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areyouwell · 7 months ago

Note

Logan x angel!reader where the reader had to get medical treatment after a mission because her angel wings (that are apart of her mutation) were burned and partially damaged after battle, and Logan comes in to check up on her?

Tattered

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Word count: 10K

A/N: first request! so i definitely took some creative license with this... i sort of just kept adding scenes and ideas but this concept was so fierce boots i couldn't help myself. hope this is what you have in mind <3 i have also elected, from now onwards, not to use warnings on my fics unless there's explicit content in which case it will simply just have MDNI in red.

I don't have a taglist for like, oneshots or requests rn so lmk if anyone would like to be added :)

“Watch your six, Icarus!” Scott’s voice crackled from your earpiece as you swooped over the battlefield, the feathers in your wings fluttering in the wind. Glancing behind back, you realised why Scott had alerted you, three drones tailed you with six red dots seeking out your presence. Fuck, this wasn’t good. Why did nothing ever go right? Why were there always fucking complications?

You tucked your wings in tight against your back as you joined the rest of the team inside the Blackbird. You’d always been conscious of how much room you often took up, and whilst your mutation was your pride and joy, it was a common occurrence to feel a little self conscious when trying to cram multiple people into a tight space. You never occupied any of the seats in the cockpit, your wings wouldn’t allow it, and it was never comfortable for you anyway, the way they would shift and bend at unnatural angles meant you’d constantly be shuffling around to stop the awkward ache in your shoulder blades.

Icarus. That was your name. Well, not your name, but that’s what they called you on account of your gleaming golden feathers. You thought it was a little mean, to be honest. You had no intention of flying too close to the sun anytime soon, but alas, you were stuck with it, and over time, you’d come to appreciate it. They weren’t far off anyway. You did have grand ideals, and dreams to become something more than just a freedom fighter. You wanted to change the world and make it a safer place where humans and mutants could live in harmony. You knew a lot of the hard graft was political, and Hank was doing wonders for mutant reputation, but you still would like to contribute something other than stopping mutant slave trades and taking down illegal, anti-mutant organisations.

That was the mission today. Some hate-crazed fuck had been building some kind of drone that could target the mutant gene. Kind of like the sentinels from years ago, but they’d been discontinued.

Thank fuck.

The muscles in your shoulders tensed slightly as Ororo and Logan finally joined the rest of you, deep in conversation about the inevitable upcoming battle. You tucked yourself further into the wall, cursing lowly as you hit your head against the steel.

Your relationship with Logan was… complicated, to say the least. The two of you instantly clicked when you met, finding yourself at ease with his gruff, surprisingly playful demeanour. You guessed he must have felt the same, since you noticed he would often seek you out during breaktimes, or take the seat next to you during meetings, sending you looks whenever Scott said something particularly leader-ish. You’d have to bite back a smile and attempt to keep your serious composure, lest anyone would think you weren’t taking the meeting seriously.

And then there was the night things shifted between you. It was late, possibly early hours of the morning. Your muscles ached from being unable to find a comfortable position to sleep in, the beds not exactly being tailored to suit those with extra limbs, and with a huff of irritation, you’d given up to head downstairs and fix yourself an Irish coffee. And whilst there was a serious lack of Irish whiskey in the school, you knew Logan had a bottle of bourbon hiding somewhere in the cupboards, out of reach for most of the younger kids.

You’d managed to clamber up onto the counter, perched precariously on the edge as you rifled around the top shelf, pulling down various unused cooking equipment before you finally came across the liquid gold. With a triumphant smile, you reached in further to wrap your fingers around the neck of the bottle, delicately pulling it from the depths of the cupboard. Only, it was stuck.

The screw top kept scraping against the top of the cupboard, and you grit your teeth as your fruitless yanking sent pots and pans clattering against each other. You seriously didn’t want to wake anyone only to have them come down and find you up on your knees, balancing on the thin space of the counter, elbow deep in the top cupboard and frantically pulling at a bottle of whiskey. Fuck knows what kind of an impression that would give, but it certainly wouldn’t have been the correct one.

Flaring your wings for balance, you completely misjudged the tips of your wingspan, knocking over an empty can of baked beans and sending it rolling onto the floor with a loud, deafening clang. You froze, attempting to quiet your breathing whilst you waited for the telltale sound of footsteps or the annoyed slam of a bedroom door. But your intense listening found nothing, the halls of the school blissfully quiet as you loosened your held breath.

Nothing. Everyone was still asleep.

You turned your attention back to the stubborn bottle, this time trying to gently manoeuvre it around the baking bowls and saucepans, teasing it from the small little hiding place like you would a scared child.

“Come… on.” You hissed with effort, finally freeing your vice from its trap with a final, harsh tug. Only, it was a little harsher than you’d have liked it to be. You grabbed the handle of the cupboard to your left to hold your balance, only for the door to swing open and provide absolutely no stability whatsoever.

You felt yourself fall backwards with a frantic, whispered curse, swinging with the cupboard door, and resigned yourself to the sore back you’d get from falling to the floor. Or, at least, you would have fallen to the floor, if it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a warm palm at the centre of your spine.

“Rough–”

You yelped at the unexpected voice behind you, you entire body jumping as if you were shocked by a socket.

“Stop screaming, it’s me,” Logan soothed with no small degree of subdued amusement. “Rough night?”

It wasn’t like he was asleep, more like dozing when he heard the soft padding of footsteps pass his door and head down the stairs. Knowing it was you, he assumed you’d just woken up thirsty and were heading down for a glass of water. His assumption proved incorrect when the clattering of pans and the clang of something hitting the floor broke the steady silence, and curiosity won over when he decided to investigate just exactly what it was you were doing.

What he wasn’t expecting was to find you clinging onto the cupboards for dear life, his bottle of whiskey clutched in one stubborn hand and your other gripping the open door of the shelf next to you. And it was pure instinct to lunge forward and steady you before you fell to the floor, though in the following moments, he convinced himself it was purely because he didn’t want you to wake up anyone else.

“What?” You asked in bewilderment, turning your head to see his brow raise at the bottle you had in your white knuckle grip. How the hell hadn’t you heard him? You’d stayed silent for at least five minutes before resuming your attempts to pull the bottle out. How the hell had he managed to still creep up on you?

“It’s two in the mornin’ and you’re makin’ a grab for whiskey. So, rough night?” He asked again, moving his hands from your back to your waist, steadying you as you clambered down from the countertop, and he did his best to ignore the feeling of your warm skin seeping through the thin nightshirt you were wearing. At least you were wearing shorts. Though, he counted that as both a blessing and a curse.

He liked you. Despite trying to gaslight himself otherwise, there were times when he truly couldn’t deny it. And this time was one of them. You looked a little dishevelled, hair slightly frizzy and out of place from tossing and turning, and it was one of the rare times he’d seen you without any makeup on. You never wore a lot, just enough to accent your already glowing features and cover any blemishes he thought you had no reason to feel self-conscious about.

You were so perfectly yourself, it was tricky for him not to fall in love with you.

Not that he had, of course. This was just a surface-level crush…

Yeah. Totally.

“You uh, yeah, you could say that. One of those nights, ya know?” You offered a small, slightly dejected smile, and his heart bled slightly. He knew. More than he could say, he knew exactly what you were talking about.

“You plannin’ on drinking yourself to sleep?” He asked with wry suspicion as you leaned against the counter, placing his bottle next to the kettle you still needed to flip on.

“The opposite, actually. Wanted to fix myself an Irish coffee. Seeing as I’m not sleeping tonight, might as well stay up.” You shrugged, finding the willpower to turn away from him and grab the ground coffee from the lower cupboard. Thankfully, it didn’t put up the same kind of fight as the bottle.

It was getting increasingly difficult to ignore the electricity humming from where his hands were still against your waist, though his grip was lighter than when he’d helped you down. It truly wasn’t decent to detail the things you were thinking at that moment, and you had to force yourself to think of unsexy things.

“We have a mission in two days and you’re pullin’ an all-nighter?” He asked, his brows pinching in badly concealed concern. Your heavy sigh did nothing to quench his worry.

“What’m I supposed to do? You try sleeping in a bed that’s too small with wings that stretch to either side of the room,” You huffed, flicking down the switch on the kettle and spooning a good two heaps of coffee grounds into the cafetiere. “Doesn’t matter what position. On my back or my side, shit’s so fucking uncomfortable it almost hurts.”

“Why not sleep on your front?”

You snapped back to look at him, eyes hardening to steel. “No. Never sleep on my front.”

You’d said it with so much force he almost reeled back. There was a story there, there had to be, for you to clap back at him with such a bite there was no way it was just a personal preference. You hadn’t really told anyone about your life before the school, but from the bare snippets he’d heard from Charles, it wasn’t exactly how anyone would describe as happy. And there was fear behind that steel. Vulnerability.

Logan sighed, leaning across you to flip the switch back up, stopping the kettle from boiling. You gaped indignantly, and before you could ask him just what the hell he thought he was doing, he spoke before you.

“Sleep with me.”

You choked, eyes blowing wide with shock. “I… what?”

Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame the crooked curl of his lips at your complete one-eighty from irritation to stupefaction, even the feathers of your wings had puffed out slightly. “Not like that, freak,” although I wouldn’t be opposed. “Just… for company. Might help, s’all.” He offered quietly, and a blanket of realisation settled in your chest. He was awake too. It had only just occurred to you. He hadn’t been sleeping. He didn’t even look like he’d been sleeping. And it made more sense in your head for him to offer if it was something that could benefit both of you.

It seemed highly unlikely he was offering just for you. Right?

“You sure? Don’t wanna like, intrude on your space or anything…”

“Not intrudin’ if I offer,” he reasoned, and you guessed you couldn’t argue with that. With a heavy sigh, you looked back to the bottle of whiskey you’d fought wars to obtain, realising now that the whole cupboard situation had been for nothing.

“All that effort,” you pouted comically, and Logan huffed a smile.

“I’ll put it somewhere easier next time. C’mon.” He nudged you before grabbing the bottle and returning it to the top shelf. You cursed his stupid height and the fact that he wasn’t down earlier. He could have retrieved it for you with so much less effort. But at the same time… if he had…

You wouldn’t be where you are now.

You followed him back up the stairs, taking a left to the door only a few down from your own. You didn’t quite know how sleeping in the presence of someone else would help, but you were not about to say no to sleeping by his side. It wasn’t like this was something you’d thought about. At great length. And in great detail.

And this certainly wasn’t a scenario he’d entertained far too many times to count.

Though upon seeing the double bed, that same self-conscious feeling reared its ugly head. There was no way you weren’t going to disturb him. You could barely find comfort in your own bed of the same size, let alone trying to sleep with someone else taking up space. You hesitated in the doorway, and Logan turned back to you, his head quirking to the side.

“You ‘kay?”

“Yeah… s’just– are you sure I’m not gonna disturb you? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I take up a bit more room than other people…” you extended your wings in emphasis, barely able to stretch them to half their wingspan before the side of the closet and the wall stopped you. Logan breathed a soft smile, and you felt yourself shrink slightly.

“I’ll be fine, just get in.”

You huffed in resignation, tucking the feathers close into your back and crossing to the other side of the bed, unable to stop thinking about how ridiculous this was. You really should just get the fuck over yourself and go back to your room. How tricky was sleeping on your front anyway? Maybe this time you wouldn’t wake up with a panic attack and you were just being dramatic this whole time. You were fine. It really wasn’t that deep. You didn’t want to disturb him just because you couldn’t get over some stupid fucking fear. This was–

“Christ, I’m not even a telepath and I can hear ya thinkin’. It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re fine.” He implored, throwing back the covers for you to take up the space next to him, but you continued to hesitate. “You want a written invitation or somethin’? Get your ass in bed.”

“Alright, jeez…” you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling at his smartass comment, keeping your wings firmly against your back as you shuffled beneath the covers by his side, careful not to take up too much room. Your shoulder started to cramp up slightly, but there was no way you were about to release the tension in your muscles until you were sure he was asleep.

Pulling the covers up to your neck as best you could, you scooted down until your head hit the pillow, shifting in yet another attempt to ease the ache in your back. You hadn’t noticed he’d turned on his side to face you until you looked back ahead and were suddenly met with his flat look of exasperation.

“Seriously?”

“What?” Your voice raised into a pitch of innocence, and Logan barely managed to suppress his eye roll of sarcasm.

“The point was for you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable!”

“As comfortable as someone would be whilst constantly tensing, yeah?”

“Logan, if I don’t, you’ll wake up with feathers in your nose.”

He snorted a laugh, and you giggled slightly along with him. “You look ridiculous.”

You gaped in mock offence. “Hey!”

“Come ‘ere…” in one swift movement, you were dragged from your position on your side, and he turned the both of you until you were settled on his chest. Panic swirled in your mind as your back was exposed to the room, until a steady hand soothed your racing pulse against your spine, in the space between your wings. You felt comfort dampen your anxiety, breathing deeply into the dip between his collarbone and neck, exhaling a shaky breath. You let the seconds tick by, expecting yourself to start gasping rapidly at any moment. But the longer your heart stayed settled, the more you realised this might actually work. “Y’okay?” He asked quietly, and you nodded against his chest.

“Yeah… just surprised. Usually, I’d be thinking I’m about to die by this point,” you half-joked, and though you couldn’t see him, Logan’s brows pinched in empathy. What the hell had happened to you before joining the team? Finding the school? His fingers slowly grazed through the short, fluffy feathers at the base of your wings, carding through the stiff joints. He watched in mild amusement as you shivered slightly, those feathers puffing out and shuddering at his touch. He lightly dug his fingers into the hard muscles around the joint, and you had to clamp your mouth shut to stop yourself from sighing in release. You hadn’t realised just how much strain it was to constantly keep them tight against your back, and whilst it had proven useful to build up the muscle, it had also resulted in some nasty knots.

Achingly slowly, your wings started to relax, heavy, hollow bones coming to rest across his body, wingtips grazing the floors on either side of the bed as you blanketed the both of you in a soft, warm embrace. Your eyes started to grow tired, lids drooping with each gentle caress of his fingers across your back.

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.” He whispered, and you didn’t have the energy to contemplate the fact he’d just used two new pet names for you. If you weren’t so damn tired, your insides would have exploded with butterflies by now, but the siren call of sleep lulled you into a sense of security, and with his steady heartbeat your lullaby, you gave in to the soft pull of rest.

That was the night things changed between you. The day after he would barely leave your side, sticking by you throughout the morning, taking the seat next to you in the pre-mission meeting that same evening, sending you quick glances that he’d cut short whenever your eyes met. And it was the same when he entered the Blackbird, with you tucked tight against the wall. His eyes found you instantly, lips carving into a gentle smile, his hand falling to your shoulder as he walked past you. You savoured the touch, missing the contact when his hand fell back to his side, still deep in conversation with Ororo.

“Do you want to fly above us, Icarus? Might be more comfortable,” Scott asked from where he’d taken his seat at the front of the jet, his head turning back to look at you through his glasses. You knew what he meant. There was only so much room in the Blackbird, and despite your best efforts, you were taking up a considerable amount. You took a moment to think, weighing up your options. And whilst you loved the freedom of flying, you couldn’t help but think it was a backhanded way of asking you to stop taking up so much room. He may not have meant it that way, but that’s just how it felt.

“Uh, sure. Yeah, might be better…” You mumbled with a shrug, trying in vain to stop the hot shame from flushing your cheeks.

Logan’s jaw tensed, his teeth grinding together, the sound resonating through his skull. He’d been trying so damn hard to get you to loosen up about your wings. And whilst he found it difficult to properly articulate just how gorgeous he thought they were, he thought he was finally making some progress after the last two days. So the way Scott insensitively asked you to fly instead of taking the jet wound him up.

“Only if it would be better for you. Don’t do it just cuz ya think it’ll be more comfortable for everyone else,” he ground out with a pointed look to Scott, whose brows furrowed in brief confusion before his mouth fell open in horror.

“Shit, no that’s not what I meant! I just thought–”

“It’s fine, Scott,” you tried placating the panicking Cyclops. “I need to stretch them out before the mission anyway.” You smiled a liar's smile, hoping he wouldn’t see through the façade and into your genuine hurt before turning on your heel to head back down the ramp. You managed to make it roughly halfway before a hand caught your arm, stopping you short.

“You’re not doin’ this cuz of these, right?” Logan asked, gesturing to your wings with his head, his eyes searching your expression as if he was looking to peer right through you. You offered him the same smile you gave Scott, and whilst it worked to settle Cyclops, it only served to broaden Logan’s concern.

“Nah, I really do need to stretch them out, feeling kinda stiff today so it’s not a problem.” You said brazenly, shrugging off his concerns with faux confidence. You knew it didn’t work when his expression didn’t shift, his hand tightening slightly around your arm. You sighed, defeated. “It’s fine, Logan. Everyone’ll be more comfortable like this anyway, myself included. I won’t feel like I’m–”

“If you finish that sentence with ‘in the way’ I’ll throw you off the jet myself.” He borderline growled, and you tensed your jaw in slight irritation. Couldn’t he just let you have this? Couldn’t he just let you do this one thing to make everyone’s lives more comfortable? Why did he have to be so damn stubborn?

“Just… drop it, yeah? I’ll see you guys when we get there.” You bit, almost snatching your arm from his grip and continuing down the ramp, crouching low when you reached the bottom and launching into the skies, your wings beating hard as cold wind whipped your face. All Logan could do was watch you go, regret piercing his chest as the sound of your wings receded into the night sky.

And that was how you found yourself already airborne when Scott’s voice crackled through your earpiece, the low hum of those three drones on your tail like the toll of death, the rapid beeping of target systems an accompaniment to the symphony. Tucking one of your wings in tight, you fell into a sharp stoop, panic rising in your chest as they followed you down. The hissing release of metal combined with the sudden roar of a rocket told you at least one of them had fired on you. You flared your wings, catching the air like a feathered parachute as you levelled out quickly, the missile shooting past you and into the ground below. The heat from the explosion fanned your face as you whipped around the wreckage of a building, those three drones still hot on your trail.

Logan looked up as you soared above, his claws drenched in blood as he yanked them out the helmet of some unfortunate soldier who’d made the mistake of thinking he could take on The Wolverine. His heart raced in his throat as those six dots wouldn’t stray from your body, drones expertly following your manoeuvres, mimicking every duck and dive, narrowly missing the corners of buildings and rising flames. Ororo’s voice crackled in his own earpiece, her tone frantic.

“Icarus you gotta shake them!”

“NO SHIT!”

He almost winced at the panic in your voice, snapping back at Storm in a way he’d never heard you do before. Casting a quick glance to his surroundings, he saw Scott with his fingers braced on his glasses, beams of white-hot energy streaking the battlefield as he picked off one guard after another.

“Scott!” He called, his legs pounding the ground as he ran over, slicing through the gut of a nameless, faceless soldier who stood in his way before he jogged to a stop. “Think you can get a clear shot?” He asked, his words rushed as his gaze returned to the skies, another explosion booming bright before you raced around the corner of the main building.

“They’re moving too fast and it’s too much of a risk.” Scott called back over the din of battle, the crackle and boom of thunder overhead striking the earth with expert precision as Storm unleashed yet another bolt from the clouds above. A little too close to you for comfort.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat as you levelled out, those tenacious six red dots still focused solely on your racing form, your wings beating and dipping with every expert manoeuvre as you once again swooped from sight. But it still wasn’t enough.

“Lead the shot.”

“What?”

“Lead the damn shot, Scott. She’ll be comin’ back round, it’s a pattern. Just do it.” He almost pleaded, his voice cracking slightly. He knew you only had precious seconds before those missiles would fire again, and you couldn’t outrun them forever.

You crested back around the ruins of the facility, and it was only due to his enhanced sight could he see your confidence wavering, your jaw tense with concentration, though your eyes were blown wide with panic.

The beep of the target systems increased rapidly, before blending into one long note. And it was like time came to a slow crawl. A puff of silver gas erupted from the base of the drone, a pinpoint missile dropping from the small hold to hone in on your location before Scott had a chance to take it out.

Switching targets, Scott moved his head to the side slightly, leading the shot as Logan had said, the beam of pure, red and white hot energy shot from his glasses, quick as a blink. And for one, blissfully ignorant moment, Logan thought they’d succeeded.

But the missile was too close. The moment the pure energy collided with the steel casing, a ball of furnace orange flame and thick black smoke lit the sky. Before you had time to think, searing agony jolted your back, hellfire burning your shoulders and wings as you were thrust forward, losing control of your trajectory. Panic gripped your heart as you tried in vain to regain your altitude, but your wings weren’t responding. The stench of burning feathers and flesh singed your nose as you went down, caught up in the explosion between Scott’s beam and the missile.

Wind roared in your ears, whipping your hair as you descended, flailing and spiralling, to the ground, trees and ruin rising to bring your fall, and your life, to a sharp end.

“STORM!”

“ICARUS!”

Two indistinguishable voices exploded in your ears, deafening you over the din of death. You knew this was most likely it. This was most likely the end, but you felt numb peace as the wind kept you company, wrapping around you almost like a blanket as you braced your arms against your chest, pain splitting your body and mind as the open rooftop of a ruined house ripped through your suit and flesh as you struck the ground, knowing nothing more than darkness.

“No…” Logan whispered, his entire world coming to an abrupt halt as you descended past his line of vision, a cloud of black dust rolling from the wreckage of a home. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be dead. He was moving before he’d even registered it, racing across blackened bodies and charred remains of structures. His throat tore with repeated cries of your name, pushing past collapsed beams and splinters of wood, shoving aside wrecked furniture and broken decor before he saw you.

Lifeless.

In a pool of your own blood.

Your leg lay in an unnatural angle, your wings charred and broken, your wrist twisted in a way he knew it really shouldn’t be. His blood turned to ice in his veins, face blanching as he couldn’t see the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shrapnel and dust covering you. A jagged wooden spike protruded from the dip between your shoulder and your chest, the entry wound somewhere on your back.

He had to check if you were still alive, but he couldn't move, finding himself frozen in place. He couldn't lose you. Not when he was finally putting the foundations down for your relationship. He couldn't lose you now…

But seeing your body broken like this… there was no way you could have survived that fall, even with Ororo’s help. She tried to slow your descent too late, a gust of wind appearing from nowhere to catch you just a second after she should have. Maybe you’d still be alive if she'd succeeded. Maybe you’d still be here if he hadn't asked Scott to shoot those fucking drones.

Maybe…

“Fuck! Icarus! Icarus can you hear me?” Storm rushed past him, followed by a horrified Cyclops, and if Logan could focus on anything other than your twisted limbs, he'd see the overwhelming sense of guilt on his face.

Ororo pushes off the splinters of wood and debris from your body, her movements hurried yet careful, terrified of moving you too much. She placed two trembling fingers against the side of your neck and waited.

And waited.

And waited…

Logan thought the moment would never end, silence blanketing the ruined room as the three of them could do nothing but watch, Jean quietly placing a hand on Scott's shoulder.

“There's a pulse!” Storm cried, a sob of relief erupting from her throat as Jean rushed forward, her hands ghosting the top of your body.

You were alive. Alive. How the fuck had you survived that? There was no way you could have survived that. You fell from over two hundred feet, how the fuck–

“We need to stabilise her. She's lost a lot of blood and it hasn't stopped. Can you tell what the damage is?” Storm turned to Jean, hoping her telekinesis could find something, anything that would provide more information.

“Broken ribs, her lung is punctured, I think she's bleeding internally and we can’t remove this or she’ll bleed out… I can't do shit out here, we need to get her back to the school. Now.” Jean's voice took on a tone of authority, spurring Scott back into action, but Logan was still paralysed. It was only two nights ago you were sound asleep on his chest, only yesterday he couldn’t stand being further than two feet from you.

Logan…

You were alive, but how long for? Was he just given false hope, only to lose you on the way? On the operating table? How much longer did you have? How much longer did he have?

“Logan…”

He wanted to blame Scott. Fuck, he wished he could blame Scott. But the truth was, he asked him to take them out. He was the one who asked if he had a shot. He was the one who coerced him to take it. Would you have been okay? Would you have been able to shake them on your own? Had he single-handedly brought on your fall?

“LOGAN!”

Logan blinked rapidly, eyes burning from how long he was staring, unblinkingly, at your broken body. Numbly, he tore his gaze from you and over to Ororo, and though her brows were pinched in concern, her eyes were hard with determination.

“I know, but if we wait any longer, we’ll lose her. Think you can clear Jean a path?” She glanced pointedly to the rubble somewhat blocking the doorway, and it took him another second before forcing his body to move, nodding wordlessly to Ororo’s orders. He wasn’t usually one to just mindlessly obey, but he wasn’t able to think straight at the moment and was honestly thankful for the others taking charge.

He was strong at the best of times, but self-hatred fuelled his arms to work overtime, shoving away impossibly large beams and collapsed part of the wall before there was a clear path for Jean to levitate you through. Your smouldering wings dragged along the ground, tattered and torn, gathering dust and grime along the bloodied tips. Only now had could he get a glimpse of your back, the worst of the damage caking your shoulders and wing joints in blackened crimson. Feathers had burned away, leaving your mutation raw and weeping. You didn’t know what he was talking to Ororo about on the walk to the jet. You didn’t know he was asking her if you had a favourite food, or colour, or flower. You had no idea he’d planned to officially ask you out after the mission.

Now you might never know.

Scott slowly approached him, looking as if he were in a state of complete shock, replaying what went wrong over and over again in his head. All it took was one glance, and Logan didn’t even need to see his eyes to know they were buried in remorse. He wanted to be furious at him, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be beside himself with desperate anger, but there was nothing to be angry at him for. This wasn’t Scott’s fault…

It was his.

The ride back to the mansion took days and also five seconds, Jean doing her best to keep you stable whilst Ororo took the pilot’s seat, Scott being in no shape to fly anything. Logan found himself too terrified to touch you as if the slightest movement could worsen your condition. In the silence of the ship, he could hear your haunting, rasped breaths, slow and shallow. The stench of charred flesh and boiled blood made his stomach clench, but not as much as the wounds across your body. He forced himself to look at them. To look at what he’d done to you because of his choices. Forced himself to sear every weeping burn, every broken bone, every blood-soaked bandage into his memory. Your wings, which once held so much majesty and beauty, now lay in tatters, and he had no idea if they would grow back. Would you ever be able to fly again? Logan didn’t know if he’d be able to look himself in the mirror if he’d taken that from you too.

“She’s going to be okay, Logan. She’s stabilised for now and the Professor already knows the situation. Hank’s on standby and Charles has called in a favour from a surgeon. She’ll be in the best hands possible when we get there.” Jean attempted to comfort him, all the while focussed on keeping you stable from any turbulence and making sure your wounds didn’t worsen.

“I did this…” he whispered, uttering the first words since watching you fall. Speaking his thoughts into the thick silence, the rest of the team cast glances at each other, Scott running a hand through his hair.

“No… I should have trusted your judgment. I hesitated. Fired too late. You can’t blame yourself for this…” He hissed, dragging the hand from his hair down the side of his face.

“You both did what you could,” Ororo offered from the cockpit, her eyes still focused on the clouds ahead. “If you hadn’t done anything, she’d be dead by now. Those drones weren’t going to give up and she couldn’t shake them. She’s still here because of what happened, not despite it.”

Logan couldn’t find the self-compassion to believe her. His eyes still trained on the scattering of feathers beneath where Jean suspended you from the ground. He wearily raised his head when the redhead called his name, her features soft with understanding.

“Come here,” she gesture him over with a nod of her head, her hands still hovering over your body. Logan hesitated before rising from his seat, to stand by your side, across from Jean. “Place two fingers against the side of her neck,” she instructed, and his breath hitched, eyes darting from your unconscious face to Jean. “You won’t hurt her, just do it.”

Inhaling sharply, Logan softly brushed your hair back from your neck, gently placing two fingers against your pulse point. There he felt the slight, slow thump of your heart still beating. The realisation was enough to bring him to his knees, not caring about the sharp bark of pain as he struck the steel floor. He knew you were alive. Ororo had said as much, but to actually feel you, to feel the evidence of you’re still beating heart, broke through the dam of self-hatred.

His hand cautiously skirted up your jaw to rest against the side of your cheek as he pressed his forehead into your hair, his breath shuddering with the effort to keep himself from falling apart. He didn’t care that he could taste blood and dirt when he softly kissed the side of your head. Didn’t care that now everyone knew how he felt about you. His thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone, smoothing the grimy skin beneath your eye.

You hadn’t left him yet. You were still here.

“She’s alive, Logan. And we’re gonna keep her that way,” the conviction in Jean’s eyes was almost enough to settle his heart, but he knew the twisting worry wouldn’t loosen until he saw you open your eyes, your wounds healing, your wings bright again.

Everything ached. Everything. You felt as if you’d been hit by a bus, only for the bus to reverse back over your body, and hit you again. Your wrist barked with sharp pain when you tried to shift, your eyes still closed against the bright lights behind your lids. Something tight was almost cutting off the circulation to your left leg, and inhaling too deeply caused your chest to convulse in agony. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor helped you count roughly how many seconds you’d been conscious. You tried to think back to what could have happened, only to find the last thing you remembered was stooping in a low dive with three drones tailing you. There was an explosion at your back and–

You were falling.

You’d fallen.

So much for not living up to your name…

With a hissing wince, you cracked your eyes open, only to instantly screw them shut at the sharp burn of bright lights unfamiliar to your retinas. How long have you been out? How did the mission go? Was everybody okay? Was Logan okay?

With renewed determination, you attempted to open your eyes again, gritting your teeth as you blinked through the burn of adjustment. You knew this ceiling. You knew this table. From your first ever visit to the school, you’d been taken care of in this very room. You groaned slightly, exhaustion already taking its

toll on your weary bones. Any attempt to move yourself resulted in agony spiking up your spine, white-hot pain cresting through your shoulder blades. Panic gripped your heart as you attempted to move your wings, only to find resistance. Turning your head with a sharp gasp, your eyes welled up with new tears seeing your torn, tattered feathers bound in bandages, held suspended by a sling from the ceiling. They were still attached, so there was that, you supposed, but it had been a long, long time since you’d seen them in this condition.

You glanced down the bed to find your leg wrapped in a cast, held aloft from the mattress. Your wrist too seemed to be encased in white. You turned your neck to the other side with the intention of gauging the damage to your other wing, before your eyes widened at who you saw, head bowed asleep, in the chair next to your bed.

Despite yourself and your situation, you couldn’t stop your lips from pulling into a fond, soft smile as Logan snored lightly. He looked truly exhausted, his hair mussed from how many times he’d run his hands through it. You didn’t think it was possible to adore him any more than you already did, but here you were, finding your heart growing three sizes at the sight.

The doors opposite you slid open, Jean striding through with a clipboard and a thin pair of glasses perched on her nose. She stopped dead when she looked up from her notes, almost dropping her pen to the floor when she registered the fact you were awake. Silently, you placed a finger to your lips, before pointing over to the exhausted Logan in the chair. She smiled with a fond nod,

Keeping her footsteps light, she crossed the medical bay to take a look at the readings on the screen, before crouching down next to your bed, her eyes focusing on the bandages across the bend of your wing.

“He hasn’t slept since we got back. Storm had to force him to eat something yesterday. And he hasn’t stepped foot outside this room.” Jean explained, keeping her voice to a low whisper.

“How long’ve I been here…?” you asked, unable to raise your voice louder than a low whisper. Your throat scratched with every word, and you hadn’t realised just how thirsty you were until now.

“A week and three days. I’m going to slowly reintroduce food into your stomach before taking out the IV, okay?”

You barely heard the rest of her sentence. A week and three days? That was a little longer than you were expecting, to be honest.

“Wait… Logan hasn’t slept in over a week?” You managed to rasp a little louder, your chest lurching with concern. That wasn’t healthy for anyone, even someone who could regenerate as fast as he could. No wonder he was utterly spent.

And it was as if your voice were like an alarm clock. One moment your hushed tones were accompanied by the soft snores of the man in the chair, the next his eyes shot open, your whispered name the first words on his lips.

Turning your head back to him, your breath caught in your throat. There was a hurricane of emotions swirling in his hazel eyes. Relief, guilt, fear, joy, remorse. A cocktail of feelings clouded his eyes and you wished you had the energy to cup the side of his face and reassure him you were alright.

Logan’s exhausted haze cleared instantly upon hearing your voice, seeing your eyes open for the first time since he watched you plummet to the ground, and it took a moment for him to realise he wasn’t dreaming. Because he had dreams of this. In the rare moments he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open, his mind would either take him back to your fall or fabricate the moment you woke up. But wherever his dreams took him, he would always wake up with the tight ache of guilt constricting his chest. His waking moments he would spend thinking about what he would say to you if you woke up, planning out a meticulously crafted apology, but everything he wanted to say instantly flew out the window upon actually seeing you awake.

“Hi…” you whispered, voice still raspy from disuse. And it was your weary, worn smile that tore at the chains around his soul. He couldn’t respond, as if he were the one who’d been lying unconscious for the last two weeks.

Jean, sensing the tension in the room, stood from her crouched position by your wing, clearing her throat a little before tucking the clipboard flat against the crook of her elbow.

“I’ll be back in a bit to check up on you and bring you some food.” She murmured, but you barely acknowledged her exit, too fixated on Logan’s expression of disbelief.

The doors closed as Jean took her leave, blanketing the two of you in a charged silence, the both of you waiting for the other to talk first.

“Logan I–”

“I’m so sorry, it–”

So naturally, of course, you both spoke at the same time, before falling into another equally uncomfortable silence, once again stuck in the purgatory of waiting for the other. You held your tongue this time, nodding to him with the smallest movement of your head.

“You’re okay…” he breathed, almost to himself, as if having to remind himself again that this wasn’t in fact a dream. You were awake. You were talking. You weren’t lying lifeless with only the steady beeping of medical equipment to keep him company. Your eyes were open, looking at him with something he was struggling to discern through his addled mind.

“I’m okay,” you responded softly, watching his features morph from self-hatred to pure relief. He shifted in his seat, head hanging low between his shoulders as he took a shaky breath, and you could see the slight shudder of his shoulders.

“I–” he started, before cutting himself off with a sharp inhale, clamping his teeth together as he struggled to raise his head again. “I thought I lost you.”

Whilst it was nothing but the softest admission, you felt spiderwebs crack through your heart, wanting nothing more than to reach for him, if only your bones didn’t feel like lead. He continued to keep his head low, his hands wringing together between his knees. “It was ’my fault. I didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t shake em and they were closin’ in and Scott wasn’t fuckin’ listenin’ an’–”

“Logan,” you interrupted as loud as you could, your throat tearing at the sudden strain on your voice, causing you to wince slightly. Your hiss of discomfort finally prompted him to raise his head, half standing from his seat to instantly be by your side should you need anything. “I’m okay. Or, I will be. My wings’ve seen worse, and my body will heal with time. I’m okay.”

He searched your face for any sign of deception, any indication that you were just saying this to spare his feelings, or stop him from spiralling into the well of self-hatred once again. He knew it wasn’t the time to ask, but his mind subconsciously filed away that nugget of your past for a later conversation, too focused on the fact his search came up short of anything he was looking for.

“You’re okay…” he repeated, settling back into the chair by your bed. His eyes fell to your twitching hand, and with a gentleness only reserved for you, his fingers intertwined with yours, bringing your knuckles to his lips. “You’re okay.”

Your heart skipped a beat or several, and you were mildly concerned about setting off the heart rate monitor your abdomen was connected to. You don’t think you’d ever had this many wires connected to your body in your life, not even when Charles first found you. Nobody knows what had happened that day apart from him, and you refused to speak of it.

“What do you remember?” Logan asked, pressing the back of your hand against the scruff of his cheek, as if desperate to feel you. Your brows furrowed for a moment, your quick trip down trauma lane before you opened your eyes yielding nothing of much use.

“I remember the drones and the targeting dots. I remember one… fired, I think, and missed,” you struggled, screwing your eyes shut in a vain attempt to jog your own memory. “Uh– then there were two more? One missed and the other exploded before it hit me, but I was caught up in the blast radius. I remember falling and I remember the pain, but that’s about it…” You opened your eyes to find Logan’s expression have shifted once again back to remorse. He really thought it was his fault… didn’t he? “I couldn’t get them off me, Lo’.” You offered quietly.

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t be here if Scott hadn’t fired.”

“I… I know.”

“Logan, you saved my life.”

He placed your hand back on the bed, and you instantly missed the warmth of his palm. “I almost got you killed. I almost lost you. We could have worked somethin’ else out. Storm could’ve–”

“And what if she couldn’t?” You prompted gently, your brows creasing with empathy as you watched him try to wade through the implications of your question.

“That’s not– I almost–”

“Almost, Logan. Almost. But you didn’t. I’m here. So please stop acting like I’m dead because I might start believing you.” You tried to sound as stern as you could whilst being physically and emotionally drained, and whilst it may have sounded a little weak, Logan knew what you were trying to do.

He ran a hand through his messy hair which was in desperate need of a wash. Although so were you, you could only imagine. “I didn’t want our last conversation to be an argument.” He murmured, and you sighed as heavily as you could whilst not being able to inhale very deeply.

“So melodramatic,” you joked with a half-smile, and it took a moment of his eyes scanning your face before his shoulders slumped, huffing a singular laugh through crooked lips.

“Maybe a little…” he looked up at you through lidded eyes. “Fear doesn’t come naturally t’me. But I don’t think I’ve been more scared than when I was watchin’ you fall, knowin’ I could do nothin’.”

You finally mustered the strength to reach for him, and he clasped your outstretched hand between both of his like a prayer. You considered for a moment what you would have done had your roles been swapped. If you were so helpless to save him from almost certain death. If you were forced to watch in nearly slow motion as the object of your heart was being ripped away from you and you were powerless against it. Because this was something more than a crush, more than admiration. You loved him. It wasn’t a sudden lightbulb moment, but rather a slow realisation of admission. You loved him. Irrevocably. Possibly irresponsibly. But certainly undeniably.

“You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’m not dead. I’m not going to die. It’s gonna take time, but I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay.” You implored, and you could almost watch the cogs turning in his head, working on believing you and realising the truth of the situation.

You. Were. Alive.

He nodded silently, finally accepting what everyone had been trying to tell him for almost a week and a half now. His thumb grazed the tendons of your wrist, the delicate caress sending shivers down your scarred spine.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked though he couldn’t help thinking it was the most stupid question in the world.

“Like I just fell over two hundred feet after being blown up.” You responded dryly. Ask obvious questions, get obvious answers.

Obviously.

“That checks out.”

“Thank you, Doctor Wolverine.”

How you’d managed to almost die and yet maintain your humour was a mystery to Logan, but it simply added to all the reasons he was completely taken with you. You were easily one of the strongest people he knew, in spite of your own self-consciousness. The way you felt about your wings had already proven that. They were the greatest source of your diffidence, and yet you often said how incomplete you would feel without them. He saw how you battled, every day, between loving and hating them. Not many people did, but he did.

Perhaps that was because, to him, you were the focal point of every conversation. The spotlight in the room. The brightest star in the sky. Not only did he see you, but he saw you.

That was when he remembered your words from earlier. ‘My wings’ve seen worse…’

“What did you mean?”

“When?”

“When you said your wings have been worse. What did you mean?”

Logan knew he’d struck a nerve when your wry humour dissolved from your face, and he watched you withdraw back into your own mind, another silence creating a barrier between you. It was another mental battle. He could see it. And he could only hazard a guess that you were struggling between opening yourself up to whatever traumas you’d experienced in the past, or staying closed and comfortable.

“This world is cruel and cold to people like us…” your voice was barely audible, and despite his enhanced hearing, Logan found himself shifting closer, drawn in by your siren’s whisper. “I was always jealous of people who could hide their mutation. Or mutations that didn’t take on a physical appearance, anyway. Because hiding something like phasing or shapeshifting is easy. Hiding a pair of giant fucking wings? Get’s a little harder when not everyone around you is very accepting…” you were being vague on purpose. Taking yourself back to the day Charles found you was never easy, and it was this exact reason why you kept this to yourself. Only he knew what happened, and Jean was the only other one who’d seen your condition.

Logan fought the urge to run his fingers through your feathers, slightly worried it would hurt you more than it would soothe you, since most of your secondary feathers had been burned away or torn off, and the exposed ligaments had been covered in bandages. You took a breath before you continued. “The neighbourhood where I lived wasn’t exactly high-end, and less than welcoming to mutants. I used to listen to a lot of music when I left my apartment, it helped to drown out the insults and hatred but uh, it also prevented me from hearing anyone following me.

“It was stupid. I was tired and forgot to lock my fucking door before I fell asleep that night. Such an idiot. And I paid the price. I can’t really remember exactly when it happened, and it’s all sort of a blur to be honest. I never saw their faces either, and I only knew they were there when they shoved a gag between my teeth and held me down, jeering about me being a disgusting mutant, the usual bullshit…” you trailed off, your words sticking to your throat like molasses as you recounted possibly the most traumatic moment of your life. Narrowly holding the top spot after recent events. “They uh, tried to sever them. My wings. Used a carving knife or a paring knife, hell it could have been a butter knife for all I knew. But it hurt. And I couldn’t fight them off. I probably still have the scars. They were barely attached by the time they were startled by something and took off.”

Logan placed his hand against your cheek, gently smoothing away the stray tear sliding down the side of your face with the pad of his thumb.

“That’s why you don’t sleep on your front?”

“That’s why I don’t sleep on my front,” You affirmed with a timid nod, and Logan felt his heart clench painfully. He always wondered where your intense passion for making the world a safer place came from. “At least,” you continued quietly. “Until you.”

His eyes widened a fraction, and it wasn’t hard to piece together what you meant. The night, two days before the mission. That was the first time you’d slept on your front since Charles and Jean found you all those years ago. That was why you mentioned it. That was why you were so adamant about it.

Your vulnerability was taken advantage of and used to further the cycle of hatred and violence.

“Sweetheart…”

You couldn’t bear to hear the slight break in his voice, the horrified empathy creasing his brows. “So yeah. That’s what I meant. When I said they’ve been through worse. So actually, this really isn’t all that bad. They’ll recover. They did last time. Might be a while before I can fly again but I think I’m okay with that for a while, not sure I want to–” your rambling was cut short by the sudden decrease of proximity between the two of you. Was he always this close? Or had he shifted? Had you simply not noticed? Too lost in your second trip down trauma lane in the space of twenty minutes? You could feel his steady breaths fanning your cheeks.

“You’re safe. With me. An’ nothin’ like that will ever happen again. ‘M gonna look after you, angel. Promise.” His eyes flickered from your gaze, down to your lips, and back up in a silent request, and your body answered for you. Your eyes fluttered closed, heart igniting at the first graze of his soft lips against yours, the pain in your back forgotten as your skin prickled with shivers.

The moment he felt you lean up into him as much as you could, Logan gasped through his nose, his fingers skirting up the side of your neck, pausing to feel your pulse before continuing to brace his palm against your jaw. He wanted to feel you, in any way he could and in any way you would let him, your lips dancing with his languidly. And through the salves and disinfectant, through the blood and the grease, the smoke clinging to your hair, he could just smell you. Amber and wood oak swirled through his senses, and he didn’t think it fair that you smelled like a fucking autumnal forest.

You tried to push yourself up further toward him, a fresh wave of yearning hitting you like a fall from over two hundred feet, but your ribs barked in sharp protest, and you flinched back with a harsh hiss, your features scrunching in pain.

“Easy there, angel. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” He breathed, and whilst you could detect genuine concern in his tone, there was also a hint of smug satisfaction.

“Sorry… got kinda carried away.” You clamped your lips together at his soft chuckle, finding immeasurable comfort in the way his thumb smoothed along your under-eye.”

“Been wantin’ to do that for a while…” He murmured against your lips, and you drew back as far as you could without jostling your back too much.

“Really? How long?”

“Round a year or so.”

You blanched. “A year!?”

“Give or take a few months,” he shrugged, unable to tame the delicious grin pulling at his lips.

“And you didn’t think to do anything?” You asked incredulously, eyes flicking between his, unable to decide just where they wanted to settle.

“Inappropriate in the workplace.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and your eyes widened further.

“We live under the same roof! This isn’t just a workplace.”

“Potato pot-ah-to.”

“No! Potato potato. It’s the same thing!”

He raised a sly brow. “Didn’t see ya pull back, angel. How long’ve you wanted this then?”

You clamped your lips shut, your face a picture of false irritation as he turned your own accusations back onto you, a triumphant glint dancing in his eye. “Thought s’much.”

A huff brushed his chin, though you couldn’t tame your guilty smile for long. Yes, he was absolutely right. You’d wanted to do that for far longer than you cared to admit. And the phrase ‘good things come to those who wait’ couldn’t ring more true. Though you couldn’t help thinking they should change the phrase slightly.

‘Good things come to those who nearly die’. Yeah, that sounded more accurate.

Your head lulled against his hand, a tugging wave of exhaustion pulling at your mind, your eyes feeling heavy with sleep. It was strange. Usually, you found it so difficult to find rest, tossing and turning until you simply couldn’t take it anymore. But not in his presence. Not when Logan was with you.

He hummed a soft, fond smile of understanding, pulling the chair closer to the bed so he could still be near you. Pressing his lips to your forehead, you sighed in contentment, your hand holding his arm in a soft grip, silently asking him not to go anywhere. But you didn’t need to. He had no plans on leaving you anytime soon.

“Sleep, angel. ‘M here. You’re safe.”

#wolverine x reader #logan x reader #logan howlett x reader #james logan howlett #logan howlett #x men logan #the wolverine x reader #the wolverine #logan x you #x men wolverine #wolverine x you #x men x reader #essa's works

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enhaflixer · 1 month ago

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newly turned vampire! riki x 400 y/o vampire f!reader - VAMPIRE SUPPORT GROUP

pure crack. fluff. i def got an ask for this but rn i cant find it at all.

You've been dead for 400 years, but nothing has made you feel more alive than watching this disaster unfold.

The vampire support group meets in the basement of an abandoned church—cliché as fuck, but the rent is cheap. You're only here because eternity is boring and watching newly-turned vampires panic about their condition provides at least mild entertainment. Four centuries of existence have left you with few novel experiences.

Until him.

He slouches in fifteen minutes late, wearing sunglasses indoors, at night, in a basement. Riki Nishimura, according to the name tag he reluctantly sticks to his leather jacket (which still has the price tag partially visible underneath the collar).

"Sorry I'm late," he says, clearly not sorry at all. "Had some, you know, vampire business to take care of." He flicks an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder.

The support group leader—Gary, turned in 1983, still wearing the same outdated suit—gestures to an empty folding chair. "Welcome, Riki. Would you like to share your turning story with the group?"

Riki slides into the chair like he's auditioning for a yakuza film. "It's whatever. Got bit last week. No big deal." He shrugs with such calculated casualness that you have to press your lips together to keep from laughing.

"The transition can be traumatic," Gary offers. "It's okay to have feelings about it."

"I don't really do feelings," Riki says, adjusting his sunglasses. They slip down his nose, revealing eyes that are very obviously bloodshot from crying. He pushes them back up with his middle finger, trying to make it look intentional.

You've watched newly-turned vampires react in every possible way: the screamers, the deniers, the embracers, the religious crisis-havers. But you've never seen someone trying so desperately to seem unaffected while clearly being a complete internal mess.

"So what can you do?" asks another newbie vampire, Emma, turned three months ago. "Can you transform into a bat yet?"

Riki scoffs. "Transformation is for vampires with something to prove. I'm secure enough not to need to show off."

You know—everyone knows—he can't transform. Most new vampires can't. But his absolute commitment to this façade is fascinating.

"What about blood?" asks Gary. "Have you adjusted to your new diet?"

Riki pulls out a thermos with skull stickers on it. "It's fine. I'm on this special blend. Very exclusive." He takes a sip and visibly gags, then pretends he was just clearing his throat. "Smooth," he comments, voice strained.

It's too much. A small laugh escapes you.

His head whips toward you, noticing you for the first time. You, with your simple black turtleneck and jeans—no need for gothic theatrics when you've been dead since the Edo period.

The moment his eyes land on you, he chokes on his blood drink. Like, actually chokes. He spends a good ten seconds coughing into his elbow while trying to look like he's just thoughtfully clearing his throat.

"You okay there?" you ask, deadpan.

"Yeah, totally fine. Just, uh—" he straightens up, runs a hand through his hair, and somehow manages to make it worse. "Just giving my professional assessment of the, uh, acoustics in here. Good echo. Very... echo-y."

"Fascinating analysis," you reply, face completely blank.

He stares at you for a beat too long, then realizes and quickly averts his gaze, pretending to be deeply interested in a water stain on the ceiling. A faint reddish tint creeps across his pale cheeks—he must have fed recently for that to be possible.

"And you are...?" Gary prompts.

"Riki. I said that already," he mumbles.

"I meant her name," Gary clarifies with infinite patience.

"Oh." Riki's eyes dart back to you, then away again, like he's afraid looking directly at you might turn him to stone. Which is ironic, considering the whole vampire thing.

You don't volunteer your name. Names have power, and you've learned to be selective with yours over the centuries. But something about his painfully obvious awkwardness makes you say, "You can call me Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeats, like he's testing how it feels in his mouth. "Cool name. Very... name-like."

"Jesus fucking christ," mutters Emma under her breath.

The group moves on to discussing practical matters—how to get blood legally, avoiding sunlight, explaining to family why you can't do brunch anymore. Riki interjects occasionally with comments like "Sunlight? I think it adds character to just power through the burning" and "Family? I'm a lone wolf. Always have been." This last comment is immediately undermined by his phone lighting up with a text that clearly reads "MOM: Don't forget to call Grandma tomorrow, she's making your favorite cookies."

He hurriedly flips the phone over, then glances at you to see if you noticed. You maintain your perfect poker face, honed over centuries of watching humans make fools of themselves.

Throughout the meeting, you catch him stealing glances at you approximately seventy-three times. When you make eye contact, he either pretends to be looking at something else or gives you what he clearly thinks is a cool, aloof nod. It's like watching a middle schooler with his first crush, except this middle schooler has fangs.

"Before we conclude," Gary says, checking his notes, "a reminder that Councilwoman Bathory will be conducting inspections next week. All newly-turned vampires must register with the Council to receive their blood ration cards."

Riki perks up. "The Council? Like, vampire government? That's a real thing?"

You roll your eyes. "Of course it's real. Who did you think keeps humans from finding out about us? Pure luck?"

"I figured it was just, like, an understanding," he says, waving his hand vaguely. "Nobody talks about it because it's cooler that way."

"Yes," you deadpan. "Vampire society has survived for millennia on vibes alone."

Emma snorts. Gary shoots her a look.

"The Council is very real," Gary explains patiently. "And very serious about registration. Unregistered vampires are considered rogue and... well, it doesn't end well."

Riki's attempt at looking unimpressed falters slightly. "What happens to them?"

"They get staked," you say bluntly. "Or worse."

"What's worse than getting staked?" he asks, sunglasses slipping down his nose again.

You just stare at him flatly. "Use your imagination."

When the meeting ends, you find yourself lingering. He's trying to look disinterested, scrolling through his phone, but his thumb isn't moving. He's just staring at a black screen while casting furtive glances your way.

"First meetings are the worst," you say, approaching him.

He jumps like you've shocked him, then tries to play it cool by leaning against the wall. He misses the wall entirely and has to quickly readjust. "Nah, it was cool. Good to know there are other vampires out there, I guess. Not that I need, like, community or whatever."

"Of course not," you agree flatly. "You strike me as someone who has it all figured out."

"Exactly," he says, missing your sarcasm entirely. He runs a hand through his carefully disheveled hair. "So... you come to these things often?" He immediately winces at his own cliché.

"Only when I'm bored. Which is frequently, after a few centuries."

His eyebrows shoot up above his sunglasses. "Centuries? Holy shit—I mean, that's, uh, cool. Very cool. You don't look a day over..." he falters, realizing he doesn't know how to age you.

"Four hundred and twelve," you supply.

"Right. I was gonna say that."

"You know," you say, your lips curving into a slight smirk, "technically that makes me the ultimate cougar. I've got about four centuries on you."

His mouth falls open slightly before he catches himself. "I, uh—I mean—"

"I've literally known shoes that lasted longer than your entire existence," you continue, enjoying his flustered reaction. "I was drinking blood when your ancestors were still figuring out indoor plumbing."

"That's..." he swallows hard. "Actually kind of hot?"

Now it's your turn to be surprised, though you mask it better than he does. "Interesting response."

He shrugs, a hint of genuine Riki breaking through the cool façade. "What can I say? I've always been into older women. Though usually the age gap is more like five years, not five hundred."

"Four hundred," you correct.

"My bad. That makes all the difference."

For the first time in decades, you laugh—a real, unguarded sound. His eyes widen at it, like he's witnessing some rare astronomical event.

"You know," you say, "the sunglasses at night thing is very 1980s. If you want to seem current, you might want to update your 'cool vampire' aesthetic."

He whips them off so fast you're surprised they don't break. "These old things? I don't even like them. Just, you know, had eye surgery. Laser. Very... futuristic."

Without his shield, his eyes are a warm brown, currently dilated from the darkness and from staring at you like you're the last blood bag in a famine. They're surprisingly gentle for someone trying so hard to seem tough.

"There's a night market that caters to our kind a few blocks from here," you say. "They sell blood that actually tastes decent, unlike whatever you've got in that thermos."

"It's not that bad," he lies, clutching the thermos defensively.

"It's pig blood cut with iron supplements and probably hot sauce to mask the taste."

He stares at you. "How did you—"

"Four hundred years, remember? I've seen every trick." You turn toward the exit. "Coming?"

"With you? I mean—yeah, sure, whatever. I'm not doing anything else tonight. So yeah. Cool. Let's do it. The night market. Together. Walking. Side by side. Cool." He's nodding way too much.

"Or I could just go alone," you deadpan.

"No!" He clears his throat, lowers his voice. "I mean, no, I'll come. It's fine. I'm fine."

As you lead him up the basement stairs, you catch him frantically checking his reflection in his phone screen. Except, of course, there is no reflection—a fact he seems to have momentarily forgotten in his panic. He pockets his phone with a muttered "fuck."

The night market exists in a dimensional pocket beneath an ordinary-looking pawn shop. To human eyes, it appears closed, with dusty guitars and outdated electronics visible through grimy windows. To supernatural eyes, the neon sign reading "OPEN 24/7 FOR THE ETERNALLY DAMNED" is unmissable.

"No way," Riki breathes as you lead him toward the entrance. "I must have walked past this place a hundred times."

"That's the point," you say, pushing open the door. A bell jingles, but instead of the cheerful tone humans would hear, it emits a low, ominous toll.

The shop owner—a wizened, ancient vampire named Ichiro who came to Japan even before you did—looks up from his newspaper. "Y/N," he nods respectfully. His eyes slide to Riki. "New pet?"

"New community member," you correct, though you're amused by how Riki puffs up indignantly at being called a pet.

"I'm nobody's pet," he mutters, trying to appear intimidating. On a scale of one to threatening, he ranks somewhere around 'disgruntled kitten.'

Ichiro snorts. "Of course not." He turns back to you. "The usual?"

You nod. "And something palatable for the newborn. He's drinking pig swill."

"I told you, it's a special blend—" Riki starts, but Ichiro is already laughing.

"Follow me," the old vampire says, lifting a section of the counter. "And don't touch anything unless you can afford to replace it. Some items are older than your entire bloodline."

As you browse the market, Riki trying desperately to look unimpressed while clearly fascinated, you become aware of Council enforcers moving through the crowd. They're looking for unregistered newborns—apparently there's been trouble with newly-turned vampires killing humans.

"We should go," you murmur to Riki, whose face has gone even paler than vampire-standard. "Now."

You guide him through the back of the stalls, taking a circuitous route to a secondary exit you know from centuries of visiting the market. Once outside, in a quiet alley behind the pawn shop, you explain the situation.

"So there's killer newborns out there?" he asks, genuinely concerned.

"Seems like it," you reply. "Which means you should lie low for a while. Go straight home, stay inside, don't talk to vampires you don't know."

"But I barely know any vampires," he points out. "Except you. And Gary, I guess, but he's—"

"Riki," you interrupt, "I'm serious. This could be dangerous. Someone might be targeting new vampires."

He studies your face, seeing the genuine concern there. "You're actually worried. About me."

"I'm worried about the situation," you correct.

"Right." He doesn't look convinced. "So, this is goodnight then?"

You nod. "Go home. Stay safe."

"You too," he says, then adds awkwardly, "I mean, obviously you can take care of yourself. Being super old and all. Not that you look old. You look great. For someone born when people still thought the plague was caused by bad smells."

"Miasma theory," you provide.

"What?"

"That's what it was called. The theory that disease was caused by bad air."

"Cool. Very cool scientific fact." He shifts from one foot to the other. "So, uh, will I see you again? At the next meeting maybe?"

You consider him for a moment. There's something oddly endearing about his transparent attempt to seem aloof while being so obviously eager. It's been a long time since anyone looked at you the way he does—like you're the most fascinating thing they've ever seen.

"Probably," you say noncommittally. "If you don't get yourself staked before then."

He tries to look offended, but can't quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. "As if. I'm very stakeable. I mean un-stakeable. Fuck."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "Goodnight, Riki."

You turn to leave, but his voice stops you.

"Y/N?"

When you look back, he's closer than you expected—he must have moved toward you without your noticing, which is unusual given your heightened senses. There's an intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before, a momentary break in his carefully constructed cool-guy persona.

"Thanks," he says simply. "For helping me tonight. For not laughing at me. Well, not laughing too much."

The sincerity catches you off guard. "You're welcome."

He nods, then seems to gather his courage. "Can I ask you something? Why did you help me? I mean, I'm nobody to you. Just some random newborn vampire you met at a support group."

You consider how to answer. The truth is, you're not entirely sure yourself. Maybe it's boredom. Maybe it's curiosity. Maybe it's the way he looks at you, like you're something special rather than just another ancient creature going through the motions of immortality.

"Let's just say you're more interesting than most," you finally reply.

"Interesting?" he repeats, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'll take it."

There's a moment of silence between you, charged with something unexpected. His eyes drop to your lips, then back up to your eyes, a question in them.

"I should go," you say, but you don't move.

"Yeah," he agrees, but takes a step closer instead.

You can smell the blood on his breath—Jin's special blend, rich and complex. His pupils are dilated, whether from the darkness or from looking at you, you're not sure. Probably both.

"This is a bad idea," you murmur, even as you find yourself leaning slightly toward him.

"Probably," he agrees. "But I'm full of bad ideas lately. Becoming a vampire. Wearing sunglasses at night. Crushing on someone who was alive during the Spanish Inquisition."

"I was in Japan during the Spanish Inquisition," you correct, your voice softer than intended.

"Right." He's close enough now that if either of you still breathed, you'd feel it. "Still a bad idea though?"

"The worst," you whisper, and then close the distance between you.

The kiss is electric—literally, a small spark of supernatural energy passing between you. His lips are cooler than a human's would be, but still impossibly soft. He makes a small, surprised sound against your mouth, like he wasn't actually expecting you to kiss him, before responding with unexpected intensity.

For someone so awkward in conversation, he's surprisingly confident in this. His hand comes up to cup your face, touch gentle but certain. When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, you grant him access, and the kiss deepens.

You can taste the blood he's consumed, feel the newborn vampire energy thrumming through him—wild and untamed compared to your carefully controlled power. It's intoxicating, this blend of inexperience and eagerness. His fangs accidentally graze your lower lip, drawing a drop of your ancient blood.

The taste hits him like a drug. He groans, a deep, primal sound that resonates through you. His hands tighten on you reflexively, pulling you closer.

"Fuck," he breathes against your lips. "You taste like...I don't even have words."

"Four hundred years gives the blood a certain complexity," you murmur, slightly dazed yourself. It's been decades since you've allowed anyone to taste you.

He stares at you, wonder and desire naked on his face. All pretense of coolness has evaporated. "Can I—"

"No," you cut him off, regaining your composure. "One taste is all you get. For now."

His eyes widen at the implication of 'for now.' "Right. Cool. Very cool. I can work with that."

You step back, creating some distance between you. The kiss was more intense than you'd anticipated, and you need a moment to collect yourself. Four centuries of existence, and you're rattled by a kiss from a week-old vampire with a cool-guy complex and a price tag still visible on his jacket.

Pathetic.

And yet.

"Go home, Riki," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "Stay safe."

He nods, still looking slightly dazed. "Yeah. Home. Safety. Got it."

You turn to leave, using your vampire speed to put some distance between you before you do something even more foolish.

"Y/N!" he calls after you.

You pause, looking back over your shoulder.

He's standing there, hair mussed from your fingers, lips slightly swollen from your kiss, looking simultaneously like the disaster he is and something unexpectedly precious.

"Just so you know," he says, a genuine smile breaking through his usual smirk, "I'm totally cool with the age gap. I've always said age is just a number."

"In my case, it's a pretty big number," you call back.

"More to love!" he retorts, then immediately looks mortified at his own words. "I mean, not love. Obviously. Just a figure of speech. Very casual figure of speech."

You laugh despite yourself. "Goodnight, Riki."

"Goodnight, ancient one," he replies with a mock bow.

As you disappear into the night, you hear him whisper, "Holy fucking shit" to himself, and then a triumphant "YES!" followed by what sounds suspiciously like a victory dance.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

And yet, for the first time in centuries, you find yourself genuinely looking forward to next week's support group meeting.

Maybe immortality isn't complete bullshit after all.

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asidian · 10 months ago

Text

I nattered on about this a while back as an addendum to one of my other posts, but it got a little lost since it was a reblog, and the idea of it's stuck with me, so I wanted to come back to it again and expand on it a little.

One of the major themes of Dead Boy Detectives is that the good you do comes back around.

It surfaces and resurfaces throughout the series. The instances in the final episode are the most spelled out for the viewer, but there's one example that lives at the very heart of the show that isn't quite so obvious on first glance.

When Charles dies, Edwin is newly returned from hell. The show doesn't specify the timeline aside from that he escapes hell in the same year he meets Charles, 1989, but overcoming that much trauma within a year is a big ask any way you slice it. He's spent seventy years in survival mode. He's got to be a wreck, still.

At this point, he hasn't had time to develop any complicated leniency schemes to keep himself out of hell. Certainly their detective agency hasn't been formed yet. It comes later, in 1990.

For the entire rest of the series, Edwin has a least a partial ulterior motive for the good he does. He takes on cases and tries to make an impact for their clients at least in part so that he can build himself up such a shield of decency that if he ever gets dragged back to hell, he can try to plead his case. He's so ashamed of this that he doesn't admit it out loud until he's forced to by magic.

But when he meets Charles, none of that plan is in place yet. Here he hasn't taken the time to sit down and work out a plan at all. Here the agency doesn't even exist.

He sees this boy in the attic, beaten and freezing and huddling in a corner, and he comes to offer the only thing he thinks he can: light.

And when he realizes he can give more than that – when he realizes that Charles can see him, and what that means – he stays and gives more. Comfort, and kindness, and company, in the very darkest hour of all.

He takes one look at how battered Charles is, and he tells him, "I shan't hurt you."

And it is a big deal.

Arguably this one line is the very best thing he could have said to Charles in this situation, and Edwin, who struggles with people, who has spent seventy years in hell, who is still trying to sort through his own trauma, takes one look at this boy who has been beaten soon-to-be to death, and he knows that intuitively.

And to Charles? It must have meant everything. Charles has spent his entire life trying to be good enough. He smiles and struggles to please. He does the best he can for whoever he can, and for his entire life, it has never been enough. He's been hurt, over and over again, for failing to live up to his father's impossible standards or guess at his impossible rules. His so-called friends turned on him and murdered him for trying to keep them from hurting someone else.

He's on the verge of tears, alone in the dark, dying.

And then Edwin steps up carrying the metaphorical and literal light in the darkness, and one of the very first things he ever says is, "I shan't hurt you."

That's the baseline. That offer comes when Charles isn't putting on a show. He's not being brave, or strong, or charming. He's hiding in a corner, quietly freezing to death. But here comes this boy anyway, with a light in the darkness and a promise not to hurt him.

It's a moment of simple, honest kindness – of Edwin doing good because he sees someone and he wants to help.

And to Charles, it makes such an impact that he gives up his afterlife for this boy. He spends the next thirty years stepping in front of things that would do him harm. He keeps the lantern and brings it with him, when he comes to save Edwin from hell.

It's that very first moment of kindness, in the attic, that sets into motion the events that result in Edwin's rescue.

That one moment of genuine good, with no furtive selfish side intentions, comes back around to save him. He only knows Charles at all because he stopped to help. Charles only didn't pass on to his afterlife because Edwin was there for him.

And then, all those years later, Charles sets out like Orpheus down into hell to get his best mate back.

That good has come around again. That light in the darkness, literally and figuratively both, is there for him in his lowest moment because he offered it to someone else when they desperately needed it.

And that's beautiful.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #dbda spoilers #edwin payne #charles rowland #payneland #meta commentary #netflix

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semischarmed · 10 months ago

Text

Hunter, Part 2

In the past few days, you’ve turned your neighbor into your own hedonistic puppet. Hunter’s major life changes were a shock to friends and family alike, but they were ultimately supportive as they helped you, his “new boyfriend”, move into your new apartment together. It only turned you on even more to see them cheer and congratulate Hunter, when you maneuvered his body into leaning over to kiss you sensually while your hand cups his right ass cheek possessively. You drew that particular kiss out, partially because he just tasted that good, and partially to goad Hunter.

Next came everything else- bank accounts, social media, Hunter made you a piece of all of it.

“You’re not gonna get awa-w….” Hunter’s body shudders before it lick’s its lips, laying a seductive stare on you. “Coming to bed, babe?” You knew that part always killed him. You make him watch as you don his recently used gym clothes, still reeking of his sweat and warm with his latest session. You take a quick whiff, enjoying the feeling of his sweat glide across your flesh and his scent permeate into you.

The raw, sharp stench of his used compression clothing hung heavy in the room but it wasn’t like Hunter was any better. These past few days were some of the most tiring for him- you loved making his flesh work out, loved the scents and grime he caked himself with, and ultimately decided to keep his body from showering. Hunter probably reeked to everyone else, but he smelled perfect to the only person allowed to matter in his life.

You slide up to him in bed, forcing him to wrap tone arms and legs around you like a warm blanket of flesh. He holds his phone up to your face, letting it unlock as he loads up his Instagram. Hunter was still somewhat connected to his University’s frat, so you had many options.

You make him lick your cheek seductively. You shuddered. “I wanna know what it feels like… To take one of my bros, to watch the betrayal in their eyes while I jam them full of our seed.” Immediately, Hunter wrestles back control, only managing to whimper. Inside him, you can feel your joint seed- the worms you initially used to infect him writhe and wriggle in pleasure.

You grab the phone, turning to the side as you continue to scroll through his Instagram. Meanwhile, you make Hunter touch himself, self-pleasuring until he reaches climax. You squirm in pleasure as he releases, feeling his body’s pleasure as an extension of yourself. His cum instantly solidifies. Instead of worms, your slithering offspring together expand in size, taking on a more snake-like appearance. You let one flow into your mouth, intending to let it settle in your body like a spring-loaded trap in case you needed a new puppet. You savor the flavor of the singular snake while forcing Hunter to swallow the rest of the serpents. Mmmmm. Tastes just like Hunter.

Hunter convulses as your offspring together reintegrate into his being. Without acknowledging his spasming form, you pull up one of the current members of his old frat.

“Jake. Junior. Sports Medicine. ATO… Looks like he has a personal training course. What do you think?” You ask the shaking Hunter. You see the veins on his temples enlarge in struggle and his face flush red.

“F-F…. Fuck Yeah”.

- - - - -

“Hey man. You sure you wanna do this in the forest?” Jake asked. So far, that only emotion you've seen come across his face is mild disinterest.

“Yeah…” you reply coolly through Hunter. God it turned you on just hearing his voice relay your thoughts. Hunter gagged internally. He stewed in disgust at feeling his own body act so naturally despite your impure intentions.

You can tell from Jake’s willingness to accommodate, you must have been one of his first clients. It was pretty clear why. Though popular, he wasn’t particularly charismatic. He’s posted at least one or two others- members of his own frat, but you wonder how many other actual clients he had. It was likely not much, considering how easy it was to convince him to agree to start the session the middle of the forest.

You readjusted in your seat, trying to hide your growing boner. Corrupting Hunter’s own secret spot into a trap laid out for Jake brought its own unique pleasure, but having to force his body to drive made it difficult to keep your own emotions at bay. You internally thank how little of your actual intention leaked. Hunter’s sincerity was one of his best traits, and you readily dispensed it at will, turning it into your own personal weapon.

Deeper and deeper, you drive Hunter to guide your party into the woods. Getting to the remote location felt even longer than before, perhaps due to your excitement. You look at your phone in glee as signal slowly dwindles. Eventually, your party stops at the water’s edge. You admire your handiwork as you look in satisfaction at the sheer stillness in Hunter’s Lake.

“Uh, so you’re actually already pretty built but we can still work on bulking you up.” His lips follow a flat smile, but his eyes betray his lack of interest. “You said you wanted to get jacked? What about your friend over there?” You smile a little at his nonchalance. It was almost cute seeing him try to secure another client. Oh Jake, I can’t wait to use that tight bod to get ourselves some more ‘clients’.

“My boyfriend”, you correct him through Hunter. “Is just here to watch... I l-like it when he watches”. You anticipate Jake’s reaction to this bizarre response, but the only change in his somewhat bored expression is a slight raise in his eyebrows. Hunter’s face is forced to mimic your sinister glee. Too easy.

“Sure bro, whatever floats your boat…” he relays back with a tone that feels like an eye roll. “Just saying, he could probably really benefit from this program.” Bored eyes survey your main body up and down. “I can make you strong, bro”. That brings a filthy smile to your face.

“You’re about to”, you moan.

Jake looks slightly confused for second, but his attention immediately focuses on Hunter’s approaching form, hands placed across his flesh, raking every piece of himself in pleasure.

“W-“ Jake is cut short as he is pushed several feet back into the lake water below. Amusement paints your face. Evidently, you underestimated the strength bound in Hunter’s body.

In more emotion than you’ve ever seen him have, the frat bro seizes at the sharp drop in temperature, yelping before he feels his heart drop and face turn pale. Slithering. All over him. He looks around in shock at a mass of serpents, coiling and writhing beneath the once-still water. You could tell he had a sixth sense for their unnatural nature. Too little too late.

Water splashes everywhere as Jake makes a beeline for shore. He chokes on the lake water a little and stumbles out but he does make it. Jake continues running inland despite being covered in snakes, hoping to flee into the forest. He slowly trudges to a halt, pinned upright as your snakes continue swirling around him.

True to Hunter’s name, you had booby-trapped the water during a previous visit, forcing his body to the brink as it deposited wave after wave of your joined semen. As soon as his seed left his warm flesh, it instantly solidified together, forming sizable serpents. Quite the upgrade from those worms.

Even now, you continue through Hunter, forcing him to pump his dick and blow out another load of your serpentine offspring. His eyes go glassy as they combine into larger forms. This time, they slither around Hunter’s flesh. His eyes fall on the helpless Jake, blinking once in sincere dread before you moan. As you do, his face twitches in discomfort until he is forced to moan as well, bringing a shaking hand back over his dick to pump out another load. And another still. Wave after tireless wave of snakes. Each wave adds to the one before, growing your snake larger and larger, until one several feet long is coiling itself around Hunter.

You were up to your fifth wave of offspring now. Jake is staring in horror, trying to escape the writhing clutches of your previous trap. Hunter’s body is past its limits. He’s slack-jawed, mouth agape and chest coated in waves of drool. He exudes a thick, pungent sheen of sweat. Your eyes lazily fall back on the personal trainer.

Jake too is drenched in sweat and struggle and slick with the hybrid cum of you and your previous hunt. He continues to look in fear at the barely conscious, tired beyond measure Hunter. Hunter is still reeling from what his body was just puppetted into doing. In this state, there’s no fight left in your “boyfriend’s” mind. He was only strung up into lucidity by the web of your cells in folds of his brain.

You will your own body unconscious, feeding the full stream of your thoughts into your hot neighbor. Despite the refinement in control, you still feel the slightest lag, slight delay in each movement. But with this new level of control, you feel blood rushing into his sore dick. His height alone was already a shift from your previous body. Longer, stronger limbs at your beckoning. You feel them brimming with power. Every sensation, every breath through his lungs felt grounding. Without Hunter inside wrestling for control, every movement felt more precise, every sense more vibrant. Hunter’s body resonates with your mind, feeling more like an extension of yourself. You strip yourself, taking your time to enjoy the new sensations.

You blink through Hunter’s tired eyes, boring his hazel irises into Jake’s, and smirk. “Don’t worry. You’re so big… I bet you can take all of us.” You drop to your knees, laying the large serpent into the ground.

You give Jake a show, starting to hump the air. With each thrust, your serpentine offspring begin to coil further and further around the whimpering Jake. “Please!” He screams. “What do you want? Money? I’ll give you anything, bro!” He shouts as he tries to shake off the snakes. “I-I don’t wanna die” he states in panic.

You walk up and lean Hunter’s face up to his cheek, your puppet’s warmth like a blanket over his body. You breathe out hot damp air through Hunter lungs. Jake slightly winces at your proximity. “You’re not gonna fucking die, bro”. You lick the side of his face. Salty. “Would be such a waste of that delectable bod”. You can feel Hunter’s consciousness begin to reemerge. He tries to wriggle back control, his disgust apparent. He’s revolted at what’s become of him. Once kind. Once normal. Now depraved. Now yours. You wield him with little care. With a cockiness and a cruelty that paid no respect to the man he once was. “Look at this fucking hunk. This puppet. This meatsuit.” You let your Hunter-bound dick gently graze Jack’s abdomen while moaning out through his deep voice. “Does he look dead to you?”

“No, You’re gonna live. And I’m gonna live. With you… In you. Through. You.” With that, you position Hunter out of the way as your largest offspring slithers its way into the convulsing Jake.

Jake starts hyperventilating as it inches closer and closer into his bound form. You ball your Hunter’s hand into a fist. The snakes already surrounding his flesh tighten even further. He gasps as the first cum-drenched serpent pokes at his ass. He looks back as you start to feed it in, shaking as he tries to control his pleasure when it rushes past his prostate.

With his mouth slightly open, you feed foot upon foot of yourself. He tries to retch, but that only gives more space for the snake to slip even further into him.

Once half of the large serpent is comfortably inside, you will the rest of the snakes up his asshole. Jake shudders, unable to fully vocalize his screams. He falls to the ground in a dull thud, convulsing while his body is forced to accommodate the extra mass of your offspring. You hear creaks and groans in his flesh, chest and stomach distended and writhing with your offspring.

Jake is reduced to soft squelching noises when the last of the large serpent slips in, sealing his fate. His shaking hands grip his neck as he tries to fight off the intrusion. He’s far too late, however. He thrashes in the ground, kicking dirt as two snakes slip between his muscle fibers. You entrench yourself into the man, willing more serpents into the folds of his extremities before making them burst back into Hunter-enhanced cum.

He whimpers, back arching in unnatural angles as you weave the largest serpent into the deepest parts of his body. He eventually quiets into stillness. Unable to move out of fear. It’s only for a moment, however. A splashing sound is heard from deep within his flesh as you explode the snake and coat most of his insides with your seed. You feel your cells begin to hijack his, merging and imposing you into his body.

You feel your main body stir to life, panting. Hunter’s naked body immediately drops to the ground, unconscious. Controlling these snakes seems to take a lot out of you. You look back at Jake. You still lack fine control of his body. This body is strong too. You feel his muscle fibers fight you, defying your commands through sheer force of will. You lick your lips, causing the sleeping Hunter to do the same. Manipulating both bodies felt like its own workout, especially when they resist. You instead focus more attention on your latest capture.

You wrap one snake around one of his vocal cords and bite. A strand of drool escapes slightly parted lips as his mouth moves with sluggish rigidity. With other bits of control. you clumsily force him to strip. Veins pop around his neck and his face contorts in pain. As you wrap another snake around more of his vocal cords, he relents his voice to you. “I can already tell this body’s a fuckin alpha.” God it felt good to puppet Jake. He twitches in struggle and then pats his abs. They don’t move at all from his hand but they ripple intensely with the writhing of the flesh you lodged inside him. His lips quiver but he is eventually forced to smile- and then a cocky flex. It feels entirely foreign coming out of him.

A few of your serpents slip into his balls, coiling and coating them with the mix of Hunter’s seed and your own. Hunter already had potency, but you could tell Jake was on another level. You wanted it. All of it. All of him. You inject yourself into every piece of his seed factory, and Jake seizes as he feels his future surrender to you. He feels a wrongness to his core, as you root into his very essence, his potential legacy. Jake sticks his tongue out in your delirious pleasure. He pulls up to your main body, grinding into you while smearing testosterone laden sweat all over your body. “That’s fuckin right. Get in me. All of it. This body- my baby batter’s yours. Inject us into my friends. My family…” He moans.

Another snake wedges into the folds of his brain before biting. A mix of your cum and Hunter’s floods his mind. Jake grips his head in pain as he’s forced to surrender every thought, feeling, dream he’s ever had. You move your offspring in sync to perfectly imitate Jake. He starts to strip, letting you witness the full glory of his drenched body. ”I’ve always wanted kids. Your kids- Our kids are gonna be so fucking strong. Daddy Jake will make them strong”. He taunts himself as he feels his own body up. “I’m fucking delicious”. With your increased focus, he’s a bit easier to handle. A bead of sweat falls on your main body. Still fucking hard to pilot. “Cmon bro, this all you got?” You make him say to himself. Jake blinks away tears, betrayed by his own flesh and muscle.

Suddenly, you see a tired Hunter wake, sickened to his core, but free. You instantly try to flex the pieces of yourself still embedded inside him but he resists. Your main body falls into sleep again to solidify your control over Jake’s body. The worn Hunter starts to scramble away before you rush him with Jake’s body, pinning him with your new strengthened biceps. Power. Hunter had good qualities, but Jake was a powerhouse. Raw, muscled power. He was brimming with it, body soaked in the stuff. And it was now yours. Jake’s face animates with your delight. “Oh Hunter…” you coo. “You’re a fighter, aren’t you? I don’t think you’re fighting your way out of this one,” You sake with Jake’s virile voice, opening your mouth so he can see a resolidified snake. It was larger this time, more menacing. You close Jake’s mouth again as his face is pulled into your smile.

“Here, have a taste”, you make him say, as you pull Hunter into a savage kiss. You fashion your new mouth into a wide smile regurgitating the newly thickened snake. Hunter chokes on your serpent, eyes rolling to the back of his head. The new offspring you’ve forced out of Jake and Hunter’s genetic material is mighty. Dominant. Hunter’s throat expands to allow the intrusion. He’s still weary from the past few days and newfound freedom, and you feel just one of these snakes are enough for full control. Permanent control. The enhanced piece of you begins dissolving and weaving itself into Hunter’s flesh. "You're mine". You hold him in place as he jolts, body twisting and contorting to try in vain to fight it. As his trembling slowly subsides, you watch in glee as his sullen face slowly rise to meet Jake’s eyes, growing smirk on his face mirroring yours.

Your control slowly wanes when your main body rises out of its sleep. You bring Hunter into a deep, wet kiss, before placing your attention back on Jake. Hunter’s flesh moves to your command, just like before, but this time, any resistance is tamped down by your new Jake-enhanced cum. You are still slightly out of breath from controlling his body, but with nowhere near the difficulty you had before.

The triple vision causes you to stagger, but you quickly get used to puppetting two bodies at once. This time, it was Jake’s turn to form a resistance. His body jerks as he tries to brute force command of his own body back. You wrestle it back, forcing a shaking hand to grab his dick and start pumping. You bring Hunter’s hand over, supporting. Your two hands are coarse, and your control over them is somewhat rough. Regardless, you quicken to a breakneck speed, barely leaving time for Jake’s body to gasp.

Jake’s dick releases in a torrent of cum. It coats Hunter’s body, but with your control, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he moans, scooping it into his hands and bringing it up to your Jake body’s mouth. You make your frat bro slurp the mixture own seed, Hunter, and yours. Jake’s fighting the urge to vomit, but to you it tastes divine. You make him swirl his tongue inside his mouth, corralling every last piece of it deeper inside.

Making Jake reinfect himself made all three of your bodies hard. Jake squirms in and out of control. He’s forced to grope his own muscles while he feels himself saturate with you, his own Adonis bod reduced into an avatar of your pleasure. He’s ready. You bring your newly infested puppet close. His deep chest heaves for you. Voice dripping with your perversion, “I’ll make you strong bro” you make Jake say in a corruption of his own catchphrase. “This is peak performance”. You can practically feel him fight with every fiber of his being. His bulging musculature spams. You drool with anticipation, pinning his body and yours to a tree with Hunter’s gyrating flash. ”Be one with me” you sing in Hunter’s voice. “O..On..with…. me“, you start to be able to reply back as Jake. “O-o-one…” His head shakes side to side, fighting you intrusion. You pinpoint your mind, like a hypodermic needle to his psyche. “One with me,” He gasps in ecstasy.

“You fuckin freak….” Jake’s face pulls in a deep smile as he moans. You already have him acting atypically, it borders on unnatural as his lips pull into a smile wider than he’s ever made in his life. He now faces your main body, face closer than you ever would have dared to have it before. “Sin in my body….” He winces in one last bit of resistance, a small tear pooling in his eye. “Let’s make my parent’s cry…” He leans down to you for a kiss, letting you taste every piece of him with your main body for the first time. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as he’s forced to suck out the snake you swallowed a few days ago. He gurgles a little before sending a Jake-imbued serpent, drenched in his testosterone and musk, down your throat. You make him pull back, looking at you with his signature bored expression, now tainted with your lust. “Own me”. His hand grabs yours, pulling it over his ass cheek and forcing a squeeze. “From now on… I am yours”

- - - - -

It took a few hours to make your way back but you finally manage. This time, Jake drove back. Drawing on the sleeping Hunter's knowledge. His car and the route back are second nature.

Jake places a hand on your inner thigh and smiles. Before long, your back in town and you send the aspiring personal trainer on his way.

You lay back in bed, curling up to your Hunter body. He still reeks but you can’t wait to start concocting your own concentrated Jake-flavored scent. You sigh contentedly, satisfied with your newest acquisition.

Doesn’t hurt to have a little test drive.

Your two bodies peacefully lull into slumber as you flood the full force of your consciousness into Jake’s body. His face flashes in a split-second resistance before settling back. You fit the shape of your psyche to match his brain, slowly sliding into a deepened control. He has been carrying on as normal, so when you open his eyes as your own for the first time and gasp you first Jake-breath, you immediately adapt to his nonchalance. You survey your new surroundings.

He’s at the school gym, with what looks like one of his ATO brothers. It’s quite empty, probably due to how late it was. You pull one of his half-smiles. You couldn’t believe your luck at the fine man before you. You extract information from Jake’s mind.

A model, at least part time. Smart. Charismatic. “He’s cute, too,” You taunt Jake. “Thanks for the bro, bro”.

One of the snakes you have in his body coils in excitement, but you will it to be still. Might as well finish his routine. You can’t help but push Jake’s body past its limit as you barrel your way through his sets.

You had a glimpse of his raw power previously, but it paled in comparison to this. As you smash through set after set in his body, you feel deeply in tune with Jake. His heart pumps mightly. Your cells already course through his bloodstream, so the action squeezes you into him further and only solidifies your bond together. His lungs are like engines, you’ve never felt so much energy inside you. You want to keep the charade of his normal personality up, but you can’t help but giggle. So good. So fucking good.

Hunter was dependable, and it felt amazing fully wearing his mind, but Jake was another beast entirely. You feel drunk in his body, in his vitality, in feeling his muscles conform to your thoughts. Your two bodies in Hunter’s apartment start squirming, leaking a bit of precum. Your mind is twisted and slotted into every piece of Jake's. His inner self winces as your very being, very sense of self leeches out of every crevice in his, neurons force-fed your commands. Your Jake-flavored thoughts course through his body, the perfect housing to your newly added self. This was truly being Jake. Wearing him in all senses but physical. And being Jake is a fuckin party.

It wasn’t just sensation. Thoughts themselves felt euphoric. Through his eyes, the world seems just a bit brighter. His mouth is intimately aware of the flavor of his own saliva. And his nose... you take a deep whiff of the perspiration caking his armpits, drenched in his musk. Divine. A moan escapes your mouth, prompting a quick turn from Dylan. God, we even sound good when we moan together. Jake’s face immediately reverts to its normal, dull demeanor. You raise your eyebrows slightly, just like Jake does, as you catch his eyeline, arousing no suspicion. Dylan promptly returns to his exercises, unaware of the danger wearing his best friend. You put Jake in the forefront, only for a moment, relishing in his sense of freedom before immediately straddling his psyche. You ride it as he is forced to bring trembling fingers up to his nipples. You give them a good rub. Oh my god. Another moan, but Dylan ignores it this time. That gets the two of you even harder.

You continue to straddle Jake’s inner sense of self as you work through his last set. It felt good to have him around, to witness how much more powerful he was when you were puppetting his bod. “We’re so fucking strong together,” you grunt in a proud aggression. Jake’s emotions felt far more raw than Hunter’s so it was difficult reining them in.

Large dumbbells fall to the ground in a loud thunk. Jake’s body- your body is spent. His flesh cries in pain and soreness, but even that felt amazing through his bod. You are intimately aware of his tired flesh. It’s tender, but not for long. You feel the fibers of his being, coated in your conjoined seed getting buried in the folds of his growing muscles. Like all bodies after a workout, his body courses with growth hormones. Mass. His flesh condenses, builds itself stronger, unwillingly with you inlaid deep within them. You whimper in ecstacy. This is yours. He is yours. All yours. Irreversibly yours.

You roar, proud of Jake, of the new branch of your being. You will his tired form upright. He drools as his body whines in soreness. You lap it up, his face filling with determination as you prepare for your next hunt.

Your body is soaked, oozing with Jake’s sweat and scent. You pay no mind as you slowly walk towards Dylan, who had just finished his last set. You can barely mask your excitement through Jake’s normal demeanor. God you look even better up close. Your muscled hand reaches out, offering to pull him up. You ‘accidentally’ pull him too hard and into your awaiting hug. You laugh it off but you can tell that emotion alone was already offputting to Dylan. Fuck it, let’s be one already.

You waste no time, wrapping Dylan with your larger frame. Your ATO bro flails, trying to escape your clutches. He's far too weak to resist, post-workout. Instead you pull his head, up to your nose for a quick whiff of your future scent. Your eyelids flutter a little. He smells fancy.

You tug on Jake’s memories, “Bro, it was so fun getting to know you this semester. Gets me so hard just thinking about that tight little ass of yours.” You start grinding Jake’s body into Dylan. Letting him feel Jake’s hard on.

Dylan is stammering, clearly worried at the hybrid personality of Jake and your perversion. This person in front of him is Jake. It’s undeniably Jake, but it feels so wrong. Your muscled hand grips his chin, turning it from one side to another. “We’re gonna be more than bros, Dylan.” That causes him to struggle more. “You got the cutest face in ATO. Can’t fucking wait to wear it. Ready to be one?”

Dylan starts tossing himself around, as he sees the large snake slowly rising from Jake’s smile. You use your newfound muscle man to keep him steady. Another perk of being entrenched in Jake’s body. You waste no time, forcing Dylan to gorge himself on you, Jake and Hunter’s hybrid seed.

He makes gurgling noises as you coil and worm into your new bod, and the last sight he sees is Jake pleading “sorry”. Dylan’s shaking stops, arms hanging lifelessly. Jake is still whimpering his sorrys as you brute force your bond into Dylan. It’s normally an arduous process, but being betrayed by his best friend turns his corruption into quick work. His mind succumbs to you easily, still in shock.

Jake is still sobbing “sorry” as he holds you upright. Your eyes slowly blink open, looking to Jake in confusion at first. He opens his mouth, wanting to ask if you were still you but you abruptly use your new body to pull him into a kiss. You force Jake to reciprocate, giving him a forbidden taste of his best bro’s essence.

“No need to be sorry bro,” you moan. “Actually... thank you, Jake. Thank you for stuffing this tight bod with his flesh.” You start to mock Jake by wearing your new body’s sincerity as you continue. “I’ve always wanted to be turned into a meat puppet. This was my deepest desire”. You hum.

Wearing Dylan was equally arousing and you feel Jake squirm in disgust at feeling his best friend’s growing hard on. You start to dance in Dylan’s tight bod, shaking more of your cells deeper in the process. “I’ve always wanted to be slut. And for my best, most trusted bro to be the one to infect me!” You cackle. “You feel him, don’t you?” You moan. “You can tell there’s no going back…” Jake starts to shake as you resume control, this time dispersing your mind across both bodies.

You pull back Jake to the forefront of his own mind, again strapping him to your own thoughts so he can fully watch and experience himself defile his best friend’s body. Jake’s body returns a hedonistic sneer. “Hell yeah brother…” You slam Dylan to the gym floor and begin stripping both frat men. “We can take the rest of ATO-“ both bodies briefly moan at the thought of corrupting their own brothers. “But, gratitude, bro. Lemme taste you first. Gonna stuff you so full of my cum, you’ll always have a piece of Jake inside of you,” You chuckle. “Well, more what's already there”.

= = = = =

Phew, another long one. But when have they ever not been long?

#malepossession #male puppet #male corruption #male body control #male takeover #male mind control

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dem0batz · 3 months ago

Text

Just Pretend

Caleb x MC!Reader // Love and Deepspace

Author's Note: I don't normally update this frequently so please don't expect me to continue to pump out chapters for this au at the pace that I have been. I'm just following the brain worms. Summary: Based on the main story track when MC is staying in Skyhaven with Caleb. You develop a minor cold and accidentally fall asleep the night you were supposed to rescue Kevi, unbeknownst to you that it was very intentional on Caleb's part. 🔞Content Warnings: Dead Dove; Do Not Eat, afab!mc, she/her!mc, yandere!Caleb, pseudocest, drugging MC, stalking (filed under “surveillance”), angst, brief mention of pregnancy and pregnancy loss, noncon, somnophilia, oral (f. rec), masturbation, breeding kink, cream pie Word Count: ~3000 words | read on AO3 | Chapter List

“Maybe you should take tonight to rest instead of meeting up with your friends, pip-squeak. You’ve been coughing all day.”

Caleb phrased it like a suggestion but you took it for what is was. Some things never change and his bossy tendencies was one of them. You had no intention of staying in tonight, cold or not— you promised Kevi you would help him and Zayne was waiting for you to bring the boy to him so he could be smuggled out of Skyhaven before the fleet found him.

As much as you wanted to trust your brother, there was something nagging at you that he was a different Caleb than the one you grew up with. You weren’t sure whose side he would take— yours or theirs should it be found out that you are secretly suspicious of the Farspace Fleet and investigating them.

“You’re probably right,” you say, exaggerating a cough.

“I’m always right,” he teases. “Besides, Skyhaven is under lockdown tonight while the fleet conducts a clean up.”

He disappears further into the apartment and returns a few moments later with two white pills in the center of his palm. You eye the pills warily.

“Cough suppressants,” he reassures.

A weight leaves your chest. You must be feeling especially paranoid with the whole Mia and Kevi situation. You don’t trust the Fleet but Caleb would never put you in danger, despite what his orders were.

You truly believed that. He was just trying to look out for your well-being. Taking the cough suppressants would probably help with the worst of your symptoms tonight anyway.

“Thanks,” you accept the medication. Caleb watches you chase down the pills with a glass of water, a satisfied smile on his face. “Why the need for the lockdown?”

“I see you haven’t gotten any less nosy over the years,” he accuses playfully.

“And you haven’t gotten any less avoidant over the years,” you counter. Still, you continue to probe. “Is it classified?”

Huffing a laugh and shaking his head, Caleb cages you against the counter. His eyes dance playfully across your face, left hand coming up to cup your jaw. You find it a little odd, considering that he was right-handed but you quickly push it from your mind, heart racing at the feeling of his proximity. His thumb strokes your cheek, subtly checking your skin for a rise in heat to ensure you haven’t caught a fever. At least that’s what he tells himself, and it’s partially true, but really he just wanted an excuse to touch you again after nearly a year of missing the feeling.

“No, it’s not classified,” he eventually gives. It wouldn’t hurt to allow you this small bit of information. “A weird fluctuation in the tunnel is riling up the Wanderers. So teams are being sent out tonight to handle it. But it’s nothing you need to worry about because you’ll be resting. Right?”

Thankful for your years of training at the academy, you school your face though guilt wracks through you for the lie you were about to tell. Yes, you believed Caleb would always put your safety first, but you still didn’t know how involved he was in this situation with the kids. You couldn’t risk letting them down. If it turned out you were wrong and the Fleet really had their best interests in mind, then you would tell Caleb the truth once Kevi was out of Skyhaven.

“First of all, I’m a Hunter and eliminating Wanderers is my job. So of course it’s something for me to worry about,” you narrow your eyes defiantly.

The lop-sided smirk on his face only grows in amusement. He always got his entertainment out of picking fights with you and then making it up to you afterward. But things were different now. You were different now. You had to learn to survive without the safety net Caleb provided. He needed to take your job seriously and recognize that you were more than capable.

“Unfortunately though, you happen to be right about me needing to rest and get over this cough. I need to return to work next week and I would hate for a mild cold to keep me from my job.”

At the mention of returning to work, his face drops, lips pursing disapprovingly. Caleb never did like the idea of you going into such a hands-on, dangerous profession but Gran always kept him from interfering with your career too much. Now that she was gone, there wasn’t anyone to bat away the insane thoughts of keeping you locked up at bay. Truth be told, his reaction was less to do with your job now and everything to do with you leaving Skyhaven. Thankfully, those thoughts didn’t win out today as he nods, backing away and changing the subject.

The distance between you was back to feeling cold and empty.

“I need to get ready for my shift. I’ll make sure to say goodnight before I head out. Get some rest, pip-squeak.”

The way he went from hot to cold gave you the worst kind of whiplash. One minute he was playful and fun, and the next he was closed off and felt far away and unreachable, even more so than when he was “dead”.

You swallow down the painful lump in your throat as you watch the back of his white sweater disappear down the hallway to the guest room he had been staying in during your visit since you have been staying in his.

After going through your usual bed time routine so as to not make Caleb suspicious, you crawl into the large soft bed. Rolling over on your side, you cozy up to watch raindrops hit the floor-to-ceiling window as yet another storm dumps on Skyhaven. You had every intention of feigning sleep until Caleb left but somewhere along the way, your eyes grew so heavy that it was impossible to keep them open. You hadn’t even realized that you fell asleep and when you did, it was like being submerged in a warm, soothing bath that you couldn’t seem to come out of, falling into such a deep sleep that not even dreams or nightmares could touch you.

Many hours later, an exhausted Caleb returns home. He doesn’t even bother shedding his damp uniform, leaving the OTTO unit to clean up the trail of water left behind from his soaked boots. He only has one destination in mind after a long night cleaning up the streets of his city.

Caleb pushed open his bedroom door a crack. Peering from beneath the bill of his uniform cap, his eyes dart over your sleeping form. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you curled up in his bed, waiting for him to return home from work. It was something he spent his entire adult life dreaming of and now it was a reality, even if wasn’t of your own doing. Very little was when it was left up to him.

He was trained to sus out lies in interrogation rooms and could read you better than a book. After all these years, you still had the same tells though you had gotten better at concealing them. To anyone else, you likely would have been the perfect little liar but he knew your face and your body language better than anyone, despite what your new little boyfriends thought.

Yeah, he knew about them.

It was his job to know things and above everything else, you were always his first priority of business. He had continued to keep a close eye on you after his recovery post-explosion. Even if the professor hadn’t assigned you to his charge as a secret mission, Caleb would have done it regardless. His Colonel rank only gave him more resources to keep tabs on you, even if that meant occasionally having to destroy certain types of evidence to keep you safe. There were some places you went where he wasn’t able to keep watch— the N109 Zone, specifically. But it didn’t take long for the Onychinus leader to show his face in Linkon City.

Sylus may have been wealthy and full of resources competing with his own that kept his identity unknown to most other government and military entities, but he was difficult to ignore when he started showing up everywhere you went in Linkon. Wasn’t exactly subtle in the way he was pursuing you, touching you like you belonged to him.

But he would be dealt with later.

Out of all of your admirers, there was one in particular that set Caleb’s teeth on edge and that was his former best friend.

It was no secret that Gran always pushed you and Zayne together which is why Caleb invited him into your bedroom in the first place. He wanted to make sure that Zayne understood the only way he would ever get to have you was because Caleb allowed it. For years, it would seem that he received that unspoken message, never making a move on you beyond the permission Caleb directed in those intimate moments. It didn’t take long for the doctor to take advantage of your loneliness though, to swoop in and be your shoulder to cry on in his absence.

If any of your boyfriends deserved the Farspace Colonel’s wrath, it was Zayne.

This was personal.

Now that you knew the truth of Caleb’s life, there was no reason to continue to sit back and watch those four continue to take what was his. You didn’t need anyone else when you had him.

Caleb pushed the thoughts of those other men out of his mind, not wanting to spoil this rare moment he had to watch you in person again, comfortable and pliable in his sheets.

Just like when you were younger, the blanket was tossed to the side with one leg in and one leg out like your body couldn’t decide whether it was hot or cold. This gave Caleb a view of your body, his familiar oversized aviation tee that you had stolen years ago covering you. He can’t believe you still had it, and wore it regularly by the look of the thinning material. It rode up your torso, teasing a view of your stomach. The temptation to keep his hands to himself is impossible as a leather gloved finger traces the hem of your sleep shorts.

Caught in his thoughts, he’s thrown back to your sophomore year of college. He was in his last year of pilot training but made the trip from Skyhaven to Linkon as often as he could to see you. One particular weekend, he surprised you with with a visit and you surprised him with a positive pregnancy test. He was over the moon, thinking of the best way to break the news to Gran and trying to convince you to finally let him put a ring on your finger. Not that he needed your permission because he wouldn’t accept no for an answer, but hearing you say yes of your own accord would be ideal.

Yes, you were both young but he’s loved you for as long as he could remember and spending your lives together was always the plan. Not to mention, he’s been looking for a way to convince you to stay out of the Hunter’s Academy for years— a baby was the perfect reason to keep you off of such a dangerous career path. You didn’t need to risk your life when he would always be there to take care of you. Both of you.

That all came crashing down when you miscarried just a few days later.

He was devastated.

You were relieved.

Your relief broke his heart and made him angry, feeling like he was grieving the loss of your baby alone but he would never expect you to carry the burden of his pain so he kept it to himself. Regardless, he hadn’t let go of his plan for your life together; the timeline would merely be pushed back a little. He’d been patient for years at this point. A couple more wouldn’t hurt.

That was, until the explosion that left him dead to the world and confined to a bed during his recovery. For a while, he let go of that silly dream, content to watch you live your life from afar while he kept you safe from the clouds above. But now that you knew the truth and were back in his life, he felt a flicker of hope return.

Pushing the t-shirt further up your body, he hunches over to press a trail of soft wet kisses across the skin, imaging what you’ll look like swollen and heavy with his baby.

“I’m going to put another one inside you one day,” he continues peppering his lips over your stomach then resting his forehead there as his cap rolls off his head to land on the mattress. “This is my vow. As soon as I deal with the professor and we’re both safe, we will finally have the life we were always meant to, pip.”

You begin to stir under his touch, the feeling of his soft damp tendrils brushing your skin, tickling you even so deep in your sleep. The soft gasp of his name on your sleepy lips is enough to make him harden uncomfortably in his uniform pants, the starchy material leaving very little growing room. He can’t help but to bury his face in between your legs, inhaling the familiar scent of you with a shudder. It’s enough to leave the rational part of his mind behind, the last shred of his self-control slipping since your arrival as he pulls your sleep shorts down and tosses them to the side along with his jacket and gloves.

Caleb palms himself through the now unbearably tight pants before unzipping them for some relief. Kneeling back onto the bed, he carefully shoulders his way between your thighs, admiring the sight of your beautiful pussy and inhaling you again, feeling a sense of home for the first time in nearly a year. The temptation was too much to resist.

Just one taste.

That was all he needed to get by until he could convince you that this is where you belonged.

With him.

Knowing you wouldn’t wake up with the pills he fed you earlier, he flicks out his tongue to lightly spread your folds, teasing himself with the hint of your comforting flavor. He hadn’t completely lied about the nature of the pills— they would certainly heal up that cough of yours but would knock you out for a solid 12 hours before you came out of it. They basically put the consumer into a temporary coma to encourage a quickly healing process. The medication was not available for public consumption, reserved only for fleet members who needed a quick recovery but his rank gave him access that most others did not have.

Earlier, he had felt guilty for deceiving you but reminded himself that you were lying about staying in to rest and likely intended to sneak out once he was gone. He couldn’t have you wandering around Skyhaven alone at night without his protection. Not to mention, he never would have been able to do this if he hadn’t pushed you to take the medicine.

Your flavor explodes on the tip of his tongue, causing his hips to jerk into the mattress as he throws your legs over his shoulders to deepen his kiss to your center. Licking through the seam, he seeks out your clit, teasing and sucking it between his lips until you’re swollen and slick, gushing around his mouth with sleepy sighs and moans as you came on his tongue. Even if you wouldn’t remember it, he needed to make you orgasm, missing the feeling of you falling apart beneath him as if a piece of himself had been missing for ten long months.

This was the most alive he’s felt since he died.

Rising to his knees, chest rising and falling in heavy pants with your essence coating his chin, Caleb pulls his hard cock free. His head falls back in ecstasy as his hand cradles his girth. With you lying there and the lack of feeling in his right hand, he could almost pretend you were the one tugging on it, bringing him to the brink.

“Fuck, pretty girl. Missed you so damn much,” he pants, left hand climbing up your soft thigh to thumb your slick clit again. He had always been addicted to touching you, but now it was like going on a bender after getting sober and he couldn’t get enough.

Surprising himself with the quickness of his orgasm, he spurts all over you with a pained groan. Ropes of white coat the inside of your thighs and stomach, and he can’t tear his eyes away. When there’s nothing left to give, he slumps down, admiring the sight of his claim. Heart pounding in his chest, another intrusive thought invades his mind, bouncing off of the walls of his skull until he gives into the compulsion. Scooping the spend up with his fingers, he carefully stuffs you full of it, your pussy sucking them in like it was welcoming him home.

Slicking back his damp hair, Caleb feels like the storm clouds of his mind have been temporarily settled, allowing him to think clearly again. Guilt once again floods him as he thinks about what he’s done, always at war with himself when it came to you. He busies himself with cleaning you up and redressing you, ensuring to leave no tangible evidence of what he had done behind. Only the knowledge that he had left a piece of him behind for you to take back home with you.

OpaLADS Taglist: @i-messed-up-big-time @sorryimakira

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#love and deepspace #lads x mc #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb x reader #lads smut #Caleb #lnds caleb #lads caleb

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tennessoui · 20 days ago

Note

aaaaa can i request #44?!?

absolutely of course you can 🫶

[from this list of prompts]

[5. 'are you jealous' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you'

"Hey, hey," Anakin hears. Or feels, rather, as each word is punctuated by an ungentle tap against his cheek. Which is really sort of rude, considering that the last thing Anakin remembers is taking a grenade to the chest.

The least Vos can do is be nice to whatever's left of his dying body. He hopes the grumble of dissatisfaction he makes conveys this, because he can't find the energy to actually speak, let alone turn his head away from the hand on his face.

"No, nope, c'mon, Skywalker. Get up. Keep those eyes open. There you go. You're fine."

Anakin doesn't feel very fine. He feels disjointed and confused. He's in so much pain that it's honestly hard to focus on anything else, not even the blurry vision of Quinlan Vos' face leaning over him.

There'd been the grenade. So for all intents and purposes, Anakin should be dead, not dying. He'd been wearing armor, at least. Obi-Wan had given him his armor before sending him into the caves with Vos. He thinks. He remembers that, the way his master had taken Master Vos aside for a conversation that looked tense and unhappy, even to Anakin's eyes. And then his master had taken off the armor provided by the planet's guards--something heavier than what Anakin had, higher tech and sturdier--and given it to Anakin. It'd still been warm from Obi-Wan's body heat when he'd helped him fasten the straps around him.

His master. Anakin needs to--if there are grenades around, if the rebel group has access to that sort of fire power, if they're here in these caves with grenades while Anakin's master is walking about without armor--

"You're fine," Vos tells him, tugging once, sharply, on the padawan braid hanging down Anakin's throat. "Missing a bit of your side, but of your--your arm, but you're fine."

Anakin doesn't feel fine. Anakin has no idea how he feels. Anakin needs to find his master. He can't--

"Swear to the Force, Skywalker, if you die--I'm gonna kill you. Cause Obi-Wan's gonna kill me," Vos is muttering and Anakin can feel his hands ghosting along the site of the injury. It must not be good. He doesn't sound like it's good. He doesn't sound like Anakin's going to be fine.

But at the sound of Obi-Wan's name, Anakin forces his eyes open into slits once more. "'ll be fine," he tells Vos.

"Damn right you will," Vos replies, and suddenly his hands are tighter on Anakin, pressure being applied that lifts him up off the ground.

"No, not--" Anakin says, and he can hear the way he's slurring his words. He can hear the sound of his breath and the beating of his heart. "He'll be fin'."

It's easier to let his head flop down against his chest than to try and lift it to see where they're going. If they're moving somewhere, he trusts Master Vos enough to get them there, even though it's at least partially the man's fault that he went and got himself blown up. After all, he'd pushed Vos out of the way of the explosive the moment he felt it flying through the Force. So really, it's his fault.

He wonders if he should say that out loud. If Vos already thinks it, if it matters.

He doesn't think it matters, really.

"Oh, he'll be fine?" Vos asks, and Anakin's dropped--at least gently this time--against the wall of the tunnel as Vos pushes against a door with the Force. Checking for danger. Securing the area. "He'd be devastated, Skywalker."

"Get a new on'," Anakin disagrees, going limp the moment Vos' hands lift him up again. It hurts. It still hurts. And there's the dark promise of sleep licking at the back of his mind. It'd be so easy to fall into, if he could just stop arguing with Quinlan Vos. "Jus' a padawan."

Just a padawan, just an obligation. They've been butting heads more and more frequently ever since Anakin turned sixteen. That was a year ago now. Their quarters are silent usually, but tensely so. Anakin spends a lot of his time in places he's not supposed to be: the beds of other padawans, the Lower levels podracing, the occasional jail cell if he can't run fast enough. Obi-Wan, he thinks, spends a lot of time tired. Regretful. Unable to look at him, which rankles more so than the cuffs the Coruscanti cops have put on him to keep him subdued on the way to the jail.

If Anakin were to--if he--if this...if he doesn't make it out of these tunnels, Obi-Wan'll be alright. Eventually.

Except Obi-Wan needs his armor back. That's where they're going, Anakin's sure. He needs protection because it's dangerous down here and Obi-Wan gave his protection away, gave it to Anakin.

Vos huffs--some kind of combination of a snort of laughter and genuine exertion from the strain of Anakin's weight. "Alright, kid. Sure, you're replaceable. But I'm not, and if you die because I accidentally blew you up on a mission, Obi-Wan's gonna kill me. And he needs a best friend, so if you die, then I die, what's the man gonna do?"

Anakin lets his eyes close. "Needs me," he slurs out nonsensically. Not because they mean anything. He just likes the way they sound.

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to--oh, thank the Force, Kenobi--get your med-pac, he needs--"

"Anakin," and that's his master's voice, high and distressed and threaded with something Anakin can't name and has never heard before. "What happened? Vos, what--his arm, his chest--what did you--"

Hands that are familiar and roughly calloused and heart-stoppingly gentle cradle Anakin's face, lifts him up and out of Vos' hold, and Anakin registers a brief flash of his master's face--wide eyes, furrowed eyebrows, a clenched jaw--and then he lets the darkness overtake him. Safe. They're both safe now because they're here, together.

#asks #obikin #or like pre obikin #you know obi-wan really rips vos a new one for letting anakin get so injured #this is some sort of au where theres no clone wars #but anakin loses his arm anyway #and obi-wan overcorrects sm because he was so worried and now hes gone and let his padawan get maimed #that he doesnt let anakin out of his sight for years and years #anakin can't pretend he doesn't flourish under the attention #even if it did cost him an arm lol #ramping up the 'im weird about you' by about 10000x #anakin's still obi-wan's padawan when he's 21 and he's like 'master look i love what we've been doing lately'#given how much the silence and the fighting was him acting out for obi-wans attention #'but i am a young man with young man needs and you're cramping my style. i want sex'#and obi-wan is like 'this makes me very uncomfortable. yes you can have sex. perhaps leave the bond open though. so i can monitor'#for safety purposes #and anakin is like (tossing his hands up in the air) 'oh why dont you just SIT in the room WITH me while i have sex'#and obi-wan is like 'ok sure. yes. 100%. find a willing girl for that. i've booked the hotel room.'#and then they do :)

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callie-the-creator · 10 months ago

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insomniac

sfw. warnings: reader is fmab, mentions of kira and his murders, l can’t sleep, etc.

author’s note: i miss l so much. :(

l sat in his characteristic crouch on the edge of his chair, fingers entwined, eyes intently focused on the monitors before him. the task force headquarters was dimly lit, the flickering screens casting a bluish hue across the room. he had spent countless hours reviewing evidence, piecing together clues, and trying to identify kira, but the elusive criminal mastermind continued to evade him. l won't rest or, at the very least, he refused to. his main focus consisted of two things: keeping y/n— his girlfriend— safe and away from any danger and catching kira (l had dedicated the past few years to the investigation pursuing kira), a figure known to kill those whom he deems morally unworthy of life.

so many criminals have died.

his mind raced with possibilities, tracing and retracing steps, connecting and disconnecting dots. his suspicions often circled back to the same few individuals, but without concrete evidence, he was trapped in a maddening loop of speculation. he needed proof, something tangible that could lead to an arrest. the gnawing uncertainty kept him awake, denying him the rest his body craved.

as the hours dragged into the early morning, l's eyes, bloodshot and weary, drifted to the cot where his girlfriend, y/n, lay sleeping. her presence had been a rare comfort in his life, a steadying force amidst the chaos. she stirred slightly, her breathing deep and rhythmic, oblivious to the turmoil that raged within him. "y/n...?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. he wasn't expecting an answer; he just needed to hear the sound of her name, something to anchor him to reality.

she groaned softly, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. "hmm...whaaaat?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. it was clear she wasn't pleased about being woken up, but she tried to focus on him nonetheless.

l hesitated, his mind teetering on the edge of a precipice. he knew what he was about to ask could shatter the fragile peace they had, but he couldn't suppress the question any longer. "would you betray me?" he asked.

y/n blinked, her drowsiness giving way to confusion. "what are you talking about?" she inquired, pushing herself up on one elbow. "why would you ask something like that?" she added.

l’s gaze remained fixed on her, searching for any hint of deceit, any flicker of guilt. but all he saw was a concern, her eyes wide and earnest in the dim light. "i’ve been thinking…” he began, his voice steady but laced with tension, "about kira, about the people who might be capable of such things. and it occurred to me that...i don't know if i can trust anyone anymore." he said, sadly.

she sat up fully, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, her hair all messy. "l, you know me," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. "we’ve been through so much together. how can you even think i would betray you?" she questioned, despite knowing very well that l had every right to not trust her. after all, he was the head of the investigation and thus the arch nemesis of kira. he must remain vigilant, it is all he can do to ensure his safety.

"i don't know what to think anymore…” he admitted, his tone betraying the depth of his internal struggle. "i just…can't afford to make any mistakes. you know that.” he sighed. this was the last conversation that he wanted to have with y/n, despite it needing to be addressed.

y/n reached out, her hand covering his. "listen to me," she said firmly, her touch grounding him. "i am not kira. i would never do anything to hurt you or anyone else. you have to believe that." she partially pleaded with him. if they wanted to put their relationship on ice because of this minor bump in the road, then so be it, but y/n is sure that it would only result in hurting them.

l’s eyes softened, the storm within them momentarily calmed by her words. he wanted to believe her, to cling to the hope that at least one part of his life remained untouched by kira's darkness. "i want to believe you.” he said quietly, "but i can't let my guard down. not even for you,” he said matter-of-factly. “i’m sorry…”

y/n sighed deeply. she then slid out from under the warm blankets, her bare feet meeting the cold floor with a shiver. standing beside him, she gazed down at him, his hunched form bathed in the eerie glow of the computer screens. leaning down, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, her lips lingering there for a moment before she ran her hands through his unruly black hair. "can you at least come to bed then?" she asked softly.

the night had stretched on for far too long, and the first light of dawn would soon pierce the gloom. l shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling almost imperceptibly. "don’t know," he replied, his tone detached and distant, eyes never leaving the monitors.

y/n let out a small, plaintive whine, her worry for him bubbling to the surface. she wrapped her arms around him from behind, pulling him into a tender embrace. "please?" she murmured, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. "you need to rest. just a little while…”

l felt the warmth of her breath against his skin, the comforting pressure of her body against his back. for a moment, he allowed himself to be still, to feel the weight of her concern and the depth of her affection. he glanced at her, then at the clock on the wall, the numbers blurring slightly in his tired vision. his gaze returned to her, meeting her pleading eyes. "fine," he said finally, his voice tinged with reluctant resignation before mustering a small, almost imperceptible smile. "but five minutes is all you’re getting."

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fluentisonus · 6 months ago

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something I've been sort of contemplating wrt jvj not being willing to tell cosette about his identity & his past, in addition to the more obvious reasons that get covered more explicitly, is this scene:

[Javert] stared intently at Fantine, and added, once more taking into his grasp Jean Valjean’s cravat, shirt and collar:— “I tell you that there is no Monsieur Madeleine and that there is no Monsieur le Maire. There is a thief, a brigand, a convict named Jean Valjean! And I have him in my grasp! That’s what there is!” Fantine raised herself in bed with a bound, supporting herself on her stiffened arms and on both hands: she gazed at Jean Valjean, she gazed at Javert, she gazed at the nun, she opened her mouth as though to speak; a rattle proceeded from the depths of her throat, her teeth chattered; she stretched out her arms in her agony, opening her hands convulsively, and fumbling about her like a drowning person; then suddenly fell back on her pillow. Her head struck the head-board of the bed and fell forwards on her breast, with gaping mouth and staring, sightless eyes. She was dead. Jean Valjean laid his hand upon the detaining hand of Javert, and opened it as he would have opened the hand of a baby; then he said to Javert:— “You have murdered that woman.”

he does (correctly) identify that it's javert who's done this & lay the blame on him, but I think there's something really awful about Javert having done this at least partially by revealing valjean's identity, like this idea that the sudden reveal of his real identity & past was horrible & shocking enough to help kill fantine I think must have left a strong impression. and probably only reinforced this idea of his 'true' self being something fearful & repulsive & in and of itself almost dangerous

& then this taken with cosette's response to seeing the chain gang:

But when Cosette was leaving him in the evening, to betake herself to bed, he heard her say in a low voice, and as though talking to herself: “It seems to me, that if I were to find one of those men in my pathway, oh, my God, I should die merely from the sight of him close at hand.”

which obviously I don't think he would have taken this literally at all but like. do you think he thought of fantine here. and we know the whole chain gang situation is one that stuck with him enough for him to cite it to marius as a reason he can never tell cosette:

“... But she, she does not know what it is, it would terrify her. What, a convict! we should be obliged to explain matters to her, to say to her: ‘He is a man who has been in the galleys.’ She saw the chain-gang pass by one day. Oh! My God!” . . . He dropped into an armchair and hid his face in his hands.

idk. a lot of this is his perspective of himself & obviously not some objective 'truth' but the way this to his view just seemingly gets reinforced & reconfirmed over and over over the years is so.

#:(#thoughts #les mis #sorry hasty & unedited post bc my lunch break is ending

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loki-zen · 19 days ago

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also what alternative tumblr is that person on. that he's a groomer and a sexual predator is basically all 90% of locked tomb fandom has to say about john gaius.

I mean this is a common phenomenon on tumblr i think and really it's a consequence of what's wonderful about tumblr which is that most people aren't using tumblr in a way that feeds them all the same shit through The Algorithm, they're using tumblr in ways that create completely different experiences of the website for different people. So sure, whatever, i believe them that "John Gaius is a Woke King" is all they see and they don't see stuff about him being a groomer; weirder things have happened! Apparently there are folks whose experience of tumblr is that they're always interacting with queer people who don't follow or reblog from any transfeminine people, and moreover that it's possible for people who aren't consciously deliberately avoiding transfems to end up in such a situation by accident, which sounds like a description of a whole other website to me but who knows! Maybe that's just the circles I'm in. I know there's people who claim that they block anyone who doesn't put their age in their bio on sight; logically I must assume that these people are largely interacting with a completely different "Tumblr" than the one i see and am a part of.

But yeah anyway, yeh those are the takes I've been seeing too, at least lately. I'm not engaging with that person in that debate any more because it doesn't feel like that's gonna be productive, but I think it's blatantly the author's intent that we see John from both of these angles; that initially upon first discovering his existence we do see Jod as a bit of a (Problematic, for sure!) Woke King.

After all, we grew up in a world only a generation and change into women being legally considered full adult humans - to the extent that we can be said to have achieved that at all - and the prototypical TLT reader is going to find it very personally affecting to dive into a world where a girl can grow up on ideals of butch womanhood apparently completely normalised in mainstream comics (which, yes, are likely also military recruitment propaganda); Where nobody considers it worthy of comment that a large number of the important political leaders are women; where indeed powerful women are capable of the arrogance of one who has never been required to justify herself or Overcome Adversity to get where she is; Where as far as we can tell, there is no word for "lesbian" or "sapphic" because the ordinary unmarked concept of "attraction" is just assumed to contain attraction between women, by default. It's perhaps a little easier to miss on the first read (or it was for me, with my perspective, I don't doubt that it may be different for others), but we're also looking at a world where there's no trace of racial divisions as we know them, not even the vestigial nomenclature that would lead a narrator from our universe to be more likely to at least classify characters as "white" or "black" or whatever else instead of solely describing their physical appearances, including skin tones, as if this simply wasn't a relevant distinction.

It makes perfect sense to think of a bisexual mixed race guy from approximately our world who made his space empire colourblind, queer-positive and gender-egalitarian as kind of a 'Woke King', and the positive affect we have towards him as a result of all this is imo intentionally there as a complicating factor when we notice all the rest of it.

It's like yes he's an abuser, and he's one of those abusers with (at least partially) completely genuine leftist/feminist/queer/woke bona fides, they exist and really the fact that so many people will insist you can either have those or be an abuser is incredibly helpful to them vis a vis getting away with it.

#jod #john gaius #tlt #asks #gender! at the discourse

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soon-palestine · 2 months ago

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PACBI’s Position on No Other Land

The Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel (PACBI), mandated by the Palestinian BDS National Committee that leads the global BDS movement to develop and ensure harmony with the movement’s anti-normalization guidelines, has received many requests for a position on the film, No Other Land, both before and after the film's Oscar win. There was a simmering controversy about the film that has become even wider, now that it has won an Oscar.

PACBI recognizes the importance of engaging in this debate, but there is a strong ethical duty to do so in a way that centers the struggle to end Israel’s genocide against 2.3 million Palestinians in Gaza and massive aggression and ethnic cleansing in the West Bank’s refugee camps and Jerusalem in particular, all enabled by the colonial West, led by the US. It is also crucial to contextualize this discussion in Israel’s 76-year-old regime of settler-colonialism and apartheid against the entire Indigenous people of Palestine.

From the moment the film, No Other Land, began to screen internationally, Israel, its massive lobby groups, and its anti-Palestinian racist partners in western cultural establishments, in the US, Germany and elsewhere, have all been attacking the film and trying to suppress it because they saw it as exposing an important, if partial, dimension of Israel’s system of colonial oppression to which Palestinians are subjected to and resist in diverse ways. They see such exposures of Israel’s crimes, such as the ethnic cleansing of Masafer Yatta, as strengthening the global Palestine solidarity movement and accelerating the already fast-growing BDS movement, which Israel has for more than a decade considered a “strategic threat” to its entire regime of oppression.

However, it is important to note that Israel’s attacks on any project that happens to violate the Palestinian anti-normalization guidelines does not play a major role in deciding whether the BDS movement will launch a boycott campaign against that particular project or not. Adhering to the principles and spirit of the movement’s guidelines, our main priority is always to defend the Palestinian people’s basic rights through dismantling Israel’s settler colonial and apartheid regime. Therefore, given the BDS movement's limited resources, it has to choose its targets very carefully, based on criteria whose effectiveness has been proven over the past two decades.

But an important factor too is that Palestinians, many Arabs, and many in the solidarity movement globally, have criticized the film as a case of normalization, with some calling for a boycott of the film accordingly.

So what’s the BDS movement’s position?

First, the Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel (PACBI) has from the start reached the conclusion that this film indeed violates the BDS movement’s anti-normalization guidelines in several ways. The BDS movement has always fought against normalization as a powerful weapon employed by oppressors to whitewash their crimes, to colonize the minds of the oppressed, and to undermine global solidarity with the struggle to end oppression.

Regardless of intentions, and according to the anti-normalization guidelines agreed upon by the vast majority of Palestinian civil society, normalization is the participation in any project, initiative or activity, local or international, that brings together (on the same “platform”) Palestinians (and/or Arabs) and Israelis (individuals or institutions) and does not meet the following two conditions:

The Israeli side must publicly recognize the UN-affirmed inalienable rights of the Palestinian people (at the very least an end to the occupation, end to apartheid, and the right of return for Palestinian refugees); and

The joint activity must constitute a form of co-resistance against the Israeli regime of occupation, settler-colonialism, and apartheid.

No Other Land was produced with the help of Close-Up, an organization that is engaged in normalization and is therefore boycotted by many filmmakers and PACBI. Moreover, some of the team’s Israeli members are not on record supporting the comprehensive rights of the Palestinian people. They have failed to acknowledge that Israel is perpetrating a genocide, or have even made extremely harmful, immoral statements drawing a false equivalence between the colonizer and the colonized that may be used to rationalize Israel’s genocide. Accordingly, the film certainly violates the BDS movement’s anti-normalization guidelines.

We acknowledge that the film’s team recently published a statement that explicitly mentions the Nakba, ethnic cleansing, settler-colonialism, and apartheid. Calling for justice for Palestinian refugees, it goes a long way to address the above-mentioned serious flaws. Yet, the statement still fails to identify Israel as the perpetrator of all these crimes.

Second, regardless of the above and aside from BDS guidelines, it is important to recognize that Palestinians do not need validation, legitimation or permission from Israelis to narrate our history, our present, our experiences, our dreams, and our resistance, including artistic resistance, to the colonial system of oppression that denies us our freedom and inalienable rights. It is therefore imperative for us to challenge the racist conditions, whether covert or overt, imposed by the colonial West and its hegemonic institutions, which do not platform Palestinians except with the permission or validation of Israelis.

But why is PACBI only now publicly issuing this position?

PACBI has not published its position, but has shared it with many filmmakers and festival organizers who have inquired over the last year.

While PACBI understands the debate around the film as an indicator of the growth of the popular resistance to normalization, which we appreciate, it strives to enact “strategic radicalism,” prioritizing the most complicit targets where we can achieve the most impact, guided by our principles and our overarching goal of ending international complicity in Israel’s oppression and advancing the struggle for Palestinian liberation. PACBI therefore does not, and realistically has no capacity to, publish a statement on every instance of normalization.

Over the last 17 months of the US-Israeli genocide in Gaza, the entire BDS movement, including PACBI and all its partners and networks, has been intensively leading, devising and supporting many strategic campaigns to cut the chains of international complicity with Israel’s genocide and underlying regime of settler-colonial apartheid. A crucial part of this work has always been fighting the dehumanizing colonial narratives and stereotypes propagated by Israel and its anti-Palestinian racist partners.

Given the many urgent cultural boycott projects worldwide that PACBI had to lead or support during this ongoing genocide, No Other Land was not a priority prior to the Oscars. Now, given its growing profile and in particular following its Oscar win, we find it important to explain how the film is in violation of BDS guidelines for people to enhance the collective understanding of normalization and its dangers, and to protect our struggle from the heightened risk of using normalization to whitewash genocide. The ends never justify the unethical means.

Hollywood has for decades dehumanized Palestinians, Arabs, Muslims, Indigenous people, as well as Black and other racialized communities. Dozens of Palestinian filmmakers recently said in an open letter that they are “outraged at the inhumanity and racism shown by some in the Western entertainment industry towards our people, even during this most difficult of times.” This dehumanization is one of the factors enabling Israel’s genocide. It is therefore not surprising that as problematic as this film is, many have overlooked its normalization problem and celebrated it for having contributed to challenging this dehumanization.

Finally, our principled, incremental struggle for liberation will depend on thousands of collective, principled and strategic efforts coming together on many fronts. In this struggle, being ethical and principled means that we should never compromise on our people’s rights. Being strategic entails prioritizing our targets to maximize the benefit to our struggle to achieve those rights. Indigenous Palestinians have no other land than Palestine. But we surely must have another way in our struggle for liberation and self-determination that is free of the less visible chains of normalization.

https://bdsmovement.net/ar/PACBI-NoOtherLand

#BDS #no other land #palestine #gaza #free palestine

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catlady48 · 20 days ago

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Sometimes I feel like such a fake fan. This has mostly to do with the fact that I prefer Loki's characterisation in Thor 1 and 2 over Avengers!Loki. I also always heavily insist it was not actually his true desire to conquer Earth or rule anything, mostly because that's the way the first movie was written. I even think that plot idea is a left over from when they wanted Red Skull to be the villain of Avengers (2012). Because to me it just never made sense that all of a sudden he'd want to rule this planet he considers a backwater. I know some people argue that after having been on the throne for a bit during Thor 1 he grew to enjoy it too much or something, but I just can't see it considering his state of mind during that movie?

I especially hate that comparison during the Stuttgart scene, even if I agree you should always stand up to oppressors (especially these days). It's just created takes like "Loki is explicitly a fascist", which is factually wrong (even if he wanted to do as he stated, that'd be absolute monarchy not fascism. But also since I personally believe he wasn't doing all of it of his own will. It's also a bit weird since the movie heavily implies Loki was both tortured and to some degree influenced and this comparison contradicts it. So which is it? Did he want this and is he a despicable dictator or is he a somewhat sympathetic (even if his actions are of course still horrible) guy who was kind of forced into doing these horrible things in order to survive. It feels like the movie tries to forcibly frame him into "wait we've shown him as to sympathetic, now we must show him as the worst evil ever to compensate so that the audience will applaud at his defeat" and it doesn't match his own subtext. What doesn't help is that a lot of this was probably supposed to have been revealed during the original plans for Infinity War and that never happened so we'll never know what the true intention was. Furthermore, I think the Stuttgart scene was mostly intended to be at least partially an act and that makes that comparison even more unlogical to me.

I think I'd have preferred it that they wrote his villainy differently, without bringing the whole "he's powerhungry" stereotype into it. I know, part of that is because of what they wrote him into later, which wasn't explicitly the fault of Avengers as a movie and I also know it's a huge thing in the older comics, but mcu!Loki was explicitly not written like that before that and I think they should've stuck with that. I mean after his character arc in Thor 1, if they truly wanted him as the villain, "if I couldn't be your equal that way, I'll be your equal through being your archnemesis" was right there along with all the angst that could come with that. They wouldn't have needed to write in the torture and stuff to make it make sense with his character.

Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy most of Avengers and I do enjoy Loki throughout the movie. It's just some of the discourse that surrounds it that bugs me to no end. I'm afraid that I'm woobifying him too much by claiming he isn't as villainous as Marvel wants to paint him, even though this is genuinely how I interpret the movie. It feels like people are claiming that I need to embrace this (in particular the Stuttgart scene) as his true personality in order to not be woobifying him, while I think that is not the case at all based on textual evidence and I'm so tired of it. Does that make me a fake fan?

#loki #og loki #meta #loki meta #avengers (2012)

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drafthorsemath · 3 months ago

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Recorded Hope

Written for Pheebruary!

Prompt: Rebuilding Mel

Warnings: None, really. Mention of Tech going on the mission to Eriadu. Includes angst and hope.

A/N: This is a Tech Lives fic and a Tech Lives blog.

Word Count: a little more than 800

Another successful mission complete, Phee landed Providence on Pabu and patted a partially-functional-but-now-powered-down Mel on her way out the door. She put the crystal dagger she’d recovered in the Archium and paused next to Lula and Tech’s goggles. Her heart ached. She wished she could see him again or at least redo their last encounter. She wished she had been braver with her feelings, or offered to come with them, but she couldn’t change that now. She dragged her feet back home and slouched into bed.

The next morning she grabbed a bite of fruit for breakfast and headed back to the ship to work on Mel. She’d been her usual helpful droid self, but some severe blaster fire meant Phee needed to rebuild her again.

She sat in front of Mel and twirled a spanner before powering her up. The droid made a whirl, some of her lights coming on and others not. Phee removed the burned-out photoreceptor and a few wires that needed to be replaced. A new photoreceptor was modified and Phee hummed a tune to herself while replacing the wiring. Mel’s lights came on as she attempted to take in the information around her, almost panicked as if she was still on the run from yesterday.

“It’s okay,” Phee said, “We're home, but I'm not done with you yet.”

The droid relaxed and Phee was at least pleased that the new parts were working. She pulled out part of Mel’s front panel and sighed at the piece. It was completely covered in carbon scoring and while it protected some of the inner workings, some shots had managed to disrupt a power coil and a memory bank. Phee grabbed a spare metal scrap and continued to hum while cutting it down to size for Mel. She attached the front panel and left it open while she dug around to assess the damage to the memory. It wasn’t too bad. A little light was off, indicating part of it wasn’t working like it should. Another wire was replaced and the light came on, but started blinking. Phee knitted her eyebrows in frustration, but then found a small component attached to the back of the memory bank. It looked like a tiny restraining bolt. How did that get there? She picked it off and the blinking light stayed on strong. Once she replaced the memory bank and closed the panel, Mel beeped at her.

“A recording?” Phee asked. “Why didn’t you mention that before?”

Mel indicated that she didn’t know it was there before. Phee was getting more suspicious of the little restraining bolt. Someone must have put there without her knowledge between now and the last time she rebuilt Mel, but the only person who helped her with the droid since the last time she was rebuilt was Tech. Phee felt like she was falling upside down and spinning. Had she been standing, she would have toppled over. It was all she could do for the words to get from her brain to her tongue.

“Play the recording, Mel!”

Mel started playing a holovid. Tech’s face appeared right in front of Phee and she felt hot tears at the sight of Brown Eyes adjusting his goggles before he spoke.

Hello Phee. If you are seeing this then my family and I, or perhaps only some of us, are missing in action. It was our intention to retrieve information vital to saving Crosshair and keeping Omega safe, but as you know, things do not always go to plan. I have taken the liberty of hiding codes and secure information in Mel. I know the Imperials are not smart enough to find this data and leaving it solely in the hands of my brothers seems reckless should we all be caught. It will only be a matter of time before you have to rebuild her and I am certain you will easily find this recording. With the information I’ve left in Mel, you should be able to retrieve any recordings on my goggles and datapads including those behind an extra layer of encryption. There is also an encrypted backup on the Marauder’s computer. Should something happen to us, I will try to leave behind what clues I can. While I hope this is all for naught, I know that if any of us goes missing, there is no one better to find us than you.

Tech’s soft smile pulled at her and she watched him reach forward to stop the recording. Phee stared at Mel in shock before reaching for the button again. She paused on Tech’s image as the projection restarted and tears fell on her cheeks. Mel beeped at her almost asking if she was okay.

“Come on,” she said, rising to her feet, “We have to get to the Archium.”

#pheebruary #techphee #phee genoa #tbb phee #the bad batch #tbb mel #tbb #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch fan fiction #tech lives #tech actually lives #tech records everything

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jaegeraether · 1 year ago

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Sunsets and footballers (Part 47)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (42) / Alexia Putellas x Character (11) / Jordan Nobbs x Leah Williamson Mini (4)

Masterlist (other parts here)

YFN put her hand on Alexia’s arm which broke her from her thoughts. They were standing out the front of the Captain’s apartment.

“She’s…like this. She’s not used to people helping,” YFN eased.

“She wanted me… go,” Alexia said in broken English.

“She didn’t want me to stay either and I’ve known her for two decades.” Alexia was still a little upset, but YFN was just glad Ridley hadn’t stayed with Ona at the bar. That would have been a mistake.

“She broke her hand…” Alexia trailed off.

It was aggressive, yes. But she knew Ridley, her intentions, what made her tick and what set her off. “She’s the most protective person I’ve ever met in my life,” she said softly. Alexia’s eyes met hers, curious. "We had a rough upbringing. She’s dealt with a lot of pain, physically and mentally. She’d never hurt anyone she loves…”

“I’m not scared of her…I know she wouldn’t hurt people. She’s very soft.”

YFN was interested at that. She never would have described Ridley as soft, though perhaps it was the language barrier. Alexia must of noticed because she clarified.

“She cares a lot about people…”

YFN nodded, happy that Alexia had seen that. “Yes. Yes, she does. She tries not to show it, but she really does.”

She saw Alexia tighten her hold around the teddy before she gave a smile and a hug to both her and Lucy before she left.

The ride home was silent besides the music but that was mainly because it was getting late, and YFN had an early flight. They were never happy parting ways. Lucy’s hand on her thigh tightened while YFN stroked the inside of her forearm. Her phone buzzed and she looked at it, a response from Ridley.

Riddles: *Sent a photo*

The photo was her hand in a partial black brace, wrapping around her wrist and two little fingers.

Riddles: Just a boxer’s fracture, same as usual.

YFN was all too aware of what that was, as she’d taken Ridley to the ER multiple times for it over the years. Having two black belts meant hard punches and broken bones. She was more concerned about her job though, as she definitely needed two hands for that.

YFN: And work?

Riddles: Off for a week and then I’ll be good with the movement and brace.

“Boxer’s fracture…” YFN murmured to Lucy.

“Oh, I know what that is.”

Of course Lucy would know. Her mind flashed to images of her boxing. “Have you ever had it?”

“Once. It’s painful but at least you’re not standing on it.”

“She’s used to pain, like you…” YFN replied and her hand found the scars on Lucy’s bad knee, tracing them with her fingertips in support. “Can I come and watch you box one day?”

Lucy grinned. “I’d love that. It can be pretty…angry though.”

“I know it’s where you get your frustrations out, love. I won’t distract you, I’ll just sit in the corner and watch you like a stalker.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Okay firstly, you’re always a distraction for me, but the best kind. And secondly, too soon on the stalker front.”

YFN chuckled and she leant over just far enough to kiss Lucy’s arm.

YFN: Are you going to let Alexia know?

Riddles: Do you have money on us or something?

YFN: You two are cute…besides the Ona flirting.

Riddles: What can I say? I’m a catch.

Ridley didn’t even try to defend herself because they both knew she hadn’t been flirting back. She’d just been herself. But herself was bad enough. She didn’t want to get involved in Ridley and Alexia’s unspoken thing, however she knew that if she were in Alexia’s shoes she’d want to know how she was.

Riddles: Before you message me again, yes, I will tell her. Safe flight and today was great, we should do it again soon.

YFN: Yes, please. Love you x

“If I didn’t know her, I’d be jealous you were flirting, looking at your phone all smiley like that,” Lucy teased.

“You know her, and you’re still jealous,” she teased back. Lucy pouted. “But it’s okay, I love you all jealous and moody.”

“God, Luce, it’s almost midnight,” she whimpered.

Lucy lifted her head, mouth glistening with excitement and eyes dark with lust. “Are you complaining, little one? I can stop right now-”

“No! No…I just…argh-” she reached down and grabbed her girlfriend, pulling her up on top of her until they were face to face, Lucy bracing her weight on her elbows. YFN dragged her head down and tasted herself on Lucy as their lips met and their tongues fought with groans and moans and excitement. YFN broke away but only for long enough to whisper. “No more teasing, just fuck me, Lucy.”

She reached down and grabbed her strap, lining it up while Lucy watched her face with wonder. She continued to watch her as she slowly rolled her hips and pushed the strap inside of her little Australian, enjoying watching her eyes roll to the back of her head and a moan escape her throat.

She leant down to nip her earlobe before whispering in her ear. “Yes, love.”

Lucy began moving her hips slowly in and out, and YFN could tell from Lucy’s ragged breathing and soft moans in her ear that it was rubbing her in just the right spot. YFN moved her hips with Lucy’s pace, intensifying the pressure of the strap on Lucy’s clit as she enjoyed the length of it moving in and out of her.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Lucy groaned as she fucked her.

Her heart melted. “Luce…I don’t want to leave either.”

“I want you to stay,” she grunted in between her thrusts.

“I want to stay…” she moaned in reply.

“You…argh fuck….you belong with me.”

“I do…” she whimpered. “I belong with you.”

Lucy’s mouth found her neck with passion, kissing and sucking marks into it. Oh, she was needy. She wanted to leave evidence she was there.

“Mine,” she growled softly in between the marks she sucked.

A shiver ran down YFN’s spine. One of her hands was in Lucy’s hair, the other unconsciously dragging fingernails up her back, gripping as she tried to hold herself together. Fuck, it was good. It wasn’t their usual rough, passionate fuck. No. This one was slow and steady, loving and emotional, hitting all of the right places. This was teamwork. Two lovers enjoying each other. YFN’s legs wound their way around Lucy’s hips as she braced her knees better on the bed to start a deeper, harder fuck. Lucy was still pulling out slower than usual, but she entered at pace, thrusting her hips and seemably enjoying the smack on her clit as their hips met with a wet slap. God, she was so wet. Even slowly, they could hear the sound of YFN’s dripping core. She could feel herself tightening the closer she got, Lucy’s glutes paying the price.

“Ah…fuck little one. Fuck you’re tight.”

At those words, YFN’s back arched and she whimpered, Lucy quickened her thrusts and the force in which she fucked her. YFN was a whimpering, moaning mess, clutching onto Lucy like a lifeline.

“Ah…ah…please don’t stop…Luce!”

“You’re mine.” Lucy growled as she again sped up. Fucking relentless, she was.

“I’m y…yours!”

At this point, she could only lay there, clutched to Lucy as she fucked her into the bed, getting her frustration out, her needs, her love, her obsession. YFN cried out her name as she came, Lucy fucking her through it and finishing shortly after. She slowed down until she was finished, undoing the strap and throwing it to the floor. Just as she was about to move away, YFN pulled her down onto her, Lucy’s sweaty body laying on her own as she held her there while they regained their breath. Lucy was the most out of breath, of course. Because it was late, it wasn’t long until they were sleepy, almost drifting off but just before they could, YFN spoke.

“Luce?” She whispered, just loud enough to hear. She wiped the sweat off of Lucy’s brow, pushing the hair off her forehead and tucking those little curly baby hairs behind her ear.

Lucy hummed in response, unable to speak as she hung in a space of lethargy and peace.

“I’ll never stop falling in love with you.”

YFN stared at the photos and couldn’t help the smile crossing her face. Lucy had posted several photos of their past few days in Barcelona together. The first, a picture on YFN half in the water that she didn’t know she’d taken. She remembered looking out over the ocean and it reminding her of home. The second was YFN and Narla having a nap together while Lucy had been making her monster of a sandcastle. Narla was laying flat on her side, her back pressed up against YFN, her head resting on her arm. The third photo was of course Lucy posing next to her sandcastle monster, little spade in hand and a proud grin on her face. Narla had photobombed that one. And the last photo was a selfie Lucy had taken from the bar that had herself, YFN, Ridley, Alexia, and most of the Barca girls in it also.

Lucy Bronze MBE: Love, love, love. *red heart emoji*

Lucy had also tagged her in her caption.

Her heart swelled and she bit her lip. Oh, Luce. She had never had someone so proudly showing her to the world, let alone someone with the amount of followers Lucy did.

Jordan Nobbs liked a post you were tagged in.

Alexia Putellas liked a post you were tagged in.

Caitlin Foord liked a post you were tagged in.

Caitlin Foord: Chickens *red hear emoji* *Australia emoji*

Katie McCabe liked a post you were tagged in.

Katie McCabe: Nice abs

Kyra Cooney-Cross liked a post you were tagged in.

Kyra Cooney-Cross: thanks for the invite

Leah Williamson liked a post you were tagged in.

Riddles liked a post you were tagged in.

Riddles: *fist emoji* *car emoji*

Keira Walsh liked a post you were tagge-

“YFN?”

Her head shot up and found Ruby, immediately blushing as she was just caught. She put her phone down.

“Hm?”

“We were just talking about the office space. It’s huge?!”

They were in their new office in London, and it was a decent size. There was a main, large room with individual desks and set up for everybody’s individual workstations, along with a kitchen, showers and bathrooms, and several separate conference rooms. Knowing exactly who ‘Joe’ was, she wasn’t surprised by the size of it, and just how much furniture and equipment were already set up.

“It won’t feel quite as huge when we have a few hundred people in here,” she laughed.

“A few hundred?!”

“I dare say we’ll be expanding pretty quickly.”

“What are the conference rooms for?” Bridget asked.

“I’m thinking we’ll have a roster and can use them for the groups we have for certain games. So you can meet as a team in there without disturbing everyone else, and we can book them for a certain amount of hours when they’re not being used for that.”

“Great idea!”

“Now does everyone have their car park passes?”

After confirming they did, they sat down for their meeting in one of the conference rooms.

“Alright, welcome, welcome to our new Lumos office. I hope you’re all liking it because it’s going to be home for a while. And as you’ll notice, we have each of the conference rooms set up for people to zoom in, as I understand we all live in different areas and travelling from Birmingham or Liverpool each day doesn't exactly make sense…however this week is an exception. I’ve spoken to you all about this and I’ll apologise again. We just need everybody in for the next three days because of the workload with the new staff starting tomorrow. You will all be paired up into your usual pairs and supervising the groups. Here’s our schedule for this week.”

She gave out their weekly schedule.

Liverpool vs Chelsea (Stamford Bridge, London): Sat 18th Nov 1330 – Bridget, Emily and YFN to supervise.

Everton vs Bristol (Walton Hall Park, Liverpool): Sun 19th Nov 1300 – Ethan and Daniel to supervise.

Brighton vs Arsenal (Broadfield Stadium, Crawley): Sun 19th Nov 1400 – Sam and Olivia to supervise.

Leicester vs Spurs (King Power Stadium, Leicester): Sun 19th Nov 1500 – Bridget and Emily to supervise.

West Ham vs Aston Villa (Chigwell Stadium, London): Sun 19th Nov 1500 – YFN and Noel to supervise.

Man City vs Man United (Old Trafford, Manchester): Sun 19th Nov 1630 – Matt and Ruby to supervise.

“Each pair will have eight crew onsite. Three videographers, three photographers, one interviewer and one editor. It’s your job as supervisors to make sure we’re using everyone efficiently to get the content we expect from so many people. Over the next few days, I’ll be very, very strict with the interviewers on techniques and questioning, and I expect you all to do the same with people in your field of work. We need to start off strong, having forty new people means that there’s room for error. We need to minimise that by ensuring we train the very well and we need to remember that we’re all still fresh and learning too. It’ll be an overload of information, but that’s why you will all be supervising for the first round. Depending on how we go, we may require supervision for a few rounds after, however we’re hoping to aim for that eight-person crew to be running smoothly without the need for the supervision.”

“What do we do if we think the interviewer is asking wrong questions or upsetting the players?” Olivia asked quietly.

“You immediately pull the plug. I’m going to want feedback from you all on all of the individual employees after your game, so we can make sure everybody is on the same page and the people who need extra time practising, get just that. Okay, we have just the one game on Saturday that Bridget and Emily will supervise with eight new staff. If I’m happy with our progress over the next two days with the new employees, then I’ll also attend and leave the rest of you to prep in the office for Sunday. Sunday will be all hands-on deck, full crews on every site as well as two supervisors. Our big game this week is Man City vs Man United at Old Trafford which Matt and Ruby are going to be running…”

YFN made sure she didn’t look at her phone again that day, and it wasn’t that difficult. She loved the logistics of her work. She and her original nine colleagues eagerly discussed their week ahead and brainstormed potential issues and how to overcome them. A few of them had to run down to get stationary, paper, whiteboards and more to fill the conference rooms with supplies and also just get through their day of exciting prep.

The next two days flew by, and the office already felt crowded, but in a good way. Like Javier’s bar. Everyone was excited to work and to learn. YFN had taken the time to get to know everyone prior to meeting them, thanks to the folders put together by Lumos management, and had split them into their groups where she thought it would suit them best. The planning and prep work was intense, but worked out to her satisfaction, even though her standards were high. YFN had even gotten permission from Chelsea to take her team out to Stamford Bridge to get to know it and so the individual teams could practise the best shots for photos, videos and more. YFN left them to their groups as much as she could, letting them work it out together and trusting the supervisors she’d put in charge. She spent a lot of her time at Stamford Bridge talking to Emma Hayes and her Chelsea coaching staff as they ran drills. A few of the players came over to say hi when they had a chance which was rare, because Emma was all over them.

Friday night came with expectation and nerves. They were in Lucy’s apartment with Leah’s stylists as Jordan hadn’t wanted to go to Leah’s place. Too many memories. Jordan and YFN had packed and enjoyed a road trip down for the night from Birmingham, planning on getting being naughty with some take out after the event.

“Oh my god, Ridley was right. This is amazing…” Jordan said as she exited Lucy’s spare room in her suit. YFN and Leah both spun around to Jordan who was now fully dressed and looking unreal. It was a feminine suit, but the first piece of clothing that actually fit her. The accessories were minimal, a silver bracelet, two rings and a simple ear cuff. Jordan’s hair was up, already done by the stylist and her suit perfectly matched Leah’s with its style.

“Are you comfortable? Ridley said you’d want to be comfortable…” YFN said.

“Ridley?” Leah asked.

YFN had explained who Ridley was to Leah previously, though it hadn’t stopped her jealously.

“She picked this outfit for me in Barcelona with YFN,” Jordan grinned, still proud and looking down at herself. “And she was 100% right, I’m very comfortable.”

Leah sighed, standing as she was just finished with her hair. They took a few photos together and they matched so well that YFN had to take a picture to send to Ridley.

Riddles: I said thank me later. It’s later.

YFN: Jordan said thank you for saving her life.

Riddles: I know a few ways she can make it up to me…

YFN: Put it away, Riddles.

Riddles: Aw, you’re no fun. I could pick her up and throw her all around the bedroom.

YFN rolled her eyes, ignoring the last message as Ridley knew she would. When Jordan asked what she’d replied, she only told her the first bit.

They all rode together in a blacked-out, chauffeur driven car and as they got closer, YFN was getting nervous to be alone for the photographs. Jordan felt bad, but she was Leah’s plus one after all. YFN wouldn’t have let her anyways. She was staring at her scar in the window of the car as they arrived, feeling a little self-conscious. Her mind was on Lucy, like it had been since she’d left Barcelona two days ago. Two days and she was already too drained at the feeling of aching without her. Jordan leant over and kissed her cheek, snapping her out of it.

“Just get past this and we’ll meet you inside,” she said before she got out.

Leah put a hand on her knee before she followed. “You look beautiful,” she said with a genuine smile.

YFN followed them. She focussed on the photographers watches and hands instead of the cameras, just as Leah had taught her to avoid being blinded by the flashes. She looked ahead of her and saw them together, their arms lightly touching each other’s backs for the photos. They looked beautiful and what’s more, they were both smiling as if they were together, as if they were happy, and YFN could tell it was genuine with the way they looked at each other between photos.

Once inside, she took a deep breath and the first glass of champagne that came by her. Leah and Jordan found her immediately, the three of them laughing about the aggressiveness of the photographers shouting outside, and the amount of celebrities inside. It was during their third drink to settle their nerves when they were approached by the last person YFN wanted to see.

“I didn’t realise they invited so many women to the Man of the Year award. A bit sexist, isn’t it?” Mark asked.

YFN saw Leah go stiff as she saw him. She hadn’t noticed that the last time they’d met him together.

“Women can’t show up in support for men?” YFN asked.

“You’re not here to support men,” he said, hard. “And I saw your latest little post online, YFN. You and Miss Bronze are going strong, are you?”

“Our relationship has nothing to do with you.”

Over her shoulder, her eye was caught by the sight of William and Catherine arriving to a multitude of camera shutters, blinding flashes and shouts of excitement. Her stomach dropped. She didn’t know she’d be here.

“It just makes it easier for me to prove your conflict of interest,” he shrugged. “But I do hope you had a wonderful time in Barcelona.”

“It was fantastic, thanks for the well wishes,” she replied, purely out of spite.

He didn’t seem to care as he’d already turned to Leah. “And it’s very interesting to see who you chose for a date tonight, Miss Williamson.”

Leah’s jaw locked. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? I warned you-”

She stepped forward and cut him off. “My lawyers have sorted it. You don’t have anything to threaten me with anymore Mark. Leave.”

He smiled down at her. “You really think that is going to stop it just…slipping out? I can’t help a leak…”

YFN had no idea what they were talking about and from the looks of Jordan, she didn’t either. Mark looked at Jordan and his eyes went down her body and back up.

“Keep your fucking eyes to yourself. Leave.” Leah snapped. Leah never snapped. Jordan’s eyes widened.

“It’s a bit hard to when-”

“Do not finish that sentence,” she warned.

She was standing half in front of Jordan which made YFN think it possibly had something to do with her. He stared at her a moment longer, enjoying the look on her face that was anger and potentially worry, when his attention was caught by something behind YFN.

“Ah, and as if to prove my point.”

A warm hand touched her lower back lightly and the smell of vanilla and bitter orange overwhelmed her as Lucy stepped past and protectively in front of the group. Her hand slid around her hip as she stepped past and took YFN’s hand, holding it behind her and linking their fingers. Lucy. Lucy was here. Lucy. Her body relaxed as she stared at the back of her perfect girlfriend with a look of surprise.

“She told you to leave.”

Mark gave a smirk and opened his mouth but was stopped by Lucy lifting a hand. “Uh uh. Don’t speak. Just fuck off.”

Mark looked like he wanted to argue before his expression changed to something along the lines of apprehension. She couldn’t see Lucy’s face so she didn’t know exactly what she was doing to get that reaction, but she loved it. She put her other hand on top of their already clasped hands in support. Lucy squeezed her hand. Without another word, Mark left, though not without throwing another glance Leah’s direction. Watching him go, YFN caught someone’s eyes briefly lingering on their little exchange in the distance. Catherine. They both looked away.

When he was at a safe distance, Lucy turned, her features shifting from intimidation to adoration as she saw YFN staring at her wide-eyed and unbelieving. She reached out with her free hand and touched one of her dimples lightly. They shared that unspoken word before her hand lowered and she looked at Leah.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Leah responded, her jaw locked.

“Hallo mate!” Jordan beamed and threw her arms around one of her closest friends. “You came!”

“You knew?” YFN asked.

Jordan pulled back, a little sheepish. “I didn’t know for sure. So, you found a flight then?”

Lucy looked at YFN. “Ridley helped me.”

She could have sworn her heart grew twice the size at the thought of Ridley and Lucy helping each other. She had hoped they’d get along and it was slowly coming to fruition.

She couldn’t help but look at what Lucy was wearing. It was an all-black suit, a well-tailored one too, and from the look of it, she was almost certain Ridley had something to do with that also. It was all a similar black besides the button up which was slightly darker and open almost halfway, exposing her neckline down to the space between her breasts, her black bra a little on show. And then there were the accessories, the rings, the necklace, the studs, the cufflinks. 100% Ridley. Lucy noticed her looking and gave a wink, doing some admiring of her own. She stepped closer so their bodies were against each other. They matched.

“Are you going to at least tell me what that was about?” Jordan asked, her focus on Leah.

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Are you joking, Leah?” Oh, Jordan was upset. “You want me to start trusting you again, but you can’t be honest about something that obviously involves me?”

Leah’s eyes closed as she battled with herself. Jordan didn’t wait to see what eventually won out. She turned and walked away, towards the canapés.

YFN went to follow her, but Lucy was first. “I’ll talk to her.” She murmured and gave her girlfriend a lingering kiss on the cheek before she followed her, their arms outstretching to hold each other’s fingertips a little longer as she went.

YFN tore her eyes from Lucy and looked at Leah whose eyes were following Jordan. “Leah…you’re going to have to tell her eventually, otherwise I guarantee he will.”

“I know.”

“So, start with me, and only me. What was that about?”

“I need a drink.”

YFN linked her arm through Leah’s. “Come on then.”

Leah held onto her tight as they wandered to the bar. “It’s about a sex tape.”

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