely sculpted jaw as he turned his head sideways, stretching his hands across you. You were unsure what was happening until you felt him unhooking the straps that you now realized were draped across your body, securing you to the bed you laid on.

“Move her on three – one, two, three.”

He chanted out, voice bellowing as his words controlled the move of every person in the room. You weren’t sure what kind of doctor Rafe was, but you knew he was important, that he was a leader, as every nurse and bystander operated under his sole instruction. You closed your eyes as the hands of the people around you lifted you from one bed to another, the jostling of your body breaking through the heavy cloud of numbness and what started as a whimper but quickly turned into a full-fledged bloody murder scream escaped your lips.

“Easy, sweetheart. I know it hurts.”

His hands made their way to your hair, pushing the blood-stained strands away from your forehead. His touch was gentle and calming, you had never been touched by a doctor like this, you thought to yourself.

“R-Rafe?”

You croaked out, eyes pleading.

“Hmm?”

He questioned with all his attention on you. His blue eyes raked over your form, studying your face, taking in the distress and the pain that laced it.

“Gonna die?”

You questioned, mumbling, incoherently and before he could even respond your eyes rolled into the back of your head, your back arching off the bed as you your body shook into a fit of convulsions.

“She’s crashing!”

One of the nurses yelled out.

“We’ve got to get her to the OR now, get me a neuro consult and page Dr. Richardson, I have no doubt in my mind she’s hemorrhaging.”

As soon as he muttered out the words, Rafe was straddling you on the gurney, legs on either side of your hips as his palms laid flat against your chest, fingers interlocking with each other as he violently, urgently pressed up and down in an attempt to restart your heart.

“Not today, sweet girl. Not today.”

He whispered, continuing chest compressions as the nurses and doctors wheeled the gurney the two of you were on into the operating room.

—

masterlist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron prompt #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafecore #doctor!rafe #doctor!rafe cameron #doctor!rafe x reader #blue eyes + bruises

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scribblesofagoonerr · 4 hours ago

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𝑀𝑜𝓃𝓀𝑒𝓎 Our girl: Growing Up | 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓈 𝒞𝑜𝓂𝑒

summary: all good things come to an end when it's decided that custody will go to monkey's dad

thank you to @lvnleah and @alotofpockets for the help with this one

our girl: growing up masterlist

The moment the social worker told Leah that you would be moving in with your dad, it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under her feet. She’d been sitting in her mum’s kitchen, hands gripping the table's edge as though that might stop her world from tilting.

“But her grandma wanted her to be with me,” Leah said, her voice tight, almost breaking, “She told me before she passed. She wanted me to be the one to take care of her.”

The social worker gave Leah a measured look, “Leah, you’re 18. Legally, you’re an adult, but you’re still also very young. Social services believe that her father can provide a more stable environment. He has a steady job, a home, and–”

“He’s been absent for most of his life. Jean told me he was dangerous! How can you let her go back to a man like that?” Leah snapped, her frustration boiling over.

Amanda placed a calming hand on Leah’s arm, “Bubba, you need to calm down…”

“No, mum. They don’t get it,” Leah shook Amanda’s hand off, “You can’t just drop her off with someone like that, you don’t understand what he’s like. He’s got you completely fooled. How is it possible to allow that? I’ve been there for her every day since her grandma got ill. I’m the one who knows her routine, her favourite bedtime stories, and how she likes the crusts cut off her sandwiches otherwise she won’t eat them. He doesn’t even know her favourite colour!”

“Leah,” Amanda said softly, but Leah still wouldn’t hear it.

“No, this isn’t fair! None of this is fair! They’re not listening. You’re not listening!” Leah’s frustration was directed at the social worker, “I’ll fight for her. I’ll go to court. I’ll… I’ll do whatever it takes for her to be mine!”

The social worker sighed a hint of pity in her eyes, “I understand that this is hard, Leah, but I’m sorry, the decision has been made,” She paused, “Her father has been assessed, and we believe it’s in her best interest to live with him. He’s her biological parent.”

“Her best interest? You don’t know what that even means,” Leah’s fists clenched on the table, “What about what that little girl wants? She’s only nine, but she still deserves to have a voice. She doesn’t want to go with him. She… She doesn’t even know him! Doesn’t that count for something?”

“At her age, her wishes are considered but not decisive,” The social worker explained to Leah, “I’m sorry, Leah. It’s out of your hands. You have until the end of the month, and then she will be moving to her father’s house.”

“Le!” You sprinted across the playground, your plaits swinging behind you, and you threw yourself into her arms.

“Oo, there’s my little Monkey!” Leah’s face lit up as she wrapped you in a warm embrace, lifting your backpack off your shoulders, “Did you have a good day at school today?” She asked, her voice full of affection.

Leah never missed a chance to pick you up from school. It had become one of her favourite parts of the day, a small ritual that always made her smile.

You nodded enthusiastically, your plaits bouncing with movement, “Uh-huh! So fun! And I made a new friend. She likes football too!” You couldn’t contain your excitement, the words tumbling out faster than you could keep up.

“Wow, really?” Leah feigned shock, her eyes sparkling, “That’s great!”

Grinning from ear to ear, you kept walking beside her, your hand firmly clutching hers as you headed toward the car, “I told her I play for the academy and that I know players from the Arsenal team!” You gushed, “She definitely wanted to be my friend after that!”

“Oh, I bet she did,” Leah chuckled, unlocking the car door with a click.

You slid into the car, fastening your seatbelt with a tug, “When you have your game this weekend, can she come watch too? I already told her she could!” You asked eagerly.

Leah’s smile wavered for a moment as her mind drifted to a darker place, but she quickly masked it, her voice soft as she hummed in agreement, “Maybe, we’ll have to see…”

The drive home was filled with your chatter as you excitedly told Leah more about your new friend, but Leah’s thoughts were far from the conversation. She smiled, nodded, and kept the atmosphere light, but inside, the weight of what was coming hung heavy on her heart.

The clock was ticking, and soon, you would be taken from her life.

Despite it all, Leah held onto the promise that she made to make every moment count.

“Is Jordy coming around today? I want to see her!” You asked, looking at Leah with hopeful eyes.

“Yeah, she’s coming round later,” Leah answered, her voice betraying just a hint of exhaustion.

“Do you think she’ll build Lego with me?” You asked, bouncing slightly in your seat, your excitement undiminished.

“You’ll have to ask her, but I have a sneaky feeling she’ll love that,” Leah replied, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

Even as you spoke with innocent joy, Leah’s heart ached. It was becoming harder to pretend everything was okay, harder to act as though there wasn’t an enormous weight bearing down on her – Knowing that, in just a short time, you would be gone, pulled away from her home and into a life she couldn’t bear for you.

“Remember, shoes off before you go racing through the house…” Leah’s words were left ignored as she unlocked the front door, in favour of you darting straight past her and grabbing the next Lego set you were itching to dive into.

“Ah, ah, not a chance, Monkey,” Leah called after you, her tone playful but firm, “No Lego until you’ve done your homework. You know the rules.”

“But homework is so boring, Le,” You complained, holding the Lego box like it was the most exciting thing in the world.

“It might be boring but it still needs to be done,” Leah smiled, unbothered, “You know this…”

“Le…” You whined, dragging out the sound like it was the most difficult thing in the world.

“The sooner you get it done, the sooner you can build your Lego,” Leah said, her voice reassuring.

“But it’s so boring though,” You muttered.

Leah raised an eyebrow, trying to hide a smile, “Why don’t you grab it out of your bag and we can take a look at it together?”

“It’s Maths,” You sighed, already dreading it.

“Ah, well, that just happens to be my favourite subject,” Leah replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Really?” You scrunched your face up in disbelief, “You are weird, Le!”

“Excuse me, little miss, I’ll have you know that Maths can be fun sometimes,” Leah teased, ruffling your hair.

“Nuh-uh. Maths is sooo boring,” You countered, sticking out your tongue, “And you’re weird for liking it!”

Leah laughed, shaking her head in amusement, but underneath, a wave of sadness washed over her. These moments – simple, ordinary, and filled with love – were becoming increasingly rare. She needed to cherish them.

“Tell you what,” Leah said, her voice softening, “We’ll run through your homework together, and then… my parents are out tonight, so it’ll just be me, you, J and Jord when she comes round for dinner. What do you say to pizza?”

“Cheese pizza?” You asked eagerly, already imagining the cheesy delight.

“Of course, it wouldn’t be anything else. So, why don’t you go grab your bag, and we’ll smash through this homework? And then we’ll have more time to build Lego, right?” Leah suggested, her words full of the kind of energy she desperately wanted to feel.

Leah was determined to fight for you over the coming weeks. She rallied her family, pleaded with her mum and dad to back her, and even roped in Jordan to help. Every connection she had was used to its full potential.

But the system was relentless, and every effort she made was met with the same cold response.

“You’re only 18. You’re too young. You don’t have the resources or experience to take on a child full-time.”

Thankfully Jean had left behind a written statement, ensuring that you would stay with Leah and her family until a formal decision was made.

The moments you spent with Leah and her family were some of the hardest, yet most meaningful moments of her life. You had both suffered through so much loss, and Leah poured every ounce of her heart into giving you the safety, comfort, and love you deserved.

Amanda and David both adored having you around. Amanda had become a maternal figure in your life, cooking your favourite meals and helping with your schoolwork. You loved the jokes David would tell you which would make you giggle controllably. Jacob, just a few years older than you, would happily sit and build Lego with you for hours. Jordan often came over, spending time with you, Leah and Jordan taking to you to the park or kicking a football in the garden.

Leah made sure you knew you weren’t ever alone. Together, you watched movies, played games, and built Lego creations that took days to complete, filled with laughter every step of the way.

Leah and Jordan had even been planning a trip to the zoo for your tenth birthday. They had saved up for weeks, wanting to make it special.

But then everything changed. Despite Leah’s best efforts, the court ruled in her dad’s favour, and you were sent to live with him just days before your birthday. The zoo tickets sat untouched on Leah’s bedside table, a painful reminder of what could have been.

The week leading up to the day you were set to move in with your dad had been filled with chaos, confusion and raw, vulnerable emotions.

It was clear that you were struggling with the impending change, and Leah could see it in your behaviour. You were no longer the calm, sweet little girl she knew but the complete opposite, a whirlwind of tantrums, resistance and anger.

At nine years old, you knew that something was happening. Something big and frightening, and you couldn't express the fear you felt any other way than lashing out.

Leah had tried to talk to you, tried to comfort you, but nothing seemed to work. Each day, you grew more defiant, more unwilling to cooperate, and more upset.

Here you were, sitting at the breakfast table, refusing to eat it with your arms crossed and glaring at the plate of toast in front of you, “I don’t want it!”

“Come on, Monkey,” Leah coaxed gently, “It’s your favourite. I made sure to cut the crusts off, just how you like it. Please try a bite.”

“No!” You shouted, pushing the plate off the table. The crash of the plate hitting the floor echoed through the kitchen, and everyone froze.

Leah stared at the mess, her frustration bubbling to the surface, “Monkey,” She said, her tone sharp, “That was unnecessary.”

You had never acted like this, not even on your worst days.

You slid off the chair and crossed your arms, tears forming in your eyes, "I don't want it. I don't! I'm not eating it. I'm not!"

“Le,” Amanda stepped in, her voice calm and soothing, “She’s scared. This isn’t about the toast.”

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly, “Alright,” She said, crouching to clear up the mess, “No breakfast then. Let’s go upstairs and get ready for school.”

“I don’t want to go to school!” You yelled, stomping your foot.

“You have to go, Monkey. You can’t stay here alone,” Leah replied, her patience wearing thin.

You shook your head in defiance, “No! I’m not going!” You continued to shout in protest.

Leah’s jaw tightened, and she stood, towering over you, “Enough. Upstairs. Now.”

The tantrum that followed was one of the worst Leah had ever faced. You kicked and screamed all the way upstairs, making Leah's job of getting you ready nearly impossible. By the time she was dressed and out of the door, you were ten minutes late to school, leaving Leah drained and dreading the rest of the day.

When you got home from school, your mood hadn’t improved at all.

“Monkey?” Amanda called gently, her tone light and inviting, “Do you want to help me set the table for dinner? I could do with my little helper.”

Normally, you’d love to help with this and be super helpful, but this time round, you completely ignored her in favour of focusing on your Lego.

“Monkey?” Amanda tried again, this time adding a playful note, hoping to coax you.

“WHAT?!” You snapped, your voice sharp and defensive.

Amanda blinked, taken aback by your tone, “Oh… I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart.”

Leah, who was busy with her own coursework, immediately looked up from her laptop, her brow furrowing, “Hey, excuse me, little madam. That’s not how we talk to people. I’d like you to apologise, please.”

You crossed your arms tightly, refusing to meet Leah’s eyes, “No, I don’t want to apologise to ‘Manda,” You muttered.

“Monkey, I understand you’re upset, but being upset doesn’t give you a free pass to be rude. Apologise now. Please,” Leah stood, her voice calm but firmer now.

“I don’t want to apologise, and I don’t want to set the stupid table!” You shouted, your frustration bubbling over as you slammed a Lego piece onto the table.

Leah crouched down beside you, meeting your eyes with a steady gaze, “I know things feel really hard right now. And I know you have some big feelings inside, but throwing them at people like this isn’t fair. We’ve talked about finding ways to tell us what’s wrong, haven’t we?”

“I DON’T CARE!” You yelled, your hands gripping a Lego block tightly before you hurled it in Leah’s direction.

The block hit Leah’s arm with a soft thud. Her eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, the room fell silent.

“Monkey,” Leah said after a deep breath, standing up slowly. Her voice had turned firmer now, though it remained steady, “We don’t throw things. That’s not okay,” She told you, “If you're not going to be nice then no more Lego tonight." She bent down to pick up the scattered blocks and placed them back in the box out of your reach.

"HEY. NO. GIVE IT BACK!" You screamed, launching yourself onto the floor, kicking your legs as tears streamed down your face.

Jordan walked into the room as your wail reached its loudest pitch, “Hey– Whoa. What’s going on in here?” She asked, her eyes flicking from you to Leah.

“Jordy! Le’s being mean!” You sobbed, pointing an accusing finger at Leah, “She took my Lego! Tell her to give it back– NOW!”

Jordan crouched down beside you, keeping her expression calm but concerned, “Hey, little one. That’s not how we ask for things, is it?” She said gently, brushing a hand over your hair, “If Le took the Lego away, I’m sure she had a reason. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“No! She’s just super mean!” You wailed, your voice cracking as you buried your face in your hands.

“She threw a Lego brick at Leah,” Jacob piped up from the other side of the room, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Oh,” Jordan said, her brows lifting as she glanced at Leah, who gave a tired nod, “Well, you know that throwing things isn’t very nice, is it? I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if someone threw something at you, would you?”

“She deserved it!” You blurted, your voice muffled by your hands, “She’s being mean!”

“Hmm,” Jordan said thoughtfully, crouching lower to meet your tearful gaze, “It sounds like you’re feeling really upset right now, but throwing things or shouting doesn’t help anyone understand what’s wrong. Do you want to take some deep breaths and try telling us what’s going on?”

You shook your head stubbornly, curling up tighter on the floor.

Jordan sighed softly and looked up at Leah, who gave her a weary but understanding look, “Alright, little one,” She said, “When you’re ready to talk, we’re here. But for now, let’s take a break, okay?”

Your tantrum, however, carried well into bedtime where your defiance reached new heights.

“Alright, Monkey,” Leah said firmly as she stood by the sofa where you were curled up against Jordan, “It’s time for bed.”

“No! I’m not tired!” You argued, though your drooping eyes betrayed you, “I’m not going to bed! I’m staying up!”

“I don’t think so. It’s getting late, and that means it’s bedtime,” Leah replied, keeping her tone steady but firm.

“I don’t want to!” You yelled, your arms crossing tightly over your chest, “No!”

"Yes," Leah insisted.

You continued to stubbornly glare at Leah, "No!"

Leah took a deep breath, crouching to your level, "I'm not arguing with you about this, Monkey. Let's go –Upstairs to bed, please."

You kicked your legs out defiantly, "No!"

Jordan rubbed your back, trying a different approach, "Hey, come on. How about you go get changed into your pyjamas, and I can read you a bedtime story? We can pick your favourite one.”

"Nooo!” You wailed, “I don't want to go to bed!"

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling slowly, "This is not up for decision, Monkey. It's bedtime, and that's final."

But instead of complying, you leaned forward, and in a burst of frustration, bit Leah’s arm.

“Ow, Monkey!” Leah gasped, pulling her arm back in shock, “No, we do not bite. That was very naughty. Why would you do that?”

Jordan winced as she watched you instantly cower in fear at Leah’s words. That is something that you have never done before, “Le, easy. I think she’s just scared with everything going on.”

“That still doesn’t make it acceptable for her to bite, Jord,” Leah retorted, “Monkey, I know you’re upset but we don’t bite. That is not okay to do.”

You froze, realising what you’d done, but the defiance in your eyes didn’t waver, “You’re being mean!” You shouted, even though guilt was beginning to creep in.

“Little one, biting hurts people,” Jordan reminded you, her expression softened but her voice remained calm, “That’s not how we show our feelings, even when we’re upset, it is?”

You shook your head stubbornly, tears welling in her eyes.

“I know things feel hard right now, Monkey,” Leah knelt beside you, her tone softer but still firm, “And I know you’re upset. But hurting people is never okay, no matter how big your feelings are. Do you want to try again and use your words instead?”

Tears began to spill down your cheeks as the weight of your emotions overwhelm you, “I… I don’t want to go, Le,” You finally admitted, your voice cracking as you buried your face in your hands, “I want to stay here with you, and Jordy, and… and ‘Manda, and J, and David.”

“Oh, Monkey,” Leah’s expression softened instantly, scooping you up into her arms and holding you close, “I know you want that, and I would love nothing more than for it to be possible, my girl, but it's… it’s complicated.”

“Then why can’t I?” You cried, your voice trembling with desperation, “Why does it have to be complicated? Why can’t I just stay here, Le?”

Leah sighed, her heart breaking at the rawness of your plea, “Well… Some people decided that it would be best for you to go and live with your biological dad, remember?”

“But I don’t want that!” You sobbed, clutching her tightly, “I want to stay here. I want to stay with you!”

“I know, my girl,” Leah whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I know you don’t. And if it were my choice, I wouldn’t let you go. Not for a second.”

“I don’t like it,” You murmured, your voice barely audible as you hid your head in Leah’s chest.

Leah rocked you gently, letting you cry into her jumper while her own eyes glistened with unshed tears, “Sometimes… Sometimes grown-ups make decisions that seem really unfair, don’t they?” She continued softly, “And I wish I could change this for you. I really do. But unfortunately, it’s just… it’s just not possible this time round.”

The morning of the move, the weight of the day pressed down on both of you. You clung to Leah as though she were the only thing anchoring you in the world that suddenly felt too big, too scary.

“Don’t make me go, Le,” You sobbed, your small hands gripping at her hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you from floating away.

Leah’s heart cracked in two. She could feel your pain, your fear, and the helplessness that filled every inch of her. She wanted to shield you, protect you from the uncertainty that lay ahead, but she knew it wasn’t that simple.

Your social worker that had been assigned to you was here to pick you up. She was a stern woman with a clipboard tucked under her arm, standing there impatiently by the door, glancing at her watch every few seconds, “We need to get going, Leah. She’s not going to do well if we keep dragging this out.”

But none of that mattered to you. You were determined you weren’t going anywhere, clinging tighter to Leah, “Nooo! Don’t make me go!”

Leah felt her patience fraying, “I know exactly how my girl is feeling, okay?” She snapped, her voice sharp and raw, “You don’t need to tell me how to handle this.”

The social worker blinked, taken aback by Leah’s tone but unfazed, “It’s just… Well, this is difficult enough without making it worse.”

“I’m aware,” Leah growled, her grip tightening on your shoulder as she tried to stay calm, “But she’s my priority right now.”

You buried your face into Leah’s chest, your sobs shaking her to the core, “I don’t want to go, Le. Please, I don’t want to go!”

“I know, I’m sorry, Monkey,” Leah whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of her own emotions, “I’m so sorry. It’s just… It’s not up to me anymore. It’s… It’s out of my hands, my girl.”

You shook your head, tears soaking up her hoodie, “But I… I don’t want to go. Please don’t make me go.”

Leah tilted her head back, trying to blink away the tears burning her eyes, but they wouldn’t stop. She had to be strong for you, even if she didn’t feel strong at all, “I know, Monkey. I know,” She said softly, brushing your hair out of your face, “Remember how we talked about doing things we don’t want to do?”

“Uh uh,” You sniffed, nodding hesitantly, “Like grandma’s funeral? When I was scared?”

“Yeah, just like that,” Leah replied, her voice gentle but firm. She ran a hand through your hair, her fingers catching on the tangled strands - a reminder of how you’d refused to let her brush it this morning, “Well… This is one of those times, too. It’s hard, and it’s scary, but… it’s something we have to do.”

The social worker cleared her throat, stepping closer, trying to force the moment along, “Leah, we really can’t delay this any longer. It’s time.”

Leah spun around, her face contorting with frustration, tears still hanging heavy in her eyes, “Do you think I don’t know that?!” Her voice cracked under the weight of everything, the words coming out sharper than intended, “I don’t need you rushing me. This is my kid. My kid, okay? Flesh and blood don’t mean anything. And if you think you’re going to make this easier by standing there like you’re some clock-watcher, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

The social worker held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, “I’m just trying to help you both.”

“By hurrying me up?” Leah’s jaw tightened, “By forcing us into this goodbye before we’re ready? That’s not helping. So no, I’m not ‘just’ going to let you make this harder. You’re going to have to wait.”

You looked up at Leah, eyes red and tear-streaked, “I want to stay with you, Le. Please… Please don’t make me go!”

Leah knelt down, bringing your face to hers. She wiped away your tears with the pads of her thumbs, “I know, Monkey. I know… But we talked about this, remember? You have to be brave.”

“I… I don’t want to be brave,” You continued to sob, shaking your head as tears continued to spill down your cheeks, “I don’t want to, I want to stay here. I want to… I want to stay with you. Don’t make me go, Le!”

“Shh, I know, my girl, I know,” Leah cupped your face and pulled you closer to her, “You’re going to be okay, Monkey. You are… It’s going to be fine. You are going to be fine.”

The social worker shifted uneasily, glancing at the door, “Leah, I really think we need to–”

“No. Not yet,” Leah snapped, her patience completely gone, turning back to you, her arms wrapping around you tighter as if to keep the world at bay for just a little while longer, “You’re gone to be fine, you’re going to be okay, my girl. I love you so much.”

You sniffled against her shoulder, still reluctant to let go. The social worker took a step back, choosing silence instead of pushing further.

“I know it all seems big and scary right now that things are changing, but I need you to be brave, yeah?” Leah squeezed you a bit tighter, savouring the moment before she looked up at the social worker from where she knelt beside you, “I know it’s time but do you think I could just have a minute alone? Please.”

The social worker hesitated but nodded, stepping back into the hallway, and leaving Leah and you alone.

“I’m never going to stop fighting for you, Monkey,” Leah leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper, “I’m never going to stop, okay? I love you, my girl.”

“I love you too, Le,” You whispered back.

Leah pulled you into one last tight hug, wishing for time to stop, wishing she could keep you forever. But the reality was unavoidable.

“Be brave my girl,” Leah murmured with a final, heart-wrenching kiss on your forehead, she stood up, wiping away the last of her tears.

“I… I should’ve fought harder,” Leah muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, the exhaustion in her words heavy with self-doubt.

Leah sat on her mum’s sofa, her phone lying untouched in her lap. Her fingers gripped the cushion, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the black screen. Her mind replayed the last few hours – the goodbye, the sobs, the quiet ache of watching you leave – and the words she’d been trying to ignore crept up again, gnawing at her insides.

“Le, you did everything that you could,” Jordan said softly, sitting beside her on the sofa. She’d come round that night, knowing how difficult this was for Leah. She placed a hand on Leah’s knee, her touch grounding, “You couldn’t have done more.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Leah whispered, shaking her head, “She begged me, Jord. She begged me to not let her go, and I… I couldn’t stop it,” Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, trying to keep the tears at bay, “What kind of a person am I if I can’t even protect her?”

Jordan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close, “You’re the kind of person who loves her enough to keep fighting, even when it feels impossible. That’s who you are, Le.”

Leah leaned into Jordan’s embrace, her chest tightening with the effort of holding back her emotions.

Before she could respond, the sound of hurried footsteps on the stairs caught both of their attention. Moments later, Jacob appeared, clutching a small, worn brown and white monkey.

“Mum?” Jacob’s expression was hesitant and unsure, glancing towards Amanda, “I found this on the stairs…” He held it out, the monkey’s arms ragged from years of being chewed on.

Leah stared at the stuffed monkey, her breath catching in her throat, “That’s… That’s Monkeys,” She whispered, her voice breaking, “If she doesn’t have that then…” Her hands trembled as she reached out and took the stuffed monkey, clutching it tightly to her chest.

“She’s not going to be able to sleep without it,” Jacob said quietly, his tone filled with the kind of innocent wisdom that only children possess.

Leah couldn’t hold back anymore. A sob escaped her lips as she buried her face in the monkey’s soft fur, the familiar scent hitting her like a wave. All the emotions she’d been holding in – the guilt, the heartbreak, the helplessness – poured out in heavy, gut-wrenching sobs.

Jordan tightened her hold around Leah, whispering soothing words into her ear as Amanda came over, sitting on Leah’s other side, “She’s going to be okay, Bubba,” She said firmly, though her own eyes were glassy, “You’ve done everything you can, and she knows you love her.”

Leah shook her head, tears streaming down her face, “It’s not enough,” She choked out, “She needs me. I… I should’ve fought harder.”

“You fought as hard as you could,” Jordan reassured her, “And you’re not done fighting, Le. You’re not giving up on her.”

Leah’s jaw clenched, tears brimming in her eyes, “I’ll never give up on our girl. Never.”

Amanda reached over and squeezed her hand, “And that’s why, in the end, you’re going to be the one she turns to.”

#woso x reader #scribblesofagoonerr #monkey #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #leah williamson x reader #our girl fic #chaos fc reader

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lexirosewrites · 2 days ago

Note

Hello hello! I have an angsty slick Sunday submission for you today 👀

So I learned today via Instagram (because we all know what the American education system is like) that a pregnancy depends largely on the male partner’s health before the pregnancy.

Now… we all know Eddie’s diet consists largely of Spaghetti-o’s, Yoo-hoos, beer, and the like, to say nothing of the weed and the physical exercise he most likely does not do.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Alpha!Eddie meets the love of his life in omega!Steve, they bond, they go into heat/rut, and Steve gets pregnant. They’re thrilled.

Steve’s doing all the right things, he’s on all the right medicines and supplements, he’s (lightly) exercising, he’s hydrating… all the things.

No one knows why he loses the baby.

(Please hear me out- even if it was widely known in the 80s that the father’s health had an impact, Steve would never blame Eddie.)

No one knows why, but it happens, is the thing, and it hits Steve hard. He drops into depression, is nearly catatonic in his grief.

Eddie’s there for him throughout all of it. Of course he is. That’s his mate, he loves him, even through this. Of course he does. And Steve usually bounces back so easily… I mean, take a look at Starcourt, at the Upside Down. He wasn’t just hurt physically. In the case of Starcourt, he was literally tortured, and he pulled through just fine!

So of course he’ll pull through this.

And… he does. He pulls through. He’s not even just going through the motions any more; he’s genuinely enjoying life, Eddie can tell.

Still… it doesn’t stop the twinge of sadness he feels through the bond when Steve catches sight of a pup with their parents. He brings it up eventually, but Steve quickly shuts him down. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

So Eddie thinks, okay, he won’t talk, then maybe some direct action will work. So he tries.

Steve refuses to do anything unless Eddie’s got a condom on. Spirals halfway into an anxiety attack when Eddie doesn’t immediately understand.

They never do end up with those six little nuggets.

Steve never does lose that twinge of sadness when he sees a pup out with their parents.

He knows he can never have that.

convinced you guys hate me and want me to be sad all the time🥲

#slick sunday #steddie #steddie omegaverse #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #steve x eddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #my asks #mpreg #cw mpreg #tw mpreg #cw infertility #tw infertility #infertility #miscarriage #tw miscarriage #cw miscarriage

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lvnleah · 16 hours ago

Text

very first ‘sleepover.’

a cute little long one of Steph and Roo having a sleepover <33

“Are you sure she’ll be alright?” Viv asked Beth as they gathered their bags by the front door.

Tonight you were having a ‘sleepover’ with Steph while Beth and Viv went away to London for the night. It wasn’t really a sleepover as you weren't going anywhere but you decided that it was.

You would’ve gone to Steph’s house like a typical sleepover but Viv and Beth decided it’d be best if Steph came to their flat instead. It was the first time you’d be sleeping away from Viv and Beth together. You’d slept away from Beth while with Viv and vice versa but never away from the couple at the same time.

Beth sighed, “Viv, she’ll be fine. She loves Steph, but it’s only for a night. I mean look at her, she’s loving it already.” She smiled, nodding in the direction of the living room where you were currently jumping up and down on the sofa while Steph stood in front of you.

You were clearly in your element, with Calvin jumping around your feet while Myle wagged her tail at the fun.

Viv watched, her expression softening as she saw you grinning, your face full of the pure joy only a five-year-old could have when a sleepover was involved.

“I guess so,” Viv muttered, though there was a slight tremor in her voice. She pulled her bag over her shoulder, still unsure. “It’s just… we’ve never really left her overnight before without one of us. I keep thinking about it, what if something happens?”

Beth stepped closer, “Viv, you’re an incredible mum, but sometimes we all need a break. Rory will be fine with Steph. Trust me, she’ll be spoiled with all the attention tonight.”

Viv nodded, though she still seemed a little uneasy. “I know. I just hate that we can’t be here if she needs us.”

Beth smiled, brushing a lock of hair from Viv’s forehead. “That’s the thing though, love. She doesn’t need us right now. She’s with Steph, she’s safe, and she’s having fun. We’ll be back tomorrow morning before you know it.”

Viv finally exhaled, giving Beth a small smile. “I guess you’re right.”

Beth smiled warmly, giving Viv’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “She’ll be fine. And we will be too. Now, go say your goodbyes.”

Viv lingered for another moment before turning back toward the living room, but her steps were slower, more reluctant. You were still jumping on the sofa, grinning from ear to ear.

“Roo, we’re going now,” Viv said as she crouched down to your level, “Be good for Steph yeah? Don’t stay up too late and if you need me or Mummy as Steph go call us.”

You nodded eagerly, your excitement barely contained. “Okay, Mamma! I’ll be fine. I’ve got Steffy, Calvin, and Myle!”

Viv couldn’t help but smile at that, ruffling your hair gently. “Okay. Have fun, little one.”

Beth stepped up beside her, “We’ll be back in the morning. Don’t forget about us, okay?”

You shook your head. “I won’t! I’ll miss you! But… I’m having a sleepover!”

Viv smiled softly at you, “I know you’re excited, but remember, if you feel anything strange or get scared, you can always call us, alright?” She gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly before standing back and letting Beth give you a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

Beth nodded, ruffling your hair one last time. “And we’ll bring you back some surprises tomorrow. Just try not to get too carried away, okay?”

You smiled up at them. “I won’t! I’m the boss of this sleepover now!” you declared proudly, and both Beth and Viv laughed softly, their worries starting to fade just a little bit.

“Call us if you need anything,” Viv told Steph, “and don’t let her stay up too late please, otherwise she’ll turn grumpy.”

Steph waved her off, “Please she’ll be fine with me! Go, go and have fun!”

Beth smiled and held out her hand to Viv, offering her a gentle squeeze before guiding her toward the door. “Let’s go, love. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Viv took one last look back at you, already bouncing on the couch again, urging Calvin to jump higher, and Myle wagging her tail as if she was excited too. “Okay, we’ll be back before bedtime, I promise. Be good, sweetie.”

“Bye Mamma! Bye, Mummy!” you cheered, your arms already wide for the next round of jumping and playing.

Steph smiled, “Well, looks like we’re in charge now, huh?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes wide with excitement. “Yes! It’s gonna be the best sleepover ever!”

Steph chuckled and sat down beside you on the sofa, glancing over at Myle, who had now stretched out comfortably at her feet. “You’re the boss, Roo. What’s first on the agenda huh?”

“Umm…can we take Myle and Calvin on a walk to the park?!” You asked, jumping up off of the sofa, “Then umm…bake cookies! And watch a movie…we should watch Rapunzel!”

Steph smiled, nodding at your list of demands. “Alright, Roo. A walk to the park it is, then cookies and Rapunzel—sounds like the perfect plan. Let’s get the doggy’s ready!”

You bounced in place, your energy practically spilling out of you as you scrambled toward the door. “Come on, come on! Let’s go!”

Steph followed at a slower pace, grabbing the leashes for Myle and Calvin. “Alright, alright, slow down there, Roo. I don’t think the dogs can keep up with you at that pace.”

You giggled, holding out your arms to Myle, who padded over, tail wagging in excitement. “Myle and Calvin are like super fast!”

You slipped your shoes and coat on while Steph clipped the leashes onto the dogs and opened the door, allowing you to rush outside with a burst of energy, both dogs pulling excitedly at their leashes to follow you.

The walk to the park was full of you racing ahead, with Calvin bounding happily in front, Myle trotting along at a steady pace beside you. You chattered about everything and nothing, pointing out every squirrel and bird that crossed your path.

“Steffy! Look at this pretty flower!” You smiled, rushing over to her with the little Daisy in your hand.

Steph gasped, “That’s so pretty, Roo! Let’s get a photo for your Mamma’s and then head to the slide yeah?”

“Make sure Twix is in it!” You told her, making sure she could see Twix’s face.

You beamed, holding up the flower proudly as Steph took out her phone. “Say cheese, Roo!” she said with a grin as she snapped a photo of you, the flower in your hand and a huge smile on your face.

You giggled, looking at the picture on the phone. “Mummy and Mamma are gonna love it!” You carefully tucked the flower into your coat pocket, ready to show it off later.

Steph laughed as she held out her hand. “Alright, let’s go hit the slide. Race you there?”

You didn’t need any more encouragement. You shot off toward the playground, your little legs moving faster than Steph could follow. “Catch me if you can!” you called back, your giggles trailing behind you.

Steph, with Myle and Calvin trotting along beside her, followed at a more leisurely pace, pretending there was no way she could catch you at full speed. “I’ll get you next time, Roo!”

At the playground, you climbed up the steps to the slide. You looked back at Steph, who was still standing at the bottom, watching you with a smile.

“I’m gonna go super fast!” you shouted before sliding down, your laughter filling the air as you reached the bottom. “Catch me, Steffy!”

Steph caught you at the bottom. “Great job, Roo! You’re getting so good at that!”

You grinned up at her, already climbing up to do it again. “I wan’ to go again! And again! It’s so much fun!”

Steph shook her head with a smile. “Alright, alright, but not too many times, we’ve got cookies to bake!” She crossed her arms playfully. “The sooner we finish at the park, the sooner we can make those cookies and watch Rapunzel.”

You paused mid-climb, the mention of cookies instantly shifting your focus. “Okay, okay, last time! But I’m gonna make the biggest cookie ever!”

After a few more rounds on the slide and some time spent chasing the dogs around, Steph called it time to head back. You reluctantly agreed, but your mind was already on the cookies you were going to make.

On the way home, you kept talking about how you would decorate the cookies and how you were going to save one for Mummy and Mamma.

When you got back inside, you rushed to the kitchen, excited to start the next part of the night. Steph followed you, chuckling as you scrambled to get everything ready.

“Okay, Roo, first things first—let’s wash our hands, yeah?” Steph said as you ran to the sink to splash water on your hands.

Once your hands were clean, Steph pulled out the ingredients, and you eagerly helped her mix everything. She pulled up a chair so you could reach the bowl. You added in the flower and the butter but some of it ended up spilling on the side.

“Can I add the choc chips?” You asked, bouncing up and down, your eyes wide with excitement.

Steph smiled, nodding. “Of course! You can make them however you want. Let’s make the cookies extra nice for Mummy and Mamma!”

You nodded eagerly and started shaping the dough into little circles, your tongue sticking out in concentration as you rolled them into perfect cookie shapes. Waiting for the cookies to bake felt like forever but after a bit of colouring, they were finally ready.

“Okay, little Roo!” Steph said as she grabbed the tray out of the oven, “We need to let these cool for a little bit! How about we order some pizza for dinner?”

“Pizza!” You squealed, “I wan’ just cheese please!”

“Just cheese?” Steph checked, getting a nod from you, “sounds perfect! Why don’t you go play and I’ll order the pizza yeah?”

While the cookies cooled and Steph ordered the pizza, you played with the dogs. Calvin and Myle happily chased a ball around the living room, you laughed every time one of them barked at you for you to throw it again. You even managed to convince Steph to join you for a quick game of pretend football, with Calvin happily “participating” by running after the ball now and then.

Finally, a knock at the door signalled the arrival of the pizza. You dropped the ball mid-throw and rushed over, bouncing up and down with excitement. “Steffy, the pizza’s here! The pizza’s here!”

Steph laughed, heading to the door to pay the delivery person. “Alright, Roo, hold your horses! Let’s get this inside before Calvin tries to steal it from us.”

You giggled, eyeing Calvin, who was sniffing the air eagerly as Steph brought the warm pizza boxes into the kitchen. Steph placed the boxes on the table, lifting the lid to reveal a cheesy pizza, just like you’d requested. “Alright, Chef Roo, dinner is served!”

You climbed onto your chair, eyes wide as you took in the delicious sight. “Thank you, Steffy! It looks so yummy!”

The two of you settled in, munching on slices while Calvin and Myle sat obediently by your side, hoping for a stray piece of crust. Between bites, you chatted about the cookies, your park adventures, and all the things you wanted to do after dinner.

“After pizza, can we decorate cookies and watch Rapunzel?” you asked, already planning the rest of the evening in your head.

Steph nodded, “Absolutely. And don’t forget, you still have that flower for Mummy and Mamma. We’ll put it somewhere safe so you can show them first thing in the morning.”

Finally, after what felt like hours of waiting, the cookies were cool. You eagerly watched as Steph placed them down on them on the little plate.

She set up a little decorating station on the table, and you began to carefully place the sprinkles, chocolate chips, and icing on your creations, making them as colourful and beautiful as you could.

“Look! I made this one extra special for Mummy!” You said, holding up a cookie with a carefully decorated smiley face.

Steph leaned over, nodding with a grin. “That one’s perfect, Roo. Mummy and Mamma are going to love it.”

Once all the cookies were decorated, you proudly arranged them on a plate. “Now we watch Rapunzel!” You declared, excited for the next part of the sleepover.

As you snuggled under the cosy blanket, the bright lights from the TV screen flickering in the dimly lit room, you quickly became engrossed in Rapunzel. The colourful scenes filled with magic and adventure captivated you, your little fingers clutching Twix. But as the movie continued, you felt your eyelids growing heavy. You leaned against Steph, her arm around your shoulders, as you snuggled close to her.

Halfway through the movie, your eyes fluttered shut. Your head bobbed as you fought to stay awake, but soon enough, you dozed off, the sound of the movie fading into the background as you peacefully slept against Steph.

Steph glanced down at you, noticing that you had fallen asleep. She smiled softly, brushing a lock of your hair from your face. She carried you to your room and laid you down in your bed with Twix. She carefully adjusted the blanket around you so you were extra snug.

But a few hours later, you stirred, waking up suddenly in the middle of the night. You shifted before realising you no longer wanted to sleep in your own bed.

You stood up, rubbing your eyes. The sleepover had been so fun, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You quietly tiptoed down the hall, your little feet making no noise against the hardwood floor. When you reached Steph’s room, you softly knocked on the door before opening it a crack, peeking inside.

Steph, still awake and scrolling on her phone with Myle and Calvin at the bottom of her feet, looked up, startled at first. But when she saw you standing there, her expression softened. “Hey, Roo. What’s up?”

You shuffled in, rubbing your eyes again as you held Twix. “Can’t sleep,” you mumbled.

Steph set her phone down and smiled at you. “C’mere,” she said as she patted the space beside her on the bed.

You slowly climbed up next to her, Steph helping a little by lifting your tired body up. You snuggled into the blankets with a tucked under your chin. Steph wrapped her arm around you, offering you the same comfort as she always gave.

“Are you okay, Roo?” she asked softly.

You nodded but then shook your head slightly. “I miss Mummy and Mamma,” you confessed, your voice quiet. “I’m having fun, but I miss them.”

Steph smiled gently and squeezed you a little tighter. “I get it, Roo. They’re probably missing you too. But you know what? You’re really brave for doing this sleepover without them! And they’ll be home in the morning.”

You nodded, feeling a little better, though still sleepy and a little homesick despite being home. “Yeah,” you whispered, your eyelids growing heavy again. “Can I sleep in the big bed?”

Steph chuckled softly, brushing a comforting hand over your hair. “Of course you can, Roo. You’re the boss of the sleepover, remember?”

You smiled, letting out a tiny yawn as you snuggled closer to Steph, pulling Twix under your arm and nestling into the soft blankets. Feeling safe and warm next to Steph, the homesick feeling began to fade, replaced by the gentle comfort of her presence.

Steph adjusted the blanket over you, making sure you were tucked in nice and snug. “You did so well tonight,” she whispered, almost as if she were talking to herself. “Your Mummy and Mamma are going to be so proud of you.”

Steph stayed awake a little longer, making sure you were settled before she finally closed her eyes, drifting off with you still curled up beside her.

When morning came, the first light of dawn peeked through the curtains, waking you gently. The bed beside you was empty and the door opened a tiny bit.

You blinked sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you sat up and glanced around. The room was quiet, except for the soft snoring of Myle and Calvin, who were curled up at the foot of the bed. You looked toward the door, a little confused, wondering where Steph had gone.

“Steffy?” You mumbled as you sat up, holding Twic tightly under your arm like usual.

Steph heard your tired little voice coming from the bedroom as she sat on the sofa. She instantly placed her phone down and made her way to the bedroom as she heard you calling for her.

She entered the room with a warm smile, seeing you sitting up with sleepy eyes, clutching Twix. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she whispered softly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep well?”

You nodded, rubbing your eyes with a small yawn. “Yeah… but where were you?”

Steph chuckled, moving a piece of messy she away from your forehead. “I was just out in the living room waiting for you to wake up, Roo.”

You glanced around, still a bit groggy, but then your eyes lit up. “Are Mummy and Mamma home yet?”

She gave you a reassuring smile. “They’ll be here soon. How about we get some breakfast and get ready for the day while we wait for them?”

Your face brightened, and you scrambled out of bed, holding Twix tight as you hopped down. “Can we have pancakes?” you asked, your voice full of excitement.

Steph grinned, nodding. “Oh of course! Pancakes it is then!” She took your hand, and the two of you headed to the kitchen, with Myle and Calvin trailing sleepily behind.

As Steph started making pancakes, you eagerly helped with the little things, like picking out toppings. Together, the two of you got to work. Steph cracked the eggs and poured in the milk, while you added the flour—although a little extra flour poofed up, dusting the counter (and the two of you) in a thin layer of white.

You giggled as Steph playfully brushed a bit of flour from your nose. “Looking like a real chef now, Roo!” she teased.

Once the batter was mixed, Steph heated the pan. You stood on a stepstool beside her, peeking over the counter as she carefully poured a little batter onto the pan, letting it sizzle and spread into perfect pancake circles. When it was time, she handed you a few chocolate chips, banana slices, and berries to arrange on the pancake faces. You concentrated hard, crafting silly smiles and big, wide eyes.

As the pancakes stacked up, Steph set up the table, and soon you were both sitting down to a breakfast feast. Each pancake face grinned up at you, and you couldn’t help but giggle as you took your first bite.

“These are the best pancakes ever!” you said through a mouthful, making Steph chuckle.

“Oh wow! High praise, coming from my top chef!” she said, ruffling your hair affectionately.

After breakfast, Steph helped you pick out your outfit for the day. You brushed your teeth, Steph supervising with an exaggerated look of approval as you brushed every corner with extra care.

Then it was hair time. “Alright, Roo, what kind of hairstyle are we going for today? Fancy or fun?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Can you do pigtails? But with bows?”

Steph grinned. “Pigtails with bows, coming right up!”

She sat you down on a little stool and carefully parted your hair. With gentle hands, she sectioned it into two, tying each one off with bright blue bows that matched your outfit. When she was done, she stepped back with a proud smile.

“You look like a superstar!” she declared, spinning you around to see yourself in the mirror.

You beamed at your reflection. “Thanks, Steffy! I love it!”

Finally, after what felt like forever, there was the sound of a key in the lock. Your head shot up, and before Steph could even react, you were off your seat, sprinting toward the door.

“Mummy! Mamma!” you shouted as Beth and Viv stepped through the door.

Beth crouched down, arms open wide as you ran into her arms. She hugged you tightly, pressing a kiss to your head. “Hey, munchkin! We missed you!”

Viv knelt beside Beth, pulling you into her arms as well. “Did you have fun with Steffy?” she asked, her eyes soft as she looked at you.

You nodded, beaming up at both of them. “We did so many things! We went to the park, we made cookies, and we even watched Rapunzel!”

Viv smiled, “Sounds like you and Steph had an amazing sleepover.”

Beth noticed the flower poking out from your pocket. “And what’s this?” she asked, gently taking it from your pocket.

You grinned, “It’s for you! I found it at the park with Steffy.”

Beth’s face softened, “It’s beautiful, Roo!”

You tugged them both toward the kitchen, where Steph had set up the plate of cookies. “Look! We made cookies just for you!”

Beth reached for one with a smile. “And look at all the sprinkles! You’re quite the baker.”

Steph joined you all in the kitchen. “She was a champ. We had a busy night.”

Viv gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Steph. We appreciate it so much.”

Steph waved it off. “Anytime. Roo and I had a blast, didn’t we?”

You nodded, holding tightly onto Mummy and Mamma’s hands. “But I’m glad you’re home now,” you admitted, a little shyly.

Viv pulled you into another hug, kissing your forehead. “We’re glad to be home too, Roo.”

Beth gasped playfully. “And guess what? We brought you a little surprise, just like we promised.”

Your eyes widened in excitement as Viv pulled a small wrapped gift from her bag, handing it to you. You tore it open, revealing a little plush fox with soft fur and a friendly smile.

“It’s a fox!” you exclaimed, hugging the plush fox tightly. “He can be Twix’s friend!”

Viv laughed, “Exactly! Now Twix has another friend.”

You snuggled into Beth and Viv, “Thank you, Mummy! Thank you, Mamma!”

#lvnleah #awfc #rory miedema #our little love #beth mead x vivianne miedema

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