#it’s like they’re searching for something???

[montag-guy]

“You know my name,” said Montag.

Granger nodded to a portable battery TV set by the fire. “We’ve watched the chase. Figured you’d wind up south along the river. When we heard you plunging around out in the forest like a drunken elk, we didn’t hide as we usually do. We figured you were in the river, when the helicopter cameras swung back in over the city. Something funny there. The chase is still running. The other way, though.”

“The other way?”

“Let’s have a look.” Granger snapped the portable viewer on. The picture was a nightmare, condensed, easily passed from hand to hand, in the forest, all whirring color and flight. A voice cried: “The chase continues north in the city! Police helicopters are converging on Avenue 87 and Elm Grove Park!”

Granger nodded. “They’re faking. You threw them off at the river. They can’t admit it. They know they can hold their audience only so long. The show’s got to have a snap ending, quick! If they started searching the whole damn river it might take all night. So they’re sniffing for a scapegoat to end things with a bang. Watch. They’ll catch Montag in the next five minutes!”

“But how—”

“Watch.” The camera, hovering in the belly of a helicopter, now swung down at an empty street:

“See that?” whispered Granger. “It’ll be you; right up at the end of that street is our victim. See how our camera is coming in? Building the scene. Suspense. Long shot. Right now, some poor fellow is out for a walk. A rarity. An odd one. Don’t think the police don’t know the habits of queer ducks like that, men who walk mornings for the hell of it, or for reasons of insomnia. Anyway, the police have had him charted for months, years. Never know when that sort of information might be handy. And today, it turns out, it’s very usable indeed. It saves face. Oh, God, look there!”

The men at the fire bent forward. On the screen, a man turned a corner. The Mechanical Hound rushed forward into the viewer, suddenly. The helicopter lights shot down a dozen brilliant pillars that built a cage all about the man.

A voice cried, “There’s Montag! The search is done!

The innocent man stood bewildered, a cigarette burning in his hand. He stared at the Hound, not knowing what it was. He probably never knew. He glanced up at the sky and the wailing sirens. The camera rushed down. The Hound leapt up into the air with a rhythm and a sense of timing that was incredibly beautiful. Its needle shot out. It was suspended for a moment in their gaze, as if to give the vast audience time to appreciate everything, the raw look of the victim’s face, the empty street, the steel animal a bullet nosing the target.

“Montag, don’t move!” said a voice from the sky. The camera fell upon the victim, even as did the Hound. Both reached him simultaneously. The victim was seized by Hound and camera in a great spidering, clenching grip. He screamed. He screamed. He screamed!

Blackout.

Silence.

Darkness.

Montag cried out in the silence and turned away.

Silence.

And then, after a time of the men sitting around the fire, their faces expressionless, an announcer on the dark screen said, “The search is over, Montag is dead; a crime against society has been avenged.”

Darkness.

“We now take you to the Sky Room of the Hotel Lux for a half hour of Just-Before-Dawn, a program of—” Granger turned it off.

“They didn’t show the man’s face in focus. Did you notice? Even your best friends couldn’t tell if it was you. They scrambled it just enough to let the imagination take over. Hell,” he whispered. “Hell.”

Montag said nothing but now, looking back, sat with his eyes fixed to the black screen, trembling.

Granger touched Montag’s arm. “Welcome back from the dead.” Montag nodded.

Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451°

[morganbritton132]

I love the thought of ‘The JLA doesn’t know Batman has kids’ overlapping with ‘Bruce is a single father of multiple children.’

Like, the JLA is about to send out a search party because Batman is five minutes late to a meeting when he shows up with a police report, satellite pictures, and a coloring book.

Green Arrow: …Is that a coloring book? What’s that for?

Batman:

Batman: Coloring.

They’re aiding in the cleanup after a battle in Metropolis. Superman is being interviewed when Lois’ pen stops working. Supes asks, “Batman, do you have something to write with?”

In Bruce’s utility belt, he has a confiscated yo-yo, three broken colored pencil recently removed from the flesh of two different kids, and a Wayne Enterprises pen that Tim scribbled an ‘-ED’ after so it says WEED. Bruce gives Lois the pen and then disappears.

One day, Batman is working on something at the Watchtower. Barry is reaching to pour his second cup of coffee for the day when Bats says without looking up, “Don’t you dare.”

Barry did not dare. He pulled his hand back.

Unbeknownst to Barry, Bruce was on coms listening to his children argue about the physics of a crime scene and Dick had just suggested they test a theory by throwing one of them off the roof handcuffed.

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER SEVEN ━━ More Than a Friend

❀ ━ pairing: paige bueckers x oc (jo jacobson)

❀ ━ word count: 4.4K

❀ ━ warnings: allusions to sex, angst

❀ ━ links: my masterlist, nobody gets me masterlist

❀ ━ author’s note: took her long enough

PAIGE COLLAPSES onto the bed, her chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. The sheets stick to her back, damp with sweat, and the coolness of the fabric against her overheated skin should be a relief, but it isn’t. Her limbs feel heavy, her body exhausted in the way it only gets after something physical and intense. She stretches an arm over her head, her hand grazing the headboard as her eyes drift to the ceiling.

The room is quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Hers is slow and measured now, but Celeste’s is lighter, almost content, a satisfied hum vibrating in the air. For a moment, Paige doesn’t move, doesn’t even look at her, as if avoiding it will somehow make the growing discomfort in her chest go away.

Eventually, she turns her head, her gaze landing on Celeste. She’s curled up on her side, her red hair spilling across the pillow in fiery streaks, her green eyes half-lidded and hazy. Her lips are swollen, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at the corners, her cheeks still flushed. She looks pretty.

Paige should feel something about that. She should feel good, even great. Celeste is undeniably gorgeous, all sharp edges and bold features, with an energy that draws people in effortlessly. The sex had been good. Objectively. Celeste knew what to do, and, even when she didn’t, Paige is good enough to guide them both into feeling good.

But instead of any sort of satisfaction, all Paige feels is this strange, gnawing emptiness.

Her eyes dart back to the ceiling, her throat dry as she tries to make sense of it. She replays the night in her mind, searching for something to explain the heaviness sitting low in her stomach. It wasn’t bad—there was nothing bad about it. Celeste was enthusiastic, responsive, and confident. Technically, it should have been great.

But it wasn’t.

Paige’s gaze finds Celeste again, drawn back to the red of her hair and the sharp green of her eyes, colors so vivid they almost don’t seem real. She watches the way Celeste’s lashes flutter against her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls in steady breaths. Celeste looks completely at ease, and for a fleeting moment, Paige envies her.

But as she stares, the unease in her chest only deepens. It’s not something tangible, not something she can name, at least not at first. It’s just there, this persistent, nagging feeling that won’t let her settle.

And then it hits her, creeping up slow and quiet before slamming into her with full force.

Her eyes are green.

And her hair is red.

Paige swallows hard, her chest tightening as the thought lodges itself in her mind, impossible to ignore now. Celeste’s eyes are a vivid, almost unnatural green, like gemstones catching the lights. But they’re not soft, warm brown. They don’t have that quiet, steady depth that Paige knows so well. They don’t look at her with that mix of amusement or exasperation, or light up when she says something stupidly charming without meaning to.

And that hair—bright, bold, unmistakable—is nothing like the soft brown waves that fall messily into the face Paige could pick out of a crowd with her eyes closed.

Her stomach twists, the realization settling like a heavy weight she can’t shake. The reason it didn’t feel right—the reason she feels so off now, so unsatisfied—isn’t complicated, not really. It’s actually painfully simple.

Celeste isn’t Jo.

The thought feels almost treacherous, and Paige immediately tries to push it away, to rationalize it. This isn’t about Jo. It can’t be about Jo. Jo’s her best friend, and Celeste is someone she’s been flirting with on and off for months. That’s all this is.

But no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop the comparison, can’t stop her mind from drifting back to Jo. To the way her laugh sounds when Paige says something ridiculous, to the way her eyes soften when Paige is hurting and tries too hard to hide it. To the way Jo feels safe in a way no one else ever has.

Her vision goes blurry as she continues to stare up at the ceiling. This isn’t just a crush. It isn’t some fleeting infatuation she can laugh off or dismiss. The way her chest aches at the thought of Jo, the way her body feels like it’s caught between fight and flight—it’s too much to be anything simple. This is something deeper, something terrifying, something that feels like it has the power to completely ruin her.

Paige closes her eyes, willing herself to calm down, but it’s like trying to stop a flood with her bare hands. Every thought she’s been suppressing, every feeling she’s tried to bury, comes rushing to the surface all at once.

She likes Jo. She really, really likes Jo.

Jo is straight. That’s the first thing her brain throws at her, as if it’s some immovable fact that should end this line of thinking entirely. Jo has been with Asher since the eighth grade. Asher, who’s practically a part of her family, who’s been there for every milestone, every major moment in her life. Asher, who Jo is probably going to end up marrying and have perfect little babies with.

Paige’s jaw clenches at the thought and she tries to push it aside. But it’s not just that, though—it’s everything else. If she acted on this, if she said something, it could ruin everything. The team chemistry, the easy friendship they’ve built, the balance that holds her whole fucking life together—it could all come crashing down.

And even if—if—Jo liked her back, which she absolutely, definitely doesn’t, what then? What would that even look like? Relationships don’t work. Not for Paige. Not for anyone, really.

Her parents are the perfect cautionary tale. Their marriage had been a battlefield, full of screaming matches and screamed doors that Paige can faintly recall despite being so young. Eventually, they gave up and split. And then her dad remarried, and her mom remarried, and Paige got front-row seats to not one, but two more failed attempts at love.

She doesn’t do relationships. She doesn’t do love. It’s a joke, a setup for inevitable heartbreak, and she’s not stupid enough to fall for it.

But as much as she tries to convince herself, the thoughts keep circling back to Jo. To the sunshine in her veins, the sugar in blood, the constant smile on her face. She thinks about the way they’d slept last night, tangled up in each other like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Paige’s brain pulses in the confines of her skull, the overwhelming mix of emotions bubbling up until it feels like too much to bear. She can’t stay here. She can’t lie in this bed next to Celeste, her skin still tingling with the remnants of something that feels absolutely meaningless, and keep thinking about Jo.

Paige abruptly sits up, the sheets sliding off her as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. She glances around the dark room, searching for her clothes in the scattered mess on the floor.

Celeste stirs on the bed, her voice groggy as she props herself up on one elbow. “What are you doing?” she asks, her brows furrowing in confusion.

“I, uh…” Paige stammers, pulling on her sweatpants quickly. “I need to go. Something came up.”

Celeste sits up fully now, her confusion melting into mild irritation. “It’s, like, two in the morning,” she says, her voice tinged with disbelief. “What could possibly have come up?”

Paige doesn’t look at her, doesn’t stop moving. She grabs her shirt from the floor, yanking it over her head, her movements rushed and clumsy. “I just… I forgot I got somethin’ early,” she says vaguely, the words tumbling out in a way that even she knows sounds ridiculous.

Celeste sighs, her irritation softening into something more resigned. “Right,” she says, flopping back against the pillows. “Okay.”

Paige doesn’t even look at her as she finishes gathering her things. She knows she’s being rude but she hardly cares.

All she really cares about is getting out of there, away from the suffocating realization that has completely consumed her.

PAIGE PRACTICALLY sprints back to the dorms, the cool night air doing nothing to calm her racing mind. Her heart pounds, not just from the hurried walk but from the weight of, well, everything. She keeps pace, her thoughts a chaotic mess of Jo’s face, Jo’s laugh, Jo’s touch—Jo, Jo, Jo.

When she reaches her building and finally climbs the stairs to her apartment, she pauses, hand on the door handle. Jo’s probably inside, either in the kitchen making some late-night snack or curled up in the living room watching The Vampire Diaries and talking to Asher on speakerphone.

The thought makes Paige nauseous. She can’t face Jo right now—not with the realization still so fresh, so raw. She knows she’ll give herself away the second their eyes meet, and she can’t risk that.

So instead of opening the door to their apartment, Paige pushes herself up one more flight of stairs to the next floor, where Aubrey, Caroline, and Aaliyah live.

When she steps inside their apartment, the soft hum of a TV fills the air. Carol and Lili are nowhere to be seen, but Aubrey is sprawled on the couch with Azzi, the two of them laughing at whatever show they’re watching. Paige’s heart lifts slightly at the sight of Azzi—she hadn’t expected her to be here, but her best friend’s presence feels like a lifeline.

Both Aubrey and Azzi glance up as the door shuts behind Paige. They take one look at her face, and their expressions shift immediately, concern knitting both of their brows.

“You good?” Aubrey asks, sitting up straighter.

Azzi echoes the question, tilting her head slightly as she studies Paige.

Paige hesitates, her hand still on the doorknob, her throat tightening as her eyes start to well up. She can feel the tears coming before she even has a chance to fight them back. She bites her lip, staring at the two of them as the words she doesn’t want to say sit heavy on the tip of her tongue.

Finally, in a voice so quiet and pathetic it doesn’t sound at all like her own, she croaks out, “You were right.”

Azzi looks lost, scrunching her face up. “Right about what?” she asks, glancing between Paige and Aubrey.

But Aubrey’s already caught on, lips parting as the realization dawns on her. She doesn’t say anything, just leans back against the couch, giving Paige a look that’s equal parts knowing and sympathetic.

Paige presses her lips together, her chest tightening under the weight of Aubrey’s silent understanding. She glances down, blinking hard against the tears that threaten to spill, before finally crossing the room and flopping down onto the floor in front of the couch. She lays on her back, burying her face in her hands.

Azzi frowns, her confusion only growing. “What’s going on? What’re you taking about?”

Paige lets out a shaky breath, her voice muffled by her hands. “I like Jo,” she finally says, her throat thick with emotion. She pauses, her heart hammering as the words settle in the room, as real as they’ve ever been. “More than a friend. A lot more than a friend.”

It’s quiet for a long moment, the confession lingering in the air like a raw wound. Eventually, Paige hears the shuffle of the couch cushions, followed by the quiet creak of Aubrey leaning forward.

“So,” Aubrey starts carefully. “You like Jo. Like like her.”

Paige groans in response, dragging her hands down her face. “Didn’t I just say that?” Her voice is still muffled, but the frustration seeps through anyway. She glances up at them briefly, only to drop her head back down against the floor. “I’m so fucked, bro.”

Azzi shifts next to Aubrey, her long legs stretched out on the couch. She’s quiet for a moment, watching Paige with an expression that Paige can’t quite read. It’s not shock, though. In fact, Azzi looks almost… resigned. Like she’s been waiting for this moment to happen.

“I mean,” she says softly, “it’s not like it’s a huge surprise.”

That pulls Paige’s head up. Her eyes narrow at Azzi, her stomach doing an uncomfortable flip. “What’s that ‘posed to mean?”

Azzi shrugs, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying her amusement. “Come on, P. You’re not exactly subtle. The way you’re always looking at her, how you laugh at everything she says even when it’s not funny—”

“She is funny,” Paige cuts in defensively.

“Sure,” Azzi says with a small, knowing smile. “But it’s more than that, and you know it.”

Paige groans again, louder this time. Her eyes wander to the ceiling, the harsh overhead light making her eyes sting. “God, this is so—fuck, man.”

“Look,” Aubrey says. “I get it. Jo’s… she’s great. She’s funny and sweet, and yeah, she really pretty. But she’s got Asher. And she’s straight.” She pauses, letting the words settle. “You’re kinda setting yourself up to get hurt.”

Paige clenches her jaw, kissing her teeth. “You think I don’t know that?” she snaps, sitting up abruptly, her eyes a blue fire as she stares at Aubrey. “You think I don’t know that she’s got her perfect boy next door that she’s gonna fuckin’ marry and have kids with? You think I don’t know that this is never gonna happen?”

Her voice wavers, and she hates how vulnerable she sounds, how exposed. She looks down, her hands clenched into fists against her thighs. “I don’t want this. I don’t wanna like her. But it’s just now that I’ve, like, figured it out… Ion know how I’m ever not. Because she’s—fuck, she’s perfect. She’s just… she’s perfect.” Her voice cracks on the last couple words and Paige hastily wipes at a tear that’s managed to escape her eye.

Azzi and Aubrey share a glance, and Paige notices it. She hates feeling like a charity case, like someone they need to pity or fix.

Finally, Azzi speaks, her voice quieter this time. “It’s okay to have feelings, Paige. You can’t control that. What matters is how you handle them.”

Paige snorts, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, I’m handling them great, aren’t I?”

“Paige.” Azzi’s tone is firm, but there’s a softness underneath it. “I’m serious. You don’t have to beat yourself up for liking her. It’s not something you chose.”

The blonde lets a bitter laugh escape her. “Yeah, well, I sure as hell wouldn’t have chosin’ this.”

Aubrey sighs. “No one’s saying it’s easy, but you gotta be realistic. We just don’t wanna see you torture yourself over this.”

Paige wraps her arms around her knees as she looks between the two of them. “So, what am I supposed to do, huh? Just stop liking her? How do I do that? Someone, please fuckin’ tell me, because I’m losin’ my mind.”

Neither of them answers right away. Aubrey looks thoughtful, while Azzi stares at the TV, her lips pressed together. Paige feels the desperation clawing at her chest, her heart racing as the silence stretches on.

Finally, Azzi speaks. “Maybe you need space.”

Paige blinks, caught off guard. “Space?”

Azzi nods, still looking at the TV. “Yeah. Like… maybe being around her all the time will make this harder for you, just make your feelings grow. So, maybe you need to take a step back, give yourself some time to clear your head.”

Paige frowns. The idea of putting distance between herself and Jo feels impossible. But, at the same time, she can’t deny that Azzi might have a point.

“I don’t know,” Azzi continues, finally turning to look at Paige. “You’re going back to LA in a couple of days, and you’re gonna be there for a few more weeks. Maybe that’ll give you a better chance to figure things out without her right in front of you.”

Paige hesitates, her throat sore. She knows Azzi’s probably right, knows that putting some space between herself and Jo could be exactly what she needs. But the thought makes her ache.

“I’ll think about it,” she mumbles.

JO SITS cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her thighs, her fingers hovering idly over the keyboard. The document on her screen is due tomorrow, but she’s been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now. Her thoughts keep drifting, circling back to one person.

Paige has been distant. More than distant—aloof, like she’s there but not really. Jo hasn’t seen much of her since media day, which is strange. Paige always makes time for her, no matter how busy things get. They’re roommates, sure, but it’s more than that—they’ve become close, inseparable even, and it doesn’t sit right that Paige is suddenly pulling today. Especially this week.

Paige is leaving for LA again, and Jo was hoping to spend more time with her before she goes back. She wanted to squeeze in a movie night, maybe order some takeout and sit around laughing about dumb things like they always do. But instead, Paige has either been locked in her room or entirely out of the apartment for the last few days.

When Jo hears the door to the blonde’s room creak open, her heart lifts a little, and she shifts her gaze over, sitting up straighter.

“Hey,” she greets, her voice warm and bright, like always.

Paige barely looks at her, muttering a quick, “Hi,” as she heads toward the kitchen. Jo frowns, watching her move with a sort of stiffness that’s entirely unlike her. It’s not just that she’s quiet—Jo’s pretty sure that Paige is avoiding her, and she feels the sting of it more than she’d like to admit.

She doesn’t say anything, though. Jo isn’t the kind of person who pushes, not unless she has to. She’s learned that sometimes people need space, and maybe that’s all this is. Still, her chest tightens as she watches Paige pull a water from the fridge, looking like she’s in a hurry as she does so.

“Am I still driving you to the airport?” Jo asks, trying to keep her tone casual. She didn’t think she’d have to question it because they made the plan together, but considering the fact that they’ve barely spoken the past few days, Jo can’t help but wonder.

And it seems she was right to because Paige pauses. “Oh, nah,” she says after a beat, her voice flat. “Azzi’s taking me.”

Jo blinks. She’s not really caught off guard just because Paige has been acting so weird, but she still feels the twist of disappointment in her stomach. She was hoping she’d be able to talk to her and see her during drive, but clearly she doesn’t even get that.

Still, Jo forces a smile. “Oh, okay,” she says lightly, though she feels anything but.

Paige doesn’t offer an explanation, and Jo doesn’t ask for one. She watched as Paige retreat back to her room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence in the apartment suddenly feels heavier than before, and Jo lets out a soft sigh, sinking back into the couch.

It’s fine, she tells herself. Paige is probably just stressed or tired or something. It’s not about her. It can’t be. But the thought nags at her anyway, like an itch she can’t stretch.

And it continues to nag at her a few hours later as they hug by the apartment door, saying goodbye. Jo hugs her tightly, normally, but she can feel how stiff Paige is, how oddly awkward the embrace feels. It’s like Paige is already halfway out the door, and Jo’s heart aches with the realization.

“Bye,” Paige says as she pulls back, her voice quiet.

“Bye,” Jo echoes, her smile faltering as she watches Paige pick up her suitcase and head out the door. The sound of it closing behind her feels final, like a book slamming shut.

Jo stands there for a long moment, staring at the closed door. Her mind raced, replaying every interaction they’ve had over the past few days, searching for something she might’ve done wrong. Something that could explain why Paige is acting like this.

She doesn’t come up with anything, but the doubt lingers, gnawing at her. Jo sighs, walking back to her bedroom and dropping down onto the bed. She presses her hands to her face, frustration and sadness bubbling up in her chest.

She tells herself that it’s okay, that it’s nothing, that by the time Paige gets back to Storrs in a few weeks, everything will be normal again.

She hopes so, at least, because she really doesn’t like the alternative.

IN LA, the sun feels sharp, unrelenting, even if it’s nearing November. Paige sits in her rental car outside the rehab facility, her phone in her lap, the screen dark but heavy. She knows what’s waiting for her in there—a grueling session of strength-building and balance work, another step toward getting back to basketball. But basketball hasn’t been the loudest thing in her mind for weeks now. It should be—God, it should be—but instead, it’s Jo.

Paige clenches her jaw and tosses her phone into the passenger seat, annoyed with herself. Thinking about Jo doesn’t help, not here, not anywhere. That’s why she’s done everything to avoid it: random girls in unfamiliar beds, their hands and mouths a fleeting distraction; sporadic texts to Jo, just enough to keep her from asking too many questions; ignoring every call, every FaceTime, and hoping Jo doesn’t notice the glaring difference between nearly every night and never anymore. She has to be catching on by now. Paige knows Jo isn’t stupid.

Still, the guilt doesn’t outweigh the distance. Paige grips the steering wheel, staring at the rehab center’s sliding glass doors but not really seeing them. Distance is necessary—it has to be. If Paige doesn’t put this buffer between them, if she doesn’t actively suppress everything she feels, she’s going to ruin things. She’ll make it weird, or worse, permanent. She’s trying to protect their friendship. She’s trying to protect the team. She’s trying to protect her own heart.

And yet.

Her chest aches every time she picks up the phone and sees Jo’s name, every time she types out a half-hearted excuse about being too busy to talk. Rehab has been fine, she supposes—her knee is slowly regaining its strength, her trainers say she’s on track—but Jo’s absence looks larger than it should. Paige didn’t realize how much Jo’s voice at the end of the day had anchored her, how their FaceTimes had become her favorite part of LA the first few weeks she was here, before she realized everything. She misses Jo more than she should—more than is safe—and no amount of flings with strangers or silent self-lectures seems to change that.

The worst part is that none of it is working. The random girls are a distraction, sure, but only in the moment. They don’t fill the void, not really. Every time Paige wakes up, whether that be alone or tangled with unfamiliar limbs, her mind inevitably drifts back to Jo. To her laugh, her smile, the way she tilts her head just slightly when she’s focused on something. It’s infuriating how vivid Jo feels in her memory, like she’s carved into Paige’s consciousness.

Paige exhales sharply and runs a hand over her face, the rough skin of her palm scraping against her jaw. She tells herself to get it together. She knows this spiraling isn’t productive, but the more she tries to stop thinking about Jo, the more Jo consumes her thoughts. She thinks of Jo’s hugs—warm, grounding, so completely Jo. She thinks about their so-called sleepovers, the two of them sprawled on either of their beds watching The Vampire Diaries, Jo throwing popcorn at Paige whenever she made fun of Stefan Salvatore.

The memory makes her chest twist painfully. She hasn’t even watched the show since she’s been in LA; it feels wrong to do it without Jo. It feels like cheating somehow, as ridiculous as that sounds. Besides, it’s just another reminder of the girl she’s actively trying to not think about.

But, like always, she’s thinking about her right now and it reminds her of the text she saw pop up on her phone last night that she never responded to. Sighing, she reaches for the device and opens iMessages, feeling bad for taking so long to even read the text let alone respond.

Ma freshie 💘

hey, how are you? how’s rehab??

it’s been a minute just wanted to say i miss you

Paige stares at the message. I miss you. She knows that Jo misses her. She knows that. But she also knows that she doesn’t miss her in the way that Paige wants her to.

Her thumb hovers over the screen. She wants to respond. She wants to say, I miss you too. Rehab sucks, I wish you were here. She wants to apologize for pulling away, to explain herself, but how do you say, Sorry, I’m avoiding you because I kinda think I’m in love with you and it’s ruining me?

Instead, she types a lie.

PB 😱😱

Sorry I’ve been busy as hell

Rehab’s going fine tho

Hope you’re good don’t have too much fun at practice without me

Her chest tightens as she sends them. Jo deserves better then this, and Paige knows it. But then Paige reminds herself that she does have better than this—she has Asher. Which is probably all she’ll ever need.

Paige shakes her head, grabbing her water bottle from the cup holder and stepping out of the car. She can’t keep doing this to herself. Jo is back in Storrs, living her life, and Paige needs to do the same. She needs to focus on her recovery, on getting back on the court, on being the best damn basketball player she can be. This thing she feels for Jo? It doesn’t matter. It can’t matter.

She slams the car door shut and heads toward the rehab center, trying to leave the ache in her chest behind. It follows her anyway.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ my girl, my man

chapter summary: You and Logan plan for your wedding.

word count: 9.9k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i could've dragged out them getting engaged (i couldn't help myself) and i could've dragged out them finally getting married (i just couldn't help it😭).

also, i meant to post this a few hours ago, but i had a dentist appointment and the roads here in texas are awful. so, if you live in california, stay safe! and if you are in texas, stay warm! xoxo

(you can imagine whatever ring you'd like, but i got bored one day and searched around for a vintage ring so here's what it looks like)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, summer break, wedding, honeymoon

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

“Do you think we’re missin’ something?” Jean wondered aloud.

Scott didn’t look up from his book, “about what?”

“About Y/N and—”

“Oh, yes. I thought I was the only one,” Ororo said, her tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement as she looked up from her book. She exchanged a knowing glance with Jean, who sat cross-legged on the couch across the room.

“Wait,” Jean said, closing the folder she’d been reviewing. “You’ve noticed it too?”

“Of course,” Ororo replied, leaning back in her chair with a small smirk. “It’s hard not to, the way Logan’s been acting.”

Scott finally looked up from his own book, his brow furrowed. “What are you two going on about?”

Jean rolled her eyes affectionately, setting the folder aside. “Come on, Scott. You must’ve noticed how Logan is with Y/N.”

“Not really,” Scott said with a shrug, earning an incredulous laugh from Jean.

“Men,” Ororo muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “He’s softer around her, more patient. Haven’t you seen the way he looks at her? It’s... different.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not just that. It’s different than before. When me and Scott went to the store yesterday Logan asked for mango juice and yogurt-covered pretzels. Now who’s the only person we know who even likes those things?”

Ororo’s smirk grew. “Y/N.”

“Exactly,” Jean said, leaning forward. “I’m telling you, something’s shifted. They’ve always been close, but now? It’s like… there’s an extra layer to it.”

Ororo set her book aside, her tone teasing. “I’ve noticed other things too. She asked me for a bunch of yeast and some other ingredients last week—odd things for the lab. Then, two days later, she came by looking flustered, mumbling something about brewing beer. My guess? She’s making it for him.”

Jean grinned. “That sounds like her. She’s so shy about doing anything big, but she puts so much thought into the little things.”

Scott, still sitting with his arms crossed, frowned. “So, what? They’re dating. We all know that.”

“Yes, but this is different,” Jean insisted. “Logan’s been... softer, more relaxed. And Y/N? She’s been letting herself open up more. They’ve always had a connection, but this feels… more serious.”

Ororo nodded. “And the PDA. Don’t get me wrong, they’re not exactly hanging off each other in public, but it’s there. A little more than usual.”

Scott still didn’t look convinced. “I think you’re reading too much into this. Logan’s always been protective of her, and she’s been trying to come out of her shell. That doesn’t mean anything’s changed.”

Jean sighed, exchanging a look with Ororo. “You can be so dense sometimes, Scott.”

“Hey, I’m just saying! Logan’s Logan. He doesn’t strike me as the type to do anything halfway, but I’m not seeing what you two are apparently seeing.”

Ororo shrugged. “Give it time. You’ll notice eventually.”

---

Scott was heading down the main hall when he caught sight of Logan walking toward him. Logan had his usual brisk stride, but the large stack of magazines in his arms gave Scott pause.

“Logan,” Scott called, stepping into his path. “What’s with the reading material?”

Logan slowed to a stop, glancing down at the stack in his arms. Bridal magazines, at least half a dozen of them, with glossy covers featuring elaborate white dresses and floral arrangements.

He barely missed a beat. “For the fire,” Logan said gruffly, his tone so deadpan it took Scott a moment to respond.

“For the fire?” Scott echoed, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah. Fireplace needs kindling,” Logan replied, his expression unreadable as he shifted the magazines under one arm.

Before Scott could press further, Jean approached, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the magazines. “Logan, is that…?”

“Magazines,” Logan cut in, his voice low. “For the fire. Don’t read into it.”

Jean’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smile. “Uh-huh.”

Logan let out a low grunt, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation, and walked off without another word, leaving Jean and Scott standing in the hall.

Jean turned to Scott, her eyebrows raised. “Still think we’re imagining things?”

Scott glanced back at Logan’s retreating figure, the bridal magazines tucked under his arm. “…Okay, maybe something is going on.”

Jean smirked. “Told you.”

---

You rolled out from under the Blackbird with wire cutters laying on your stomach and an electric screwdriver in your hand. “Alright, fixed it. Still don’t know why you couldn’t ask Scott.”

Jean rolled her eyes, “I did. And he said ‘later’. It’s been 4 days.”

You gave her a small smile. “Figures.”

Sliding the wire cutters onto the small tool tray beside you, you sat up, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face. Jean crouched down next to you, handing over a clean rag.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it to wipe the faint smudge of grease off your arms.

“Not bad for a physics professor,” Jean teased, her tone warm.

You shrugged, pulling off the gloves with a small tug. “I’ve picked up a few things here and there.”

Ororo, perched nearby with her arms crossed and a bemused expression, added, “If you weren’t so dedicated to teaching, I’d say you might have a future in mechanics.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “I’ll leave the big repairs to Hank. I just know enough to get by.”

As you spoke, you folded the gloves neatly and set them on the tray. That’s when Jean’s eyes caught something—a glint of light on your left hand.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she tilted her head. “Y/N… is that—?”

You glanced at her, confused for a moment, before realizing what had caught her attention. Your engagement ring, a delicate band with an antique setting, was visible now that the gloves were off.

“Oh,” you said softly, instinctively touching the ring with your thumb. A shy smile tugged at your lips.

Jean’s eyes widened, a mix of surprise and delight flashing across her face. “Wait a second. When did this happen?”

Ororo stepped closer, her curiosity piqued. “What’s she talking about?”

Jean pointed at your hand. “Look at her ring finger.”

Ororo’s gaze followed, and her eyebrows lifted. “Well, well, well. I didn’t realize we had a bride-to-be among us.”

Your cheeks warmed under their scrutiny. “It’s… recent,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jean’s grin grew as she leaned in, her tone playful. “And by ‘recent,’ you mean…?”

“Two… maybe three weeks,” you said, trying not to squirm under her gaze.

Ororo let out a low whistle. “And you didn’t tell us?”

You looked between the two of them, your fingers fiddling with the ring. “We weren’t keeping it a secret. It just… hasn’t come up.”

Jean crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. “Hasn’t come up? You’ve been engaged for weeks, and none of us noticed?”

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of nervousness and amusement. “Well… Logan and I aren’t exactly the ‘big announcement’ type.”

Ororo chuckled. “That, I believe. But still, congratulations are in order. It’s beautiful, Y/N.”

Jean nodded, her eyes softening as she looked at you. “It really is. And it suits you.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing at the ring again. Despite the attention, there was a quiet happiness bubbling inside you.

Jean gave you a knowing look. “So… when were you planning on telling the rest of us? Or were we just supposed to figure it out on our own?”

“I wasn’t sure how to bring it up,” you admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And Logan—well, you know how he is.”

Jean laughed. “Yeah, I can imagine his reaction to a big group toast.” She put on a gruff voice, imitating him. “‘No need to make a fuss.’”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Exactly.”

Ororo smiled warmly, her teasing tone softening. “Well, fuss or no fuss, we’re happy for you. And you better let us know if there’s a wedding date.”

“Of course,” you promised, the warmth in their voices making you feel more at ease.

Jean reached over, giving your hand a quick squeeze. “Congratulations, Y/N. You two deserve this.”

“Thanks,” you said again, this time with more confidence.

Before the conversation could go any further, Logan’s voice carried down the hall. “Darlin’? You done with the jet?”

You turned toward the sound, seeing him leaning casually in the doorway. His usual gruff expression softened as his eyes met yours.

“Yeah, all set,” you called back, standing and brushing off your jeans.

Logan gave a small nod but didn’t move, his gaze lingering on you in that way that made your heart flutter.

Jean smirked, glancing at Ororo. “And there he is.”

“Don’t,” you muttered under your breath, feeling your cheeks flush again.

Ororo laughed softly, but neither she nor Jean said anything more. As you walked toward Logan, you caught the amused glances they exchanged, but you didn’t mind.

Logan met you halfway, his hand resting briefly on your lower back as you joined him. “Ready to head in?”

“Yeah,” you said, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

As the two of you walked away, you could still hear Jean and Ororo chuckling behind you, but Logan didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer an explanation. Some things were just better left between the two of you.

---

“Please?” you said, drawing the word out with an exaggerated pout as you held up the scissors, comb, and spray bottle. Your tone was teasing, but your eyes carried a hopeful glint.

Logan crossed his arms, his expression skeptical. “Darlin’, I’m tellin’ ya, it’s fine. It doesn’t need fixin’.”

You arched a brow, stepping closer. “Logan, it’s summer, and your hair’s gettin’ way too long in the back. I’m not saying you need a whole new look, just a trim.”

He gave a low grunt, clearly unconvinced, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’ve been dealin’ with this hair longer than you’ve been alive. It’s manageable.”

“Sure it is,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “But wouldn’t it be more manageable if it wasn’t sticking out at weird angles?”

Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you said sweetly.

He stared at you for a long moment before shaking his head. “Alright, fine. But on one condition.”

Your eyes lit up. “Name it.”

A slow, mischievous grin spread across his face. “We do it outside, and you sit on my lap while you’re at it.”

Your cheeks immediately warmed, and you stared at him, wide-eyed. “Logan,” you began, your voice dropping in embarrassment.

“What?” he said with a smirk. “You wanted this, didn’t ya? Gotta make it worth my while.”

You huffed, but your lips quirked up in a small smile despite your best efforts. “Fine,” you said, trying to sound exasperated. “But don’t blame me if you end up with a lopsided cut.”

Logan chuckled, his hand settling on your lower back as he guided you toward the back patio. The warm summer air greeted you as the two of you stepped outside. The mansion’s sprawling yard stretched out around you, the sun casting a golden glow over the lawn and the distant trees.

Logan grabbed one of the sturdy wooden chairs from the patio table and plopped down, spreading his legs slightly as he leaned back with a lazy grin. He patted his thigh. “Hop on.”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. Though Logan wasn’t shy about showing affection, you were still getting used to moments like this. When the coast was clear, you let out a breath and moved to sit sideways on his lap. He shook his head, catching your waist and turning you so you straddled him instead.

“There,” he said, his voice low and pleased. “Much better.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips as you picked up the spray bottle and gave his hair a quick spritz. He leaned back, his hands resting casually on your hips while you combed through his damp locks.

“You know,” you said, keeping your tone light as you snipped at the ends, “this is kind of nice. Just us, the fresh air…”

Logan’s lips quirked. “Don’t get too used to it, darlin’. This is a one-time deal.”

“Sure it is,” you teased, snipping another section. “I’ll remind you of that next time your hair gets out of control.”

He gave a low chuckle, and you felt his thumb brush lightly against your side. It was such a small, unconscious gesture, but it sent a warm flutter through your chest. You leaned in a little closer, focusing on your task.

“Y/N!” Jean’s voice rang out from somewhere near the house, and your head whipped up in alarm. “Have you seen—oh.”

Jean rounded the corner, her steps slowing as she took in the sight of you perched on Logan’s lap, scissors in hand. Her lips twitched, clearly fighting a grin. “Am I interrupting something?”

You felt your cheeks flame, and you tried to slide off Logan’s lap, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. “Jean,” you said, your voice higher-pitched than usual. “I was just… cutting Logan’s hair.”

“Right,” Jean said, crossing her arms and giving you a knowing look. “Because clearly, that’s the only thing happening here.”

Logan, unbothered, smirked up at her. “You need somethin’, Red?”

Jean waved a hand dismissively. “Nope, nothing that can’t wait. Carry on.” She turned to leave but not before shooting you a wink over her shoulder. “Nice technique, Y/N.”

“Jean!” you called after her, but she was already walking away, laughing softly to herself.

You groaned, covering your face with one hand. Logan’s chest rumbled with laughter beneath you.

“Relax, darlin’. Let her have her fun.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, narrowing your eyes. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted with a grin, his hands squeezing your waist gently. “But hey, you wanted to do this, remember?”

You sighed, but a reluctant smile tugged at your lips as you went back to trimming. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance,” Logan said, his voice warm and full of affection.

---

Logan reached his hand out haphazardly to close the bedroom door, the motion almost careless in his urgency. His other hand remained firmly planted on your lower back, guiding you with surprising gentleness as your lips stayed locked.

The click of the door shutting barely registered before he backed you into the wall, his movements smooth and deliberate. You gasped softly against his mouth, one of your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair while the other found its way to the back of his neck.

“Logan,” you murmured breathlessly, breaking the kiss for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

“What?” His voice was low, a rough edge of amusement to it as his lips sought yours again. “You’re the one who started this, sweetheart.”

Your laughter bubbled up, light and almost involuntary. “I did not—”

“Oh, you absolutely did,” he teased, his hands settling more firmly on your hips. He nipped at your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look at you, his grin mischievous. “You looked at me like that, darlin’. Don’t blame me for followin’ through.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, but you couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped you as he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This one was slower, softer, but still filled with the same electric energy that seemed to hum between the two of you whenever you were close.

You tightened your arms around his shoulders, fingers pressing lightly into his skin. He grunted softly, the sound half amusement, half approval, before his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his voice husky as he gripped you firmly and lifted you effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and he pinned you against the wall more securely, his body pressed warm and solid against yours.

“Logan!” you squeaked, a mix of laughter and surprise in your tone. “You’re gonna drop me.”

He smirked, his lips brushing along your jaw before he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you,” he said, his tone low but teasing. “When are you gonna figure that out, huh?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, the lights in the room flickered and then went out completely, plunging everything into sudden darkness.

You gasped softly, instinctively tightening your hold on Logan. “What just—?”

“Power’s out,” he muttered, his tone shifting to mild annoyance. He pulled back just enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. “Perfect timing.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you, the absurdity of the situation cutting through the moment’s intensity. “Guess the mansion’s old wiring isn’t built for summer storms.”

“Guess not,” he grumbled, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said softly, smiling despite yourself. “But we might want to move before someone walks in on this.”

He chuckled, his hands still steady beneath you as he adjusted his grip. “I don’t care who walks in. Let ‘em.”

“Logan,” you groaned, but you couldn’t hide the grin in your voice. “Don’t even joke about that.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before pulling back with a smirk. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you down.”

He set you on your feet gently, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment longer before stepping back. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the playful glint in his eyes.

“Maybe we finish this later,” he said, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, biting your lip to suppress another smile. “Maybe.”

As you both moved to find a flashlight, the sound of voices and footsteps echoed faintly down the hall. The chaos of the power outage was clearly drawing everyone out of their rooms, and you shot Logan a knowing look.

“See?” you whispered, smirking. “Someone was bound to walk in.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the small, satisfied smile on his face told you he wasn’t too worried about it.

---

You might’ve gotten a bit carried away looking at magazines instead of working on your research. The lab was quiet, save for the soft hum of equipment, and you’d tucked yourself into a corner with a stack of physics journals. But one wedding magazine Logan had given you sat on top of your pile, its glossy pages begging to be flipped through. Before you knew it, you were lost in images of lace trains and intricate veils, your fingers idly twisting a strand of hair.

“Hmm, wedding dresses?”

Jean’s teasing voice pulled you from your daydream. You jumped, snapping the magazine shut and turning red. “Jean! I—uh, it’s not what it looks like. I was just…taking a break.”

Jean smirked, plucking the magazine from your hands. She flipped it open to a page you’d dog-eared. “Sure, just a break,” she said, her tone laced with playful skepticism. “You’ve already got a few favorites marked. This one’s beautiful,” she added, pointing to a gown with delicate floral embroidery.

You pushed your glasses up nervously. “I mean, yeah, but it’s too soon, right? Logan and I haven’t even set a date yet…”

Jean ignored your protests, holding up the magazine like it was her life’s mission. “Nonsense. Come on, let’s go into town and try some on.”

Your eyes widened. “Try them on? Jean, no—I couldn’t! What if someone sees? What if—”

“Relax,” she said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “It’s summer break, most of the students are gone, and you deserve a little fun. Besides,” her lips quirked in a knowing smile, “Logan gave you this magazine for a reason. You think he’d mind?”

You hesitated, torn between your shy instincts and Jean’s infectious enthusiasm. Finally, you relented. “Fine. But just for fun.”

---

The bridal boutique was a cozy, sunlit space tucked away on a quiet street. Jean wasted no time pulling dresses from the racks while you lingered nervously near the dressing rooms.

“This one,” Jean said, holding up a sleek satin gown, “or this one?” She gestured to a gown with layers of delicate tulle.

“They’re both gorgeous,” you said, shifting on your feet, “but maybe too much for me…”

Jean rolled her eyes. “You’re the bride! There’s no such thing as ‘too much.’ Now, go try these on.”

The first dress was beautiful but too heavy, and the second didn’t quite feel like you. By the third, you found yourself laughing at Jean’s exaggerated commentary.

“Okay, but look at this!” she said, adjusting the train. “You could glide down the aisle like a queen.”

“Jean,” you giggled, shaking your head, “I think I’d trip over this and take Logan down with me.”

After an hour, you still hadn’t found ‘the one,’ but the experience left you feeling lighter. “Thank you,” you said as the two of you walked back to the car. “That was actually…fun.”

Jean grinned. “Told you. And now we know what styles you like. We’ll find it when the time’s right.”

---

Back at the mansion, Logan was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a beer, when you walked in. He raised an eyebrow at your slightly disheveled appearance. “Where’d you two run off to?”

Jean, smirking, answered before you could. “Tried on wedding dresses.” Logan’s gaze immediately snapped to you, and his lips twitched into a small smile. Jean patted your arm. “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said, disappearing down the hall.

You shifted nervously, tugging at your sleeves. “It was her idea,” you blurted out, feeling the need to explain. “I wasn’t—well, I mean, we didn’t find anything. And it’s probably too soon anyway, right? We don’t have a date or a venue or—”

“Darlin’.” Logan’s deep voice cut through your rambling. He stepped closer, his hands gently settling on your arms. “You don’t have to plan every detail right now.”

You looked up at him, your cheeks warm. “But—”

He shook his head, a rare softness in his expression. “I don’t care what you wear or where it happens. Hell, we could go to a courthouse tomorrow and sign the damn papers for all I care.” His voice dipped, quiet and rough with emotion. “I’m just happy I finally get to marry you.”

His words hit you like a wave, their weight sinking in as you stared at him. “Logan…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb gently over your skin. “What matters is you, sweetheart. That’s it.”

Your chest tightened, a mix of overwhelming love and relief bubbling up. You leaned into his touch, a small, teary smile breaking through. “Okay,” you murmured, resting your forehead against his. “I guess I can live with that.”

“Good,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Because you’re already perfect to me.”

---

This was a mistake.

One big, grand mistake.

Your chest heaved as you bent down with your hands on your knees, sweat dripping down your back. The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the mansion’s gym, but it offered no comfort. You were a mess—hair sticking to your face, glasses fogged up, and your lungs protesting every second of this so-called ‘workout.’

“This,” you panted, glaring at Logan, “was a mistake.”

Logan smirked, unbothered as he stood nearby, arms crossed over his broad chest. He was barely sweating, his usual tank top clinging just enough to show off his ridiculous muscles. “You’re the one who said you wanted to get stronger.”

“I didn’t know you’d try to kill me,” you shot back, collapsing onto a nearby mat. Your legs were jelly, your pride in shambles, and Logan looked way too amused.

He sauntered over, grabbing a towel from the bench. “You’re not dead,” he said casually. “You’re just outta shape.”

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. “You’ve been alive for 100-something-years or whatever. Cut me some slack.”

“That’s not how it works, darlin’.” His voice was teasing, but there was a hint of warmth beneath it. He crouched next to you, the scent of his woodsy cologne mixed with sweat making your stomach flutter. “You gotta keep at it.”

You peeked out from under your arm, watching as he leaned closer. Logan reached out with the towel, gently wiping your forehead. “Thanks,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating from more than just exertion.

He didn’t stop there. The towel traveled down to your neck, then lower, dabbing at the sweat gathering at your collarbone. You tried not to squirm, but when he moved to the beginnings of your cleavage with a cheeky smirk, you slapped his hand away.

“Logan!” you hissed, sitting up abruptly, your face now definitely on fire.

“What?” he asked, his expression the picture of innocence. “Just helpin’ out.”

You glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “You’re impossible.”

He shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder and standing up. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t argue with that. “I’m never working out with you again,” you grumbled as you stood, wobbling slightly.

“Sure you are.” Logan’s hand shot out to steady you, his grip firm but gentle. “You just need the right motivation.”

“And what’s that supposed to be?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to that gravelly tone that always made your heart skip. “Maybe I’ll tell ya if you survive the next session.”

You groaned, pushing past him toward the water cooler. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he called after you, his laughter echoing in the gym. “You love me, remember?”

You muttered something under your breath that made him chuckle even harder, but despite your protests, you couldn’t stop the small smile from forming as you took a long sip of water. Maybe—just maybe—you’d let him drag you back here again. But next time, you were bringing Jean for backup.

---

“How did venue hunting go?” Jean asked, walking into the foyer where you and Logan just entered.

You let out a huff as you took off your jacket, your purse and notebook in Logan’s hands. He responded for you, “none of ‘em fit her standards.”

The jacket was draped over your arm as you snatched the notebook out of Logan’s hands. “They’re not high standards,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

Logan shrugged, clearly unimpressed. “Looked like every venue had a list of what they didn’t have instead of what they did.”

“That’s not true!” You flipped open the notebook, pages filled with scribbles, sticky notes, and circled bullet points. “I just want a place that works for everyone. Is that too much to ask?”

Jean smirked from where she leaned against the foyer wall. “Define ‘works for everyone.’”

You gestured with the notebook, tapping on your list. “It has to be wheelchair accessible for Charles. Child-friendly because the students will want to attend. Not too stuffy, so Logan doesn’t feel out of place—”

“Darlin’, I’m out of place everywhere,” Logan cut in with a smirk.

You ignored him, continuing, “And not too far from the mansion so the team can help in case of emergencies. Oh, and it has to have enough space for dancing, good acoustics, a separate area for food—”

“You’re planning a wedding or a state summit?” Logan teased.

Jean stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the exchange. “She’s just thorough, Logan. You should’ve seen her face when one venue didn’t have a backup generator.”

“Backup generator? For a wedding?” Logan raised an eyebrow at you.

“Have you met us?” you shot back. “I’m not risking a power outage in the middle of the first dance.”

Jean laughed outright this time, shaking her head. “I think you’ve got your work cut out for you, Logan.”

“I always do,” Logan muttered under his breath, smirking when you swatted his arm.

“Don’t act like you’re suffering,” you said, rolling your eyes as you headed toward the living room. Logan followed, still grinning. Jean waved you off with a knowing smile before disappearing toward the kitchen.

---

A few days later, you sat cross-legged on the couch in the mansion’s common area, surrounded by more open notebooks and wedding magazines. The team buzzed around you as usual, some heading out for training while others settled in for their break. Logan strolled in, a beer in hand, and plopped down beside you.

“Still at it?” he asked, glancing at the scattered mess.

You sighed, closing one of the notebooks with a soft thud. “We’re not getting anywhere. Nothing feels right.”

Logan leaned back, taking a swig of his beer. “Then stop lookin’ so hard.”

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You’re not the one trying to make sure everyone’s happy.”

“Darlin’, nobody cares where it happens. They care about you.” His tone softened as he reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hell, we could do it right here, and it’d still be perfect.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Here? At the mansion?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “Big lawn, plenty of space, and it’s already home for most of us.”

You hesitated, glancing around the room. “It’s… not the worst idea.”

“‘Not the worst’ is high praise coming from you,” Logan teased, earning him a half-hearted glare.

“I just mean…” You bit your lip, considering it. “Who would even decorate?”

At that moment, Rogue walked by, arms full of laundry. Logan raised his voice without missing a beat. “Hey, Rogue! You feel like decorating for a wedding?”

Rogue paused, glancing between the two of you. “Uh… sure? What kinda wedding?”

Logan smirked, gesturing toward you. “Ours.”

Her face lit up. “Oh my God! Yeah, totally! I’ll get Kitty and Jubilee to help. We’ll make it look amazing.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by how quickly she agreed. “Wait—are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure!” Rogue said, beaming. “This is gonna be fun.”

As she hurried off, Logan leaned closer, his smirk widening. “See? Problem solved.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” he said, pulling you into his side.

You didn’t bother arguing. Instead, you rested your head on his shoulder, letting yourself imagine it: the mansion’s lawn, your friends and family, and Logan waiting for you at the end of the aisle. For the first time in weeks, the thought of your wedding didn’t feel overwhelming—it felt like home.

---

This was officially your third time going wedding dress shopping, and this time Ororo had tagged along with Jean, who had practically dragged you out of the mansion with a determined look in her eyes. The three of you entered the boutique, greeted by racks of pristine white fabric, sparkling embellishments, and soft lighting that screamed bridal fantasy.

You adjusted your glasses nervously, clutching your notebook against your chest as Jean grinned at you. “This is it,” she said confidently. “Third time’s the charm.”

Ororo gave you a calm, reassuring smile. “No pressure, Y/N. Let’s just have fun with it.”

You exhaled a little laugh. “Easier said than done. Every dress I’ve tried on feels…wrong.”

Jean looped her arm through yours. “That’s because you’re overthinking it. Trust me, when you find the one, you’ll just know.”

The three of you wandered through the racks, pulling out dresses and debating the merits of lace versus satin, mermaid cuts versus A-line. Jean’s enthusiasm was contagious, and even Ororo—usually so composed—couldn’t resist chiming in with the occasional suggestion.

“I think Logan would like something simple,” Ororo said, holding up a sleek gown with minimal embellishments.

Jean snorted. “Logan would think she’s perfect in anything. He’d probably prefer she showed up in her lab coat.”

You flushed at the thought, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He’s… not that bad.”

Jean raised an eyebrow. “Y/N, he kissed you in front of half the team last week just because you brought him a sandwich.”

“That was not—it was just a kiss on the cheek!” you protested, but your voice wavered.

Ororo chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “A lingering kiss on the cheek. We all saw it.”

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “I’m going to die of embarrassment before this wedding even happens.”

Jean patted your shoulder. “If you survive Logan’s public displays of affection, you’ll survive anything.”

The teasing made you relax a little, and you found yourself smiling as the three of you continued browsing. Eventually, the shop assistant approached, her cheerful demeanor instantly putting you at ease.

“Looking for something specific?” she asked.

You hesitated. “Not really. I just…want something that feels like me.”

She nodded knowingly and began pulling a few options. One by one, you tried them on, stepping out to show Jean and Ororo each time. They offered their opinions—Jean was quick with compliments, while Ororo provided thoughtful feedback—but none of the dresses felt quite right.

Until the assistant brought out a gown you hadn’t noticed before.

It was displayed at the back of the boutique, almost tucked away as if it were waiting for someone to find it. The assistant carefully removed it from the rack and carried it over to you with a soft smile.

“This one just came in,” she explained, holding it up. The gown was breathtaking: an off-shoulder silhouette with intricate lace detailing across the bodice and delicate long sleeves. The fabric flowed into a soft, sheer train, giving it an ethereal, timeless feel.

Your breath hitched. “It’s beautiful.”

Jean’s eyes widened as she took in the dress. “Y/N, you have to try that on.”

Even Ororo, usually more reserved with her reactions, gave an approving nod. “It’s stunning. I think it might be the one.”

You hesitated, running your fingers over the delicate lace. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

Jean rolled her eyes, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward the dressing room. “That’s what fittings are for. Go try it on. Now.”

The assistant ushered you into the dressing room, helping you into the gown. The fabric was soft against your skin, and as she adjusted the zipper, you caught your reflection in the mirror. For the first time, you felt… right.

“Ready?” the assistant asked with a knowing smile.

You nodded, stepping out tentatively. Jean and Ororo were mid-conversation but stopped as soon as they saw you.

“Oh. My. God,” Jean whispered, standing up. “Y/N, you look—wow.”

Ororo smiled warmly. “It’s perfect.”

You turned toward the mirror at the end of the room, your heart racing as you took in the sight. The dress hugged you in all the right places, the off-shoulder design framing your collarbones elegantly. The lace sleeves felt delicate but strong, and the train flowed behind you like a whisper.

“Do you think Logan will like it?” you asked softly, fidgeting with the edge of the lace.

Jean laughed, stepping beside you. “Y/N, Logan would probably think you look perfect in a potato sack. But this? He’s going to lose his mind.”

Ororo tilted her head, considering. “It suits you. It’s elegant but understated. Timeless.”

You blinked back the sudden sting of tears, overwhelmed by how right it felt. “I think… this is it.”

Jean grinned, squeezing your hand. “Finally! I told you third time’s the charm.”

The assistant beamed. “I’ll get the paperwork started and schedule a fitting to tailor it to perfection.”

As she walked away, Jean leaned closer, a mischievous glint in her eye. “So, how long do you think it’ll take Logan to rip this off you after the wedding?”

“Jean!” you squeaked, your cheeks flushing.

Ororo chuckled, shaking her head. “Some things never change.”

You buried your face in your hands, muttering, “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you love us,” Jean teased, looping her arm through yours. “And because you knew we’d find you the perfect dress. Which we did.”

You couldn’t argue with that. For the first time since you’d started planning the wedding, you felt a sense of peace. This was happening. This was real. And you couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle and see Logan’s face when he saw you in this dress.

---

Later that evening, you were back at the mansion, lounging on the couch in the common room with a cup of tea. The dress was safely tucked away, but the memory of it lingered, making you smile softly to yourself.

Logan strolled in, fresh from a workout, a towel slung over his shoulder. He spotted you immediately, his brow quirking at your dreamy expression.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, sweetheart?” he asked, dropping down onto the couch beside you.

You shook your head, trying to hide your grin. “Nothing.”

He gave you a look, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Nothin’, huh? That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

You rolled your eyes, but your blush gave you away. “Fine. I found the dress.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back, taking a long look at you. “Yeah? You happy with it?”

You nodded, the smile returning. “I think so. It feels… perfect.”

His expression softened, and he reached over, brushing a thumb along your cheek. “Good. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the hum of the mansion in the background. Logan’s hand found yours, his rough fingers threading through yours gently.

“You’re sure you’re okay with the mansion for the wedding?” you asked, breaking the silence.

He chuckled. “Darlin’, as long as you’re the one walkin’ toward me, I don’t care if it’s in a field, a church, or a damn parking lot.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his side. “I’m holding you to that.”

“Hold me to whatever you want,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And in that moment, surrounded by the comfort of Logan’s presence and the thought of your future together, you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

---

It was three weeks away from the start of the new school year when the wedding took place. At first, you were checking on everyone—Rogue to make sure that her, Kitty, and Jubilee were making progress with the decorations outside, and on Scott and Hank who were somehow tasked with food.

At least, until Logan noticed and locked you in the makeshift bridal suite.

Jean was laughing as she turned the key in the lock, leaning against the door while you protested from the other side. “This is for your own good, Y/N! You need to relax. Everything’s under control.”

“Jean!” you called, rattling the doorknob, though your voice lacked any real anger. “I just want to check on the decorations one more time!”

“Nope,” Jean replied cheerfully through the door. “Logan’s orders. He said, and I quote, ‘she’s gonna drive herself crazy. Lock her in if you have to.’”

You groaned, leaning your forehead against the door. “I’m not crazy.”

Jean’s voice softened. “Y/N, everything’s perfect. Trust us, okay? You’ve done enough. Now let us take care of the rest.”

Ororo’s calm voice chimed in from somewhere in the room. “She’s right, you know. The decorations look beautiful. Jubilee and Kitty outdid themselves. And Scott and Hank are handling the food just fine.”

You sighed, finally stepping away from the door. “Fine. But only because I’m outnumbered.”

Jean unlocked the door and peeked her head in, grinning. “That’s the spirit.” She stepped inside, followed by Ororo, who carried a garment bag carefully over her arm. “Now, let’s focus on the fun part: getting you ready.”

You couldn’t help but smile as Ororo unzipped the bag, revealing your wedding dress. The sight of it still took your breath away. The off-shoulder gown with intricate lace detailing and long sleeves was everything you’d dreamed of, and you felt a little thrill of excitement knowing you’d soon be wearing it.

Jean gestured for you to sit down in front of the vanity, where she had already laid out an array of makeup and hair tools. “Okay, here’s the plan: Ororo’s on hair, and I’ll handle your makeup. By the time we’re done, Logan’s gonna lose his mind.”

You laughed softly, settling into the chair. “He’d better not. I don’t want him passing out before the ceremony.”

Ororo chuckled as she began gently brushing through your hair. “I think Logan’s been ready for this day since the moment he met you.”

Jean smiled warmly, her hands deftly organizing the makeup. “He really has. It’s sweet, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy.”

Your cheeks flushed at their words, but you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest. Logan had been a constant in your life, his gruff exterior hiding a heart that had always been devoted to you. The thought of him waiting for you at the end of the aisle made your nerves fade, replaced by anticipation.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Jean instructed, and you obeyed, letting her work her magic. The soft strokes of the brush and the hum of conversation between her and Ororo were soothing, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself relaxing.

By the time they were finished, you barely recognized yourself in the mirror. Your hair was styled in soft waves, pinned delicately to one side with small, sparkling clips. Jean’s makeup was subtle but elegant, enhancing your features without overwhelming them. You looked… radiant.

“Wow,” you breathed, turning your head slightly to take it all in. “You two are amazing.”

Jean grinned, squeezing your shoulder. “We aim to please.”

Ororo helped you into your dress, carefully fastening the buttons along the back. Once the gown was in place, she stepped back, her smile warm and approving. “You’re ready, Y/N.”

You turned to face the full-length mirror, your breath catching at the sight. The dress fit perfectly, the lace shimmering softly in the light. It was everything you’d hoped for and more.

Jean wiped at the corner of her eye dramatically. “I’m not crying. You’re crying.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Thank you, both of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ororo placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “That’s what friends are for.”

There was a knock at the door, and Rogue’s voice called out. “Y/N? It’s time.”

Your heart skipped a beat as Jean and Ororo exchanged excited smiles. Ororo grabbed your bouquet, a beautiful arrangement of white roses and greenery, and handed it to you. “Let’s get you married.”

The three of you made your way downstairs, the sound of soft music drifting through the mansion. The transformation of the lawn was breathtaking. Rows of chairs lined the grass, adorned with white ribbons and small floral arrangements. An archway covered in more roses stood at the end of the aisle, with Charles waiting beneath it, his wheelchair positioned just so.

And there, standing at the end of the aisle, was Logan. Dressed in a sharp black suit, he looked both rugged and unbearably handsome, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch. He looked as though nothing else in the world existed but you.

Jean gave your hand a squeeze before stepping aside to join Scott, and Ororo took her place with the other bridesmaids. Rogue beamed at you as she adjusted your train one last time. “Go get him, girl.”

You took a deep breath, your fingers tightening around your bouquet, and then you began to walk. The world seemed to blur around you, the murmurs of the guests fading into the background as Logan’s gaze held yours. Every step brought you closer to him, to the life you were about to begin together.

When you reached the end of the aisle, Logan took your hand, his grip warm and steady. He leaned in slightly, his voice low but filled with emotion. “You’re beautiful, darlin’.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”

Logan’s mouth quirked into a soft smirk, but there was an unmistakable warmth in his eyes. “Didn’t want to embarrass you, darlin’. Figured I’d at least try to look the part.”

You chuckled softly, feeling the nerves melt away now that you were standing in front of him. “You look perfect.”

Logan reached up, his hand brushing lightly over yours where you gripped the bouquet. “Not as perfect as you.”

Before you could respond, Charles cleared his throat gently, his voice calm but filled with quiet authority. “Shall we begin?”

Logan’s hand tightened just slightly on yours as you both turned toward Charles, who was seated in his wheelchair beneath the archway. Behind him, the soft rustling of leaves and the faint hum of summer added a serene backdrop to the moment.

Charles’s expression was serene as he looked between you and Logan. “Today is a celebration—not only of love but of the journey that brought these two together. A journey that, I suspect, was not without its share of challenges.” His eyes twinkled with a hint of knowing, though he didn’t elaborate. “Yet here you stand, hand in hand, ready to face the future together.”

Logan’s thumb rubbed gently over the back of your hand, a quiet reassurance. You glanced up at him and found his gaze still fixed on you, steady and unshakable. It was as if the entire world could collapse around you, and Logan wouldn’t notice or care as long as you were by his side.

Charles continued, his tone gentle and deliberate. “Marriage is not just a bond but a partnership. It is built on trust, respect, and an unyielding commitment to each other. And, knowing the two of you as I do, I have no doubt that your bond is as strong as the adamantium in Logan’s skeleton.”

That earned a quiet chuckle from the guests, even Logan’s lips twitching into a smirk. You felt the corners of your mouth lift too, though your heart was pounding in your chest. Charles’s words resonated deeply, a reminder of everything you and Logan had been through to reach this moment.

Charles’s gaze softened as he addressed Logan. “Logan, do you take Y/N to be your wife? To stand by her side through every challenge, to share in her joys, and to love her fiercely for as long as you live?”

Logan didn’t hesitate for a second. “I do.”

The firmness in his voice sent a shiver through you. There was no doubt, no reservation—just pure, unwavering certainty.

Charles turned his attention to you, his expression kind. “And Y/N, do you take Logan to be your husband? To stand by his side through every challenge, to share in his joys, and to love him fiercely for as long as you live?”

Your voice came out soft but steady, the words carrying every ounce of truth you felt. “I do.”

Charles nodded, his hands resting on the arms of his wheelchair. “By the power vested in me and with the love and support of everyone here, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Logan, you may kiss the bride.”

Logan didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped closer, his hands finding your waist as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and filled with passion. The cheers and applause from the guests barely registered as you melted into him, the world fading away until it was just the two of you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his voice low and gruff but filled with emotion. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over the lapels of his suit jacket. “We did.”

The applause grew louder as Logan took your hand, turning to face the guests. You caught sight of Jean wiping her eyes dramatically, grinning as Scott shook his head in amusement. Ororo and Rogue both looked radiant, their smiles wide as they joined the applause.

As the two of you made your way down the aisle, Logan’s hand never left yours, his grip steady and reassuring. The world felt brighter, lighter, as if every piece had finally fallen into place. You were married.

---

You walked with your eyes closed, your fingers intertwined with Logan's as he guided you through the bustling streets of Paris. The sounds of the city surrounded you—the distant hum of cars, the chatter of people, and the occasional soft clink of a café cup—but it all felt muffled, as if the world was holding its breath for the moment you’d finally open your eyes.

Logan’s grip on your hand was steady, comforting. It was an anchor, reminding you that this moment, this moment with him, was real. His voice, gruff yet affectionate, came from just above you. “Just a little bit further, darlin’,” he murmured. “Trust me.”

“Logan, this better not be some kind of elaborate prank,” you joked, trying to suppress your smile. “You know how easily I get nervous when I don’t know what’s going on.”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm in your chest. “No pranks. Just wait, you’ll see. You’re gonna love it.”

You had no idea where you were going or what he had planned. It was just you and him, alone in the magic of Paris. You’d never been this far from the mansion before, and the city felt like a whole new world, full of promise and adventure.

The air smelled different here, cleaner somehow, and there was a faint coolness to the evening breeze. You could hear the distant sounds of tourists and Parisians going about their evening, but it all felt so far away as Logan led you further down the sidewalk.

Finally, Logan stopped walking. You could sense the change in his posture, a subtle shift in how he held you.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, his voice lowering to a more serious tone. “Open your eyes.”

You hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting your eyelids, the city’s lights momentarily blinding you as you adjusted. And then—there it was.

The Eiffel Tower. Towering before you, it glittered with thousands of lights, shining bright against the darkening sky. But it wasn’t just the Eiffel Tower that took your breath away. Above it, the sky was painted with the vivid greens, purples, and blues of the Northern Lights.

You gasped, your eyes darting between the two spectacular sights before landing on Logan. “Logan… how… how did you know this was happening? The Northern Lights don’t usually appear in the summer…”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Guess I know a few things about the world you don’t, darlin’.” He paused, taking in your stunned expression. “I might’ve had a little help, but I wanted tonight to be perfect for you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “This… this is perfect,” you whispered, unable to tear your eyes away from the sky. “I can’t believe you knew this was going to happen.”

Logan shrugged casually, though his expression softened as he took a step closer. “I don’t know about the stars aligning, but I know how much you love the idea of things being right when they happen. Couldn’t let you miss this.” He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I wanted you to see this. To know that, no matter what, there’s beauty in this world that’s meant for you.”

You stood there in stunned silence, the weight of his words settling in your chest. You had never imagined a moment like this—not with Logan, not in a city like this. He had this way of surprising you, of pulling something beautiful out of thin air when you least expected it. The man who had been your constant across so many lifetimes, always there, always remembering you when you had no memory of your past lives… and now, here he was, giving you a memory of your own.

You finally looked up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’m so glad I’m here with you.”

Logan’s lips quirked up, the corners of his mouth softening. “You deserve everything, sweetheart,” he said, his hand finding yours again. “Everything and more.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch seep through your skin. The world around you seemed to slow, as though the Northern Lights had wrapped the two of you in a blanket of time. Here, in Paris, standing beneath the Eiffel Tower with Logan beside you, you felt like maybe—just maybe—this life would be different. Maybe this time, there would be no goodbyes.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words feeling lighter than they ever had before.

Logan’s expression softened even more, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I love you, too. More than anything.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice low and steady. “You’re my everything, darlin’.”

The stars twinkled above you, and the Northern Lights danced in the sky, but in that moment, all you could see was Logan. His warmth. His presence. His unwavering certainty that you were meant to be together.

---

You scrunched your nose at the sky, the rain falling steadily as it soaked into the streets of Paris. The rhythm of the downpour created a gentle symphony against the canopy above you, and though the evening had been filled with so much warmth, the weather had shifted unexpectedly. But, despite the rain, Logan’s hand remained steady in yours, and the storm outside couldn’t quite dampen the mood between you.

Logan turned toward you, a hint of mischief playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Want to run through the rain, sweetheart?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

You blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Run through the rain?”

Logan's smile spread, and he raised an eyebrow at you. “Yeah, sweetheart. What’s the worst that could happen? We get a little wet? Besides, you look great when you’re soaked.” His voice was playful, and there was a lightness to it that made you laugh again.

You glanced at the rain, the droplets now beginning to fall harder, streaking down the cobblestones of the Parisian street. It wasn’t the kind of weather you had imagined, but somehow, with Logan beside you, it felt like the perfect opportunity to break from the ordinary.

You shrugged, a smile creeping onto your face. “I guess if you can handle it, then I can too.” You squeezed his hand, trying to act more confident than you felt. After all, it wasn’t every day that you got to be in Paris, on your honeymoon, with Logan by your side.

Logan’s grin turned into something softer, and his fingers tightened around yours as he pulled you closer. “You sure about that? We can always head back to the hotel,” he said, his voice low, the warmth of it settling around you.

“No way,” you replied quickly, your tone more playful now. “Let’s do it. Just try to keep up.”

Logan chuckled under his breath and nodded, his eyes lighting up with that mischievous spark that had always drawn you in. “Alright, sweetheart. Here we go.”

Before you could take a step, he tugged you gently toward him, and in one swift motion, he was off, pulling you with him. You laughed, the sound mingling with the soft patter of rain against the street, as you ran beside him through the warm summer rain. The water splashed at your feet, your clothes quickly soaking through, but it felt like freedom—like this moment was just for the two of you.

Logan’s laughter echoed in your ears as you both sprinted down the street, the Parisian cityscape around you a blur. You felt lighter than you had in weeks, months, maybe even years. Everything was perfect. For the first time, you didn’t have to worry about the past or what the future might bring. You only had the here and now, and Logan, the one constant in your life.

Eventually, you both slowed to a stop, your breathing heavy but your hearts light. You couldn’t help but smile at Logan, who was grinning, his hair slightly damp and his shirt clinging to his chest in the most endearing way.

“That was... definitely worth it,” you said, breathless, your voice filled with amusement.

Logan caught his breath too and wiped the water from his forehead. “Told you you’d love it,” he replied, his voice softer now. He stepped toward you, his eyes never leaving yours, and before you could say anything else, he cupped your face with one hand, pulling you toward him.

His kiss was slow, tender, a contrast to the spontaneity of your run. The world seemed to stop in that moment, the sounds of the rain, the city, all fading away as you kissed him back, feeling the warmth of his lips against yours. There was something magical about it—about how he always knew how to make you feel special, even in the most unexpected moments.

When you finally pulled back, you both stood there, laughing quietly, your fingers still interlaced. “Okay, now I’m soaked,” you said, your smile never fading.

Logan chuckled, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “Doesn’t matter. You look beautiful either way,” he said, his voice gruff but affectionate.

You shook your head, but the smile on your face grew wider. “You’re impossible,” you teased, though the warmth of his words made your heart swell. “But I guess I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk never leaving his lips. “Good. I’ve got a few more surprises up my sleeve, darlin’. Just wait.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. “I’m starting to wonder if I should be worried.”

Logan pulled you closer again, his hand resting on the small of your back, his thumb gently tracing circles. “Trust me, sweetheart. No need to worry about anything. It’s just you and me. Always.” His words, soft and certain, settled in your chest like a promise.

For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the sound of the rain and his steady presence wash over you. The night had become everything you’d dreamed of and more. There would be no worries, no regrets—not as long as Logan was by your side.

Finally, Logan broke the silence with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, what do you say? You wanna keep running through the rain, or should we head back to the hotel and dry off?”

You glanced at him, your heart racing from both the run and the way he made you feel. “I think I’m ready for a change of pace,” you said, your voice soft, almost teasing. “But don’t think I’ll forget this.”

He chuckled again, his hand slipping into yours as he led the way back toward the hotel, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as the two of you walked together, side by side, under the Parisian night sky.

if you want to know what year it is, it is 2005!

(also, again, you can imagine whatever wedding dress you want, but i based it off of this one i found when i was, once again, bored)

[lifenconcepts]

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

Hm. Just the umbrella term I prefer but perhaps otherkin in the sense of being some strange conceptkin and Divinekin who calls themselves angelkin over being this sensation of life and fate and existence as a whole.. I’m like- life. Just life. Life-kin, can I just say I’m me? I’m everything. Aaaaughehejjd also wolf therian. Beat me over that but also sometimes caninekin and like .. feeling like dogs depending on whatever mood I’m in and copinglink of a borzoi 💯

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? sort of answered it in the above but I love lists. From highest relation to least (I vary quite often, and mostly am okay with being human except for a few rare instances and exceptions): Life and existence as a whole, wolf, a mutt/random canine, and.. some muskrat 😿 I love them but how the hell am I litterally a muskrat- OH AND I HAVE HUMAN PAST LIVES but I’m still confused over them. Like, some random guy with a car who loves the nighttime and was treated like shit, uhh.. about 80s/90s and in his 20s- maybe USA or UK, also USSR but not sure if it’s the same guy. Also a butler or someone of the sorts in another, just having a bunch of various strange jobs (or maybe it’s who I want to be.. idk I always struggle with knowing what’s my subconscious or what’s my soul)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

Hm. Mostly mental shifts or something and the vague feeling of being a wolf but have had tail, ear, paw, and full body shifts. Also wings but they’re like random and in no way related to any identity.

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

Hm. I forget. Aha forgot- auh just being more understanding to those also like me and more connected to nature on an animalistic level and validating myself in my unusual-ness? Also sometimes craving the simple regressive state of being incoherent but understood, of being one with sensations and instincts but perceived by humans.. hehejdkjdhdhd

5/ What do you think of the community?

very nice! Also very sweet! Understanding of plenty, especially tumblr, but others may be more misinformed and rude elsewhere.. anyways just very sweet, good movement if I can call it that, it’s gained popularity definefely and for the better.

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

watching documentaries on canines, documentaries on ussr (don’t ask), forests and nature as an absolute whole (especially woodlands), and dog training videos. Fascinates me. Also being seen as a wolf. I used to go around telling people to call me Wolfy as a kid.

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

nope! Not really, and I find that great :)

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

trust your instinct and this vague feeling of feeling ‘right’ rather than any set of rules or expectations.

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

eueuhsgghhwcomplex question. Next! Aha kidding but like.. I want metal claws, and pretty metal gloves over my hand. Whatever that is. Hm perhaps also a wolf mask? Mm.. I don’t really like gear though, too ‘out there’ for me. I got a tail and paws and ears tho, but REALLY want wings— also kinda fucked up I don’t glow. Would drink glow sticks to glow- aha kidding.. unless-

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

mine specifically? .. evolved from thinking wolves are mad cool then seemingly wanting to be a werewolf then really thinking I could become one (with my varying degrees of wolfness and humanness) then finding splice with being seen as a canine or with one, and turned quickly to ‘yeah I’m a person but being a dog or wolf would be so damn cool’ and searching immensely on caves near me with the idea I would go exploring and find a genie and wish to be a shapeshifter and then live in the forest and convince others I was human then in the privacy of my own presence embrace my instincts and dreams of being a canine and now it’s just. Confusion mixed in with ‘was I faking it??’ feeling and some sense of ‘but i like being human’ even with that same nagging feeling of sometimes just needing to be a dog for a bit to feel content in my skin and maybe it’s something leftover with my soul’s past life that I’ve gotten over or now transformed from being a childhood dream to merely related to the emotional state of freedom and being understood even with my strange behaviours and appearance that likely had been formed through having a nagging sense of not being understood enough even with being genuinely spoilt but trying to convince myself that nobody cared so I could excuse myself if I ever turned to drugs but then just finding ways to love and understand myself and finally realising that I am loved but sometimes my thoughts just aren’t understood because others have different views and then vowing to do my best to understand others and especially folklore creatures even after I- oh, have I went off script a tiny bit? Im wolf enough.

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

oh I’m an addict for answering this, thank you so much for tagging me! But.. I don’t know who to tag.. anyone who sees this! Perhaps @canines-crown ??

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[darlinluxx]

𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

request from : @erika-mon2-blog “Hi sweetie! I saw that you were accepting requests for Saebyeok, and I would love to ask you for one. I recently came across your profile and I'm in love with it! I'd love something along the lines of a sweet and clingy *reader* and a cold and unaffected Saebyeok; I know it's not a specific request, but I just want to see Saebyeok fighting against his cold attitude to please his favorite person. 😭🩷”

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff

warnings : none

summary : you and saebyeok are complete opposites. i guess it’s true what they say : opposites attract

a/n : thank u sm <33 i literally just finished this fic as you sent me this lmao perfect timing !!

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he chipped paint of your apartment wall is the same shade as the chipped paint of the subway station Saebyeok seems to gravitate towards. except here, in your little corner of Seoul, there’s a soft blanket draped over the worn couch, the aroma of jasmine tea lingering in the air, and the sunlight spills in, warm and inviting. the subway station? it’s cold, concrete, and constantly echoing with the anxieties of the city.

you hum softly, arranging the hydrangeas in a vase until they’re just so — a perfect, delicate dance of blue and purple. Saebyeok, on the other hand, isn’t about delicate dances. she’s more cold and quiet storms. and yet, somehow, you’ve found yourselves woven together.

you hear her before you see her. the jingle of the keys she pulls from her pocket, a small, almost involuntary noise that always makes your heart flutter. she’s in the doorway, silhouette framed against the hallway light, a stark contrast to the soft glow of your living room.

“hey.” she says, her voice low and a little rough, like gravel being shifted beneath the tide. she doesn’t look at you directly, her gaze fixed on the floor, her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her dark green jacket. it’s a gesture you’ve come to know well: the guarded posture of someone who’s used to fending for themselves.

“hi,” you say, your smile immediate and genuine. you leave the hydrangeas, walking over to her and pulling her in for a hug. your hands brush against the cold fabric of her jacket, a reminder of the world she moves through — a world so different from the one you curate within these four walls.

she stiffens for a moment, unused to the physical expression of affection, before relaxing, her breath ghosting against your neck. it’s a small victory, something you treasure.

“anything good happen today?” you ask, your voice light even though you suspect the answer might be in the negative. you know about the struggles; the constant search for her family, the need to survive. but you believe in offering her a soft place to land.

Saebyeok shrugs, a slight lift of her shoulders. “the same.” she says, which could mean anything, or nothing at all. you don’t press her. you know she’ll tell you when she’s ready, in her own time, in her own way.

instead, you lead her to the couch, tucking a soft blanket around her shoulders. you bring her the tea, the steam swirling around your face, a faint wisp of comfort in the stillness of the room.

“how was your day?” she asks, her eyes finally lifting to meet yours. you told her about your day. Saebyeok listens, her gaze intense as if she’s trying to decipher a complex puzzle. you suspect it is that for her; all the vibrant color, the soft petals, the open displays of merriment — it’s a foreign landscape.

she doesn’t comment much, but you can feel her presence, hear the subtle shift in her body as she adjusts on the couch, moving closer to you. in her quiet way, she’s here, present, with you.

later, as you’re both curled up on the couch, a book of poetry open in your lap, you lean against Saebyeok, your head resting on her shoulder. she runs her fingers through your hair, a habit she’s developed, a small gesture of intimacy.

you, with your bright colors and gentle nature, and Saebyeok, with her shadows and guarded heart, are an unlikely pair. but here, in this small apartment surrounded by soft light and the scent of jasmine, you understand why this works. you are her anchor, the bright spot in her storm. and she, well, she is the grounding force that keeps you from floating too far away, reminding you that there’s a strength in silence, in resilience, in surviving even the harshest of storms. and in this quiet intimacy, you know, with absolute certainty, that this love, two different worlds colliding, is exactly what you both need.

[hivemuthur]

If your up for taking requests, can I request something with modern au viktor and reader where they’re fwb until viktor confesses to them, but reader doesn’t actually believe he likes her that way so they decide to take it slow?

'I need some time,' she said and proceeded to write it as a break from another angsty monstrosity she was trying to write. Anyway, Dear Anon, here is a little thing for you, I hope it meets expectations. Friends With Consequences

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut though not an unhinged kind, fwb dynamics into lovers, soft Viktor, AU university, AU modern era, emotional

word count: 2,8K

—

At first, it had been difficult. A drunken mistake, you told yourself. You also told yourself that it was never going to happen again, and you said the very same thing to your roommate. She nodded knowingly, giving you the kind of look that was the most annoying expression in the world—the look that screamed, “Yeah, sure,” in the most patronising way.

Viktor would walk you back to your room after the party, both of you too drunk to walk straight, so you supported each other’s weight, you waving his cane around dramatically. He clutched onto you, his hands cradling your waist from the side after his awkward stumbling and a deflective, theatrical, “Leave me, save yourself!”

You laughed and scrambled to help him up, whispering, “I leave no man behind.”

So there you were, clattering down the student dorm hallway, trying to make your way to your rooms, occasionally shushing each other, clasping hands over each other’s mouths and giggling. When you finally made it to your door, your laughter died into an awkward chuckle, then awkward silence, which you felt you had to fill. You talked about nothing. One nothing leading to another nothing, and Viktor just stared at your mouth, producing all those words.

Finally, he leaned in, and you felt your body stiffen. His face ghosted next to your cheek, his fingers wrapped around yours, still holding his cane. “I’m going to have to take this back,” he whispered into your ear, his warm breath laced with alcohol tickling your neck. You shuddered and nodded, gulping a strange lump down your throat, bracing for his touch to leave you. Instead, it travelled up your wrist, your forearm, to your neck, tracing your hairline with a scared, delicate brush of his fingers.

His eyes were now glued to yours, your foreheads touching as he searched for protest. And when there was none, his other hand cradled your waist, his nose resting against yours, and his lips landed where you had been secretly wanting them for the longest time.

He tasted of whisky and chewing gum, and you couldn’t believe that he managed to sneak a gum somewhere between your decision to leave the party and coming here. You wondered if he had spat it out secretly into one of the trash bins, abandoned it on the floor as you walked, or straight up swallowed it. It had made you self consious about the taste of your own mouth.

At first, he was tender, almost timid, testing the waters. When your eyes fluttered shut and your hands travelled to brush through his hair, he let out a content moan, muffled by your mouth, and deepened the kiss. His tongue slowly coaxed itself inside, your teeth clacking against each other clumsily. His hands became bolder, cradling your ass, and you found yourself pushed against the door, kissed with a hot need.

You were just about to turn the doorknob blindly behind your back when Viktor pulled away, by an inch. He chuckled awkwardly. “Um, so… Sorry, I—”

“No, no,” you said quickly, placing your palms flat on his chest, a gesture of acknowledgement. “It’s all good.” You were relieved to find out that his heart was thundering equally hard to yours.

“You should get some sleep,” he smiled and straightened, visibly sobered up by what had just transpired.

You nodded obediently and allowed him a kiss on the cheek—fleeting, gentle—before he turned away and limped down the corridor toward his room.

“Holy shit,” you whispered into the darkness of your tiny space on the other side of the door, having no idea that Viktor whispered the same exact thing to himself once shielded from the oppressive light of the fluorescent bulbs buzzing in the hallways.

The second mistake was orchestrated better than the first one. By means of not being stupidly drunk. You sat crouched over the display of notes and books at the foot of Viktor’s bed, while he splayed himself casually, chewing on a pencil, reading an incredibly interesting passage from a biology book, judging by his frown. His brace and cane rested by the bed stand; his legs spread out on either side of you.

“I think I’m repelling knowledge at this point,” you groaned, mindfully moving his leg to meet the other before flopping by his side, careful not to touch him. You held the book above you, only to drop it on your face in resignation.

“We don’t have to go through everything today, you know,” Viktor said calmly, taking the occasion to study you without you seeing. He rolled to the side, propping his head on his hand, and you could feel the shift in the mattress, the book still shielding your eyes.

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Viktor. I want to retire already.” Your whiny voice was muffled by the tome, making Viktor chuckle, and you could feel the tremble next to you.

“Always just so dramatic,” he mused, plucking the book from your face gently. He looked at you from under hooded eyelids, his mouth curled into a gentle smile. “Do you want to take a break?” he asked in a husky voice, and suddenly your cheeks went warm.

“I—” you hesitated, feeling the blood rush to your head as his hand rested on your stomach, and you cursed yourself for not eating earlier, expecting it to growl at any given moment. “What do you have in mind?”

“Hmm, I can think of something,” he murmured, his hand snaking up your side, pulling you toward him to melt you against his mouth. “Unless this is something you don’t want,” he stopped himself, words tickling your lips, and you found yourself almost whining.

“No, I… I do, I just…” Oh god, where were all the words when you needed them? Yes, I want this. Yes, that would be nice. Yes, please fuck me, I’ve been wanting it forever.

“It doesn’t have to be… finite. We can make it casual,” he offered weakly, and you weren’t sure which one of you was more disappointed about it—or if you had just imagined it.

You blinked a few times, searching his face for any clue. Nothing. “Are you… proposing a friends-with-benefits setup?”

“I suppose… If… that is something you would be comfortable with,” he said carefully, as if weighing the options himself as well. This was… not his initial idea, but he could roll with it, so to say.

“Are you aware that friends with benefits implies friends with consequences?” you deadpanned, having already played all the possible scenarios in your head. You fall in love in the process and live happily ever after. Viktor finds someone else, and you die miserably. You fall out over something, and your friendship is ruined. Any, as possible as all others.

He chuckled, startled. “Yes, yes. I am aware. But I believe we are both adult enough, no?”

In truth, he preferred friends with anything over just friends. Friends with handholding would be nice. Friends with dating would be even nicer. Friends with arguments—those had already happened, nothing he couldn’t handle. Friends with benefits, well, that was appealing. Friends with consequences? Yes, if the said consequences were having sex with you exclusively and being able to squeeze you lovingly until your pretty head popped off. Yes, he could roll with it.

“Okay. Okay. Do you want to shake on it?” You pulled your hand out awkwardly, and Viktor snorted to cover up his grin.

“Or we could just…” He leaned in to kiss you. Your hand, momentarily frozen in the air, finally relaxed to slide under his shirt, and he hummed in approval. “Kiss on it.”

And so, you rolled with it. In fact, you rolled so much around Viktor’s bed that you couldn’t count it anymore. You also gave him an odd blowjob in the library and had never heard anyone make sounds as obscenely hot as he did. His fingers tangled into your hair, his face all flushed, mouth agape—those moments embedded themselves into your memory instead of essential biology knowledge.

The first couple of times were awkward, but he was just so... patient. What ruined your relationship as study buddies had bloomed into something you never thought yourself capable of doing. Casual sex. That felt nice. And no guilt attached. You wondered if other people knew about this option. You wondered if it wouldn’t be the answer to ending wars and hunger.

Until. Until.

Until you saw her sitting with him in the library. Her lingering hands on his forearm, as she laughed too loudly for the library regulations and he shushed her playfully. Her fingers brushing hair away from his forehead and his awkward chuckle. The way he scratched the nape of his neck in embarrassment when she praised him.

So of course, you defaulted to what any adult would do. You retreated. Not entirely, but you retreated the part of yourself that was feeling all the awful, unspeakable things. You locked it, sealed it, so your meetings transformed into something... mechanical.

You would jump him in the corridor and drag him into your room when your roommate was away. You would knock on his door and undress automatically, your movements practised by now. And Viktor would frown, and he would try to ask, but you shut him up with your tongue.

And he didn’t have it in him to say no. All the coldness you oozed would disperse upon him kissing you, licking your ear, and wrapping his fingers around your throat. It would dissolve, and what would take its place was the touch that lingered. Your wanting hands on his hips as he fucked you, sweaty and panting, his face close to yours when he whispered, “You are so beautiful.”

And you allowed yourself to forget in those fleeting moments. You let the ugly feeling from your heart rest and regenerate, so it was strong again whenever Viktor tried to cradle you to his chest in the aftermath.

He could feel the wall between you two rise back up as soon as you stepped out of the bed and pulled your trousers on, hopping on one leg to slide into them faster. Whenever his mouth opened to ask a question you feared so dearly, you shut him up with a dismissive peck on the lips. And when the kiss broke, he found himself following the trace of your disappearing face.

But you forgot one important thing. Viktor wasn’t stupid.

So you expected nothing new when you received a casual text message: See me after class? :)

You cursed yourself for walking so fast, your utterly undignified trot refusing to slow down. You steadied your breath and opened the door, only to be slammed against it. Viktor’s mouth was on yours, skipping all of your usual courtesies. He rid you of your sweater, along with all the layers beneath it, and made impressively quick work of your bra. You almost snorted at seeing him waiting for you almost completely naked, save for his boxers.

“What’s the rush?” you chuckled, watching his hands tremble at the button of your jeans.

“You’ll see,” he smiled, offering you a helping hand to step out from the pool of your clothes.

When you were both equally naked, he walked you to the bed, using your shoulders to support himself, and sat down, with your thighs straddling his lap.

You were already in the space of forgetting. Your fingers travelled into his hair, your face pressing against his, breathing him in as you crushed his mouth with a kiss. You could feel his hips buck beneath you, his cock pressing against you, and you moaned at the contact.

You barely registered the sound of a condom being unwrapped, his hands fumbling to put it on without breaking your mouths apart. Once he was ready, he teased your entrance and looked you deep in the eyes. He stared into your soul as his cock entered you, and he observed your mouth opening, your brows furrowing at the first languid roll of his hips.

His arms pulled you close, caging you in, as he asked, “Lásko, why are you so distant?”

And it was a killing blow. Because Viktor wasn’t stupid, and he knew this was the only moment when you were truly present with him. This was the only moment he could probe you for answers. He would fuck the answer out of you if there was no other way.

“W-what?” you stuttered, your breath heavy. You tried to move, but you could only move as much as he allowed. “What do you mean?”

“You avoid me. You wouldn’t talk to me. Is that all you want? Just to fuck me?” His voice was so expectant that your hips jerked on top of him.

“Is that not what we’ve agreed on?” you spat, unintentionally. You immediately relented, seeing his wounded eyes. “I thought you wanted this,” you said weakly. You thought you had learned an important lesson on how not to get hurt. But you forgot how to not hurt someone when saving yourself.

“No. I want more.” His voice was barely a whisper. Viktor had also learned an important lesson—that benefits with no friends were bad. That if the consequence was losing your friendship, he wasn’t able to roll with it. And that just friends was better than something so impersonal. Unless you weren’t friends, but more.

“Get out,” you scoffed, trying to snake your hands between you and push him away, but his grip on you tightened.

“No. Stay. Please.” He stilled his movements, his cock twitching inside you, making you wince at the absurdity of the situation. “I want more,” he repeated, this time with more confidence.

You took a sharp breath through your nose, his eyes not leaving yours. “More of what? I’ve seen you with other people, Viktor. It’s fine—”

“Where have you seen me? With whom?” He looked… offended. As if it were unthinkable to even touch anyone else. As if he wanted more as much as you were pushing it away from your mind.

“I… the library… do we have to talk about this now?” You pushed your weight down onto him, his mouth releasing a surprised gasp, but he wouldn’t fold.

It clicked. He was fast; he’d get it immediately. The girl in the library, her grabby hands, her loud mouth yapping at him. It was then you started to pull away. Ridiculous, so utterly stupid and unnecessary. He laughed, despite himself. “That got you acting so weird? I have no idea who that girl was. I shrugged her off as soon as I got the chance.”

“Viktor, you don’t have to be delicate with me. It’s fine. Now, can we please, just—”

“No.” A strange wail escaped his throat, and you immediately stopped fidgeting. “No. I miss you. I want more… of this. And of you. I want all of you, to myself.” He was stumbling over his words, his focus split between his heart and his cock. But they both wanted the same thing—you. You tried to find any sign of his confession being phony. And you found none.

Viktor rested his forehead against your chin, his hands cradling your waist tightly. When his words failed him, he began to plead with his body.

He kneaded the flesh of your hips lovingly and rubbed his face into the crook of your neck. “Do you really think I could touch anyone else like this?” he murmured, his voice so honest it sliced straight to your heart, and then down to your core.

“Do you think I could fake this?” He pulled you into a kiss, so longing, so affectionate that you thought your lips were going to melt.

“Do you not feel loved?” He finally looked at you, his expression serious and determined.

“Viktor,” you whispered—to him, to yourself. Into the air, you hung his name between the two of you as your hand palmed his face, and he leaned into it with gratitude.

“Say if you don’t want this. I will stop,” he spoke into your skin, and all you wanted to do was pull him close and keep him to yourself. To make up for all the times you ran away, and all the times you had fucked him with no emotion.

“I want this. I want you,” you kissed him to seal your words on his mouth. He took them and swallowed them eagerly.

“I want to do this right. I want it to be slow and good,” he said against your lips timidly. You nodded and then chuckled, “I told you—consequences.”

“Hmm, I can roll with that,” he hummed and kissed you again.

[hyukalyptus]

look at me — faerie!soobin x fem!human!reader

cw. soobin is a human-sized faerie with wings, chubby!reader has braces but that's rarely mentioned, reader has anxiety, reader needs to be high on shrooms to see/hear/touch soobin (it'll make sense i swear! ((dear god i hope it makes sense at least))), kissing, penetration (protection not mentioned), cunnilingus, nipple stuff, "baby," angsty ending, let me know if i missed anything. note. like i said, reader has to be high on shrooms to see, hear, and touch soobin, so technically they're both on drugs when they have sex, so caution if that makes you uncomfy. and oh surprise, surprise! very self indulgent. AND omg- shout out to the talented @hyukascampfire for brainstorming with me when i was first thinking about this and along the way as well. i've never written anything remotely fantasy so this is new territory for me and i'm super nervous for y'all to read it, especially faerie princess ashlynn. but i hope y'all love it <3 wc. 7.2K

There she is again. Not many humans venture this far out into the woods, but I recognize her every time. Well, I recognize her aura. Typically, humans appear in a dream-like haze—I can make out what they look like and even hear what they’re saying. But when their hearts are weighed down, their aura overwhelms everything, blinding me to their true physical form.

My friends tease me for being so fascinated with humans, but I can’t help it. They’re delightful in their peculiar ways—bringing their lovers and friends for little celebrations, visiting us with their sweet treats and elixirs. They’re so distracted with joy, they hardly notice when we take some for ourselves. 

This human is different, though. She’s always alone, shrouded in a deep, stormy grey cloud that darkens every time she returns. For a moment, her aura softens as she rests at the edge of the creek, taking deep breaths while the storm eases into a fragile calm. But it never lasts. Within a week, she returns and the weight she carries seems heavier than before.

Today, she rushes to the creek bed, crouches by the water, and her weeps and cries are the loudest I’ve ever heard. She’s shaking. I creep closer, hoping to make anything out of her cloud, but nothing. Taking a seat on the moss on the other side of the creek, I simply watch her. Her cries crescendo into a gut-wrenching wail and I can’t take it anymore. 

I toss a small pebble into the creek, watching as orange flickers throughout her cloud—fear. After another, it turns a muddy blue—curious. It twists and turns in search of something and when she leans toward the water, I summon a gold shimmer into the creek, dancing across the ripples as it catches the light. Her gasp breaks the silence, and for the first time, I hear her voice, distant and fragile. 

“Oh my god.” 

A grin tugs at my lips. Her cloud has kept her hidden from me all this time, but I just know she’s absolutely adorable. A small pebble shoots out from her direction, falling into the water and I guide it to land right on top of the other two. When she tosses another in, I pause the current entirely, letting the surface hold still. Then, with a flick of my fingers, I release it with a bloop. And I hear a giggle. A giggle! It’s gorgeous. Like the first notes of my favorite song. 

“Hello?” She asks and I conjure a ripple in response. “Is someone there?” In the center of the creek, I create a circle of stillness, the current bending around it at my command. Inside it, I make it change color in an attempt to communicate with her. I add the gold shimmer back, trying to tell her—to scream at her—Yes! Yes, I’m here! I’m right here. But her cloud flares orange—panic—and she stumbles back. In a heartbeat, she’s gone, running away from our dell. 

Oh no. Shoving the heels of my hands into my eye sockets out of frustration, I shake my head. Oh no.

-

It’s been weeks. Every day, I return to watch the humans, hoping my favorite may return. Perhaps it was overwhelming for her—turning water gold that quickly. Regret gnaws at me as I pick a bit of a raspberry from under my nail from when I was harvesting them earlier. A rustle in the distance snaps me to attention, followed by the solid thud of something hitting the mossy ground. 

A human. Not the one I’ve been waiting for, but they catch my eye—curvy and stunning and flipping through a book. After a moment, they put it aside, sitting criss-cross on the creekbank, bending toward the water. 

“Hello?” She asks. Wait. I know that voice. I only heard it for a moment, but I’ve been dreaming about it so much recently, I’d recognize it anywhere now. She’s back! And I can see her! 

And she’s so incredibly beautiful, I can’t help but stare. I stumble toward the creek bed and she speaks again, “Hello?” I respond with a water ripple. 

“Hello, I’m here.” Speaking is useless, but I whisper under my breath anyway. 

“Are you the same…thing I was talking to a few weeks ago?” The water slowly turns a gold shimmer and she grins. “Can I ask you some questions?” The gold gets stronger. “Gold means yes?” The shimmer holds steady. “Am I speaking with the water?” I make it turn a deep, murky teal. “Does that mean no?” Gold. “A witch?” Teal. “A ghost?” Teal again. “An angel?” Teal. “A faerie?” 

Gold shimmer. I whisper, “Yes, yes,” proud of her for getting it. 

“A faerie?” She asks excitedly and I celebrate with her in the form of a water ripple. “Oh wow,” she whispers. “So you can hear me?” Gold. “Can you see me?” Ah, what do I do now? I can’t quite see her yet, but I definitely can see more of her than she can of me.

“Grey?” She’s silent for a moment, humming as she tries to understand. “You don’t know if you can see me?” Teal. “You can kinda see me?” Gold. “I can’t see you at all,” she mumbles. She looks up again, unsure where to look. “Did you know that?” It stays gold while she chuckles to herself. The sound of it is intoxicating—like the sound of leaves rustling in the wind or a bird chirping. It warms me from the inside out. 

“Where are you?” She asks. The current splits into two, flowing against each other and converging in a point aimed directly at me. As she follows the arrow with her eyes to look at me, her cloud clears fully and I can finally see her. For real this time. There’s still that angelic glow that won’t go away until the Veils have been lifted but I’m not so sure I’d want it to go away anyway. She’s absolutely, positively stunning. My breath is taken away. Her smile reaches her eyes and there’s something in her mouth—something I’ve never seen before, shiny and on every tooth. 

Her body curves and moves gloriously and she looks irresistibly soft and…sexy. And I don’t use that word often. I want to hold her, touch her, squeeze her, make her feel something, but she can’t even see me. Even if I tried, my touch would be nothing but the whisper of a ghost. 

Glancing down, her eyebrows furrow in confusion. She asks, “What does pink mean?” I shake my head to rid my thoughts of her and the water returns to its natural, clear, blue state. 

There’s a beat of silence. She awkwardly speaks up, “So, a faerie, huh?” Slowly, the calm pool turns gold again. “I’ve got some books about the Fae.” Bubbles rise in curiosity. “Are you a human-sized faerie?” Gold. 

“I think I may be a bit taller than you, though…” I whisper. I’m taller than most everyone in my village, so I can only assume I’m taller than her as well. 

“A lot of these books say you all hate humans,” she says matter-of-factly. 

The water turns a deep, angry red. “That’s a misconception!” I say with a grumpy giggle. Although, she’s not totally wrong. Most other faeries I know do hate humans, I suppose. I’m not sure why, though—they’re so sweet and cute. Us faeries tend to have a superiority complex. But that doesn’t mean we all have it out for the entirety of the human race. 

“Oh,” she says, holding her hands up. “Sorry.” I forgot she can’t hear me, so the water calms itself. “Do you hate humans?” I can’t make it teal fast enough. 

We spend hours in our woodland dell together—she watches as I make the water change colors, as I make flowers bloom in patterns, and as I talk with rabbits, asking them to bring me back berries and nuts. The way her eyes light up when I make the peonies bloom makes me feel like nothing else matters. I’d sit here for hours, building and blooming the garden of her dreams if I could—just to make her happy. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” She asks, sitting next to me on the creekbank now that we’re on the same side. The water constantly follows me to show her my location. 

“Of course,” I respond under my breath, hoping something might leak through into her realm. 

“Coming out here and talking to you…” she sighs. “Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy.” She chuckles. “Like, what would someone think if they saw me giggling at the water?” I wish I could shatter the wall blocking her realm from mine, dissolving any of that hesitancy and uncertainty. “But it makes me feel sane. It’s the only time I feel like my world isn’t falling apart.” 

She’s told me all about her world—a stressful job, family problems, and constant crippling anxiety. I can’t imagine living in a world like hers. Humans fascinate me, yes, but I avoid the world they’ve created at all costs—booming cities absent from flora and fauna, no magic, lifeless but overwhelming at the same time. 

“That’s a new one,” she says, glancing down at the water. When she looks back up, guessing where my eyes are, she asks, “What does silver mean?”

“I’m sad,” I whisper. Almost at the exact same time, like we’re connected at the heart, we say,

“I wish you could hear me.”“I wish I could hear you.” 

As she fiddles with the green moss under her legs the water slowly turns a gold shimmer. I want that too. I want to talk to her, to feel her, hug her, kiss her. I want to be hers, to protect her from all that pain in her world. But my heart drops, the water steadily turning a sad silver again. I could never be that for her. 

“Why can’t I see you?” She asks, sadness laced in her voice. I conjure a gentle wind, making one of her books fly open, flipping to a page titled, The Fae and Humans: Perception and Interaction. Her head snaps toward the sound, curiosity pulling her closer. Slowly, she crouches and reads aloud, “There is an intricate balance of aural, visibility, touch, and the altered states required to bridge the divide between the Fae and human realms. Understanding the two key thresholds—The Veil of Sight and Sound and the Veil of Touch—are crucial when communicating with the Fae. 

“The Veil of Sight and Sound: Faeries exist on a frequency of reality imperceptible to humans. Under normal conditions, human vision and hearing cannot penetrate this Veil; however, certain factors can alter a human's perceptual capabilities. Mild intoxication induced by substances can create a temporary overlap between the human and faerie realms. In this state, humans can see and hear faeries in their true forms. 

“The Veil of Touch: Even when humans achieve the rare ability to see and hear faeries, the Veil of Touch presents a further barrier. While perception might align momentarily, the physical matter of faeries and humans does not naturally interact. For touch to occur, a human must enter a deeper altered state—one that further detaches them from their own plane.” 

Taking everything in, her lips barely move when she whispers, “Intoxication?” The water points toward a ring of mushrooms nestled at the edge of the creek. Each one has a delicate pearly white cap with faint iridescent streaks that catch the light like oil on water. The ring itself isn’t perfect; they grow unevenly, edges blending with soft moss and fallen leaves. They look relatively ordinary, but those iridescent streaks tell me they’re undeniably veil lanterns, a substance that lifts both veils for humans. Moving closer to the ring of mushrooms, she asks, “If I eat one of these, I’ll be able to see and hear you?” Gold shimmer. “How does it make me feel?” 

How do I put this? I make the water swirl in on itself in different directions while it turns different shades of blue and green. It spirals upward into a sphere that hovers for a moment before gracefully falling back to the creek. 

“Like I’m floating?” She asks curiously. Gold shimmer. She looks back at the mushrooms, her expression torn between hope and hesitation. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” she says softly, but her hand doesn’t move closer. Eventually, though, she plucks one out of the ground, holding it between her pointer finger and thumb, twirling it between her fingers. “Just one?”

“Just one,” I whisper under my breath as the water turns gold. Popping it in her mouth, I watch the soft aura that still surrounds her physical form turn a pretty relaxed yellow over the course of a few minutes. She talks to me as she lets the mushroom settle in—asking how long it’ll take or what happens if it doesn’t work.

“What if I’ve been making all this up in my head?” She chuckles to herself. “And I’ve been talking to a creek this whole time? How embarrassing would that be?” She rubs her hands over her face, groaning. “I can’t believe this,” she grumbles, curling into herself, her knees pulled tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them. Resting her chin on her knees, she closes her eyes and mutters, “Thinking a creek is talking to me…”

“That does sound a little silly,” I say, my voice light with amusement. 

Her gasp breaks the quiet as her eyes fly open, and for the first time, she sees me. The realization washes over her in waves—hesitation, awe, and then a dawning understanding.  

“Hello,” I say softly, letting her take me in, her eyes tracing over my entire body.

“Hi,” she breathes. “Where are your wings?” That’s an unexpected first question. Smiling, I unfold them, letting them catch the sunlight. Iridescent hues of pink and purple shimmer like liquid light. The intricate patterns etched into the delicate surface that scatter rainbows onto the ground below. 

“Wow…” she whispers in disbelief. She reaches out slowly, her fingertips trembling as they near me. But her hand passes straight through, our realms still worlds apart. Confusion clouds her face and her glassy eyes blink with disappointment. 

I shake my head and remind her, “The Veil of Touch, remember?”

“Oh, I need to have another mushroom?” I nod. She hurriedly reaches for one.

“Wait.” She halts and looks up at me. “You should take it easy with those. Let’s just talk. I’ve been dying for you to hear my voice.”

“That’s true.” She looks over at the water, then glances back up at me. “You’re so…pretty,” she says. “What’s your name?” 

“Soobin.” Then she tells me her name. “We can have conversations much easier now, huh?” I smile. 

With the Veil lifted, we spend the hour learning all we can about each other—her favorite color isn’t just yellow, it’s turmeric. She loves how it looks when she puts a teaspoon of it in her rice cooker and it spreads throughout the water. Her favorite flower is a poinsettia because her mother used to line the front porch with them during a winter holiday called Christmas. Those things on her teeth are called braces and they’re supposed to help her teeth somehow. She hates celery and loves broccoli, especially if they’re roasted in an oven. That scar on her cheek is from learning something called skateboarding. She loves the rain but is terrified of thunder. She hates how loud her laugh is, though it's my favorite sound. 

She worries about being too much and not enough all at once. 

As we talk, I can’t tell how much time we have left. I can tell I’m fading from her view but she never fades from mine. Her laughter grows quieter, her giggles becoming rare until they’re gone altogether. Her high is wearing off, and with it, the fragile connection we share. I can feel her pulling back, closing herself off again, like the gentle drift of someone falling asleep without realizing it.

Her eyes stay on me, intense and unblinking, memorizing every detail of my face to hold onto me for just a moment longer. Then I see it, the shift in her expression. Realization dawns like a shadow passing over her, her gaze losing focus.  

“I can’t see you anymore,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with resignation. She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “You’re gone again.”  

-

“Are you sure you’re ready?” I ask, my voice soft but steady. Over the years, I’ve forged fragile connections with humans, always careful never to push too hard. Yet no matter how gentle I am, the same thing happens—they see too much, fear too much, and never return. And I don’t blame them. It’s utterly overwhelming. There’s no denying that. 

But she’s been visiting me for months and I’ve never been this close to anyone. With her, the world feels sharper, more vivid. Every time she speaks, her words resonate with something deep inside me, as if they echo through places I’ve forgotten even existed. 

She occupies my every waking moment. I’ve started to feel her even when she’s not here—her absence pressing against me like a quiet storm, a warmth that lingers in the air long after she’s gone. Her voice echoes in my mind when it’s silent. Every time our eyes meet, there’s that spark, that electric connection that tells me we’re on the cusp of something extraordinary. 

We’ve talked about taking the next step so many times now. But it’s a huge step. It’s about stepping into a new reality, about making something impossible real. 

She nods, her eyes bright with determination. “I’m sure.”  

She picks up the mushroom, turning it over in her hands as though its surface might help her validate her decision. Then, with a shaky breath, she sets it back down, her resolve wavering. “What if this isn’t real?” she whispers, her gaze fixed on her trembling fingers. “What if I’ve just been…hallucinating all of this?”  

“You’re not hallucinating,” I say gently.

She hugs her knees to her chest, biting her lip. “But what if I am? And if I eat another one, I just sink deeper into this… dream? Or illusion? Or whatever this is.”  

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” I assure her, leaning closer.  

She lifts her head slightly, her expression torn. “But if I need these just to talk to you…” Her voice falters. “Doesn’t that mean I’ll always be dependent on them?”  

I meet her gaze, steady and unwavering. “You’re already talking to me,” I say. “You don’t need another one to keep doing that.”  

Her breath catches, and for a moment, silence hangs between us. Then she speaks again, “But I can’t touch you.” Her eyes glisten, her vulnerability shining through. “And I want to.”  

Something in me stirs—sharp and undeniable. My chest tightens, my voice trembling, “I want that too.” 

She sighs my name, and it feels like the world is tilting. Her cheeks flush as she hesitates. “I want to…maybe it’s the mushroom talking,” she says quickly, her words tumbling out, “but I want you. I want you to kiss me and hold me and make me feel—”  

“I want all of that too,” I interrupt, my voice low and earnest. “But only if you’re ready.”  

Her shoulders sag slightly, her head tilting as she stares at the ground. “But it’ll never be truly real, though, will it?”

“It’s real,” I say softly. “Maybe not in the way we want it to be—but real enough to feel.” Nodding, she takes several seconds to think, picking at the green moss as a distraction. “What if I ate one too?”

“Would it even affect you?” 

I nod and add, “It gives me a high, but nothing…magical happens.” We both agree to eat one, giggling and talking while we let them both set in. 

“I’m not feeling much different, to be honest,” she says, her voice faltering. “I’m starting to think none of this is real. I’m just… seeing you, but you’re not really there.” Her hand lifts, a trembling finger reaching toward my cheek.

Then it happens.

The moment her skin touches mine, a spark—soft, warm, and undeniable—flares between us. She gasps, jerking her hand back as though it's been burned. But before the space between us can grow too wide, she reaches out again, her palm settling against my cheek, her thumb brushing over the curve with a tentative tenderness.

Her touch anchors me, and for a moment, I can’t speak.

“…Soobin,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I’m scared.”

“What’s wrong?”

“You’re there. You’re really there.”

“I know,” I say, chuckling. “I’m really here. Watch this.” I reach out, dragging my fingertips over her forearm. She gasps again, yanking her hand back. “Are you okay?” I ask, concern flickering in my voice. She nods, slowly and deliberately moving her hand forward. Then, she runs her fingers through my hair and glides them down my shoulder and arm, leaving a shiver in their wake.

“Can I…your wings?” she asks, her voice filled with awe. I let them unfold just enough for her to see. Her breath hitches as she reaches out, the tip of her pointer finger brushing against the delicate edge of one wing. It flutters instinctively at her touch, responding to her presence, which spooks her a bit. 

“It’s okay,” I murmur, watching her hand. 

Encouraged and confident, she places her hand fully on top of my wing, her fingers tracing its intricate patterns as though committing every curve and shimmer to memory.

“Wow…that’s unreal,” she says. “I mean, it’s real, but doesn’t seem like it should be.” She inches closer, the space between us dissolving until our knees barely touch. Her fingers run down my arm lightly before picking up my hand, examining it closely, her thumb tracing the lines of my palm, the curve of my fingers. Then, I mirror her actions, taking her hand in mine. It’s warm, human, and yet so fragile under my touch. 

Her hand travels upward to trace my features with her thumb. She lingers over the arch of my eyebrow, down the bridge of my nose, along the edge of my jaw. When she reaches my lips, her thumb pauses, grazing over the softness of my bottom lip. A breath escapes me, unbidden, and her touch slows, her thumb resting there for just a moment longer before she withdraws, her hand trembling slightly as it falls back into her lap.

I respond, my thumb swiping across her bottom lip and I tug her closer by her jaw until I can feel her breath on my chin. 

“Can I kiss you?” I whisper. 

She nods. 

Our lips fall into one another and move over each other so beautifully—it beats out rainbows and peonies, the sound of water falling, the smell of peppermint leaves. It’s a paradox, making everything else feel insignificant yet illuminating the meaning of it all in the same breath.

It deepens and I hover over her, her legs coming out from under her while I guide her to lay down on the mossy patch, our lips never parting. Her lips feel so magical and soft and we only stop when she needs to come up for air. We smile at each other, our eyes sharing the same redness and glassy daze. I know exactly what I want to happen next, but I’m not so sure she’s ready for all that. I look at her, taking in all her beauty. 

“You’re gorgeous,” I tell her.

“So are you,” she slurs. She reaches for my hand that’s already resting on her hip and moves it up to her chest, encouraging me to feel all of her. 

I whisper her name and ask, “Are you sure you want this?” 

“Please.” My lips crash into hers again and our hands are all over each other, on each other’s bodies, in each other’s hair, squeezing and squishing and feeling and rubbing. She breaks the kiss, “Have you ever done this before? You know, with a human?”

“Not with a human,” I chuckle. “But all the anatomy’s the same.” 

“That’s good,” she giggles, grabbing my hair to kiss me again, but she’s quick to pull back. “Go slow, okay?” I nod. With a snap of my fingers, flowers swirl together, carried by a gentle breeze, forming a soft pillow for her to rest her head on. “Ah, thank you. I forgot you can do stuff like that.” Lifting the skirt of her dress up, I slowly move it past her thighs and she asks with a trembling voice, “Will people see us?” 

I shake my head, telling her, “I cast a shadow cloak around us. No one can see us. Not even the other fae.” A look of relief and content falls across her face. “Can I…?” I ask, lifting her dress more. She nods. With each passing inch, my heart thumps as I drag my fingertips over her legs. Lifting it over her head, she’s laying under me, mostly bare. She’s still wearing two tiny pieces of fabric that cover her chest and bottom. 

“I wore these for you,” she says, her voice soft and tinged with a shyness she can’t quite hide. The veil lanterns must’ve loosened her lips.

“You did?” My hands explore her curves, reverent and curious, tracing every inch of her body. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you.” Her skin is soft and inviting under my lips, and I scatter kisses lower, her body responding perfectly with mine. But then, I can’t hide my fascination any longer. I pause, my thumb brushing over the delicate pink fabric that’s still on her body. How do I put this? Ah, let’s just be candid. “What is this?”  

“What do you mean?”  

“These,” I say, running my fingers along the straps and edges of the fabric. “I’ve never seen clothes like this before.”

“Oh,” she giggles, tugging gently at one of the straps. “This is a bra. And these,” she gestures to the sides of the fabric on her hips, “are panties.” I hum thoughtfully, studying her with an amused tilt of my head. 

“We don’t wear things like this. What’s the point of them?”  

Her lips curve into a playful smile. “Look at me.” And I do. She’s delicious. “That’s the point.”  

I smirk, my gaze lingering on her. “Am I—are you—supposed to take them off?”  

“Yes,” she says, her voice catching just slightly, her flush deepening. My fingers brush over the fabric again, savoring the contrast between it and her skin. “Do you not like them?” she asks, her tone almost teasing.  

“No, I do,” I reply, my voice dipping lower. “I have a feeling I’ll like your body even more.” I start to try and pull them off, but—

“Not yet,” she sighs. “Come here.” I sit up and she follows, her hand drifting to my top button. Slowly, she unfastens it, the slinky pink velvet slipping through her fingers with each deliberate motion. Once she pushes my shirt past my shoulders, I tug at the cuffs to free my arms. Her gaze stays locked on me as I fold my wings down, the delicate motion allowing me to slip the shirt off completely.

Extending her arm out, the tip of her middle finger barely touches my chest before she jerks her hand back, still not believing I’m tangible. Then she lets her hand fully press my body, dragging down to my waist. I remember how much my wings fascinate her, so I unfold them for her and she gasps. 

Leaning closer, our lips fall into each other and I guide her to lay down again just the same as before. My thumb drags across the apple of her cheek, trailed by my pointer finger down column of her neck, following a line between her breasts, down to squeeze her waist. Holding her bra strap between my pointer and middle finger, I slowly pull it down, leaving kisses along the way and hoping I’m doing this whole bra-and-panties thing correctly. Then I do the same with the other side, watching as she effortlessly reaches behind her, making something snap so it falls off her chest, hanging loosely. She pulls it off herself, although I think I’m supposed to be the one that does that. Next time.  

Looking down at her bare chest, I can’t help but feel giddy. The way her chest curves on itself, creating a gorgeous shape I desperately need to feel. 

“I love these,” I say, kissing the side of her breast. She hums in question. And I nudge the marks on her skin with the tip of my nose. “These,” I say. 

Her gaze follows mine as she glances down and asks, “Oh, my stretch marks?” 

“We call them life lace.”

Her expression softens, her eyes meeting mine. “Life lace,” she repeats quietly, as if testing the words, a touch of wonder in her voice. I search and scour for every bit I can find—the most of it on her tummy, hips, and thighs. She’s still got that last bit of clothing around her hips she hasn’t taken off yet. That final barrier between us. We’ve knocked every other barrier down but something about this last one feels utterly real in a way the others didn’t. 

Wrapping my hands around her thighs, I pull her gently so her legs wrap around my ears gently, shoving my face into her center over that last bit of clothing, inhaling. I’ve never been this close to a human before. She smells so different from the fae I’ve been with. She’s intoxicating and delightful—my mouth waters at how delicious she smells. 

“I take this off, too?” I nudge at her entrance, earning a jolt. I must’ve nudged something sensitive. She nods eagerly, helping me take them off her. 

“You too,” she reminds me and I shuffle to get rid of the rest of my clothes. Looking down at her, she’s giddy and completely entranced, which twinges my heart. It’s just the veil lanterns, the cynical part of me reminds myself. Her legs are casually spread open, giving me a full display of her glistening pussy. I skate my hands up her legs, feeling her ground herself in the feeling of my hands. 

Teasing her entrance with my thumb, she’s hot and wet as she flutters around nothing, waiting for anything from me. I gather just enough of her wetness to make my pointer finger slick and tap her clit, making her flinch. Then, I rub the slowest, lightest circles over the nub and she lets out a ragged sigh. Her tightened muscles relax as she allows herself to feel every move I’m making, letting her head gently fall to the pillow of flowers. 

Once she’s practically dripping, I slide my two middle fingers inside her, curling them to tease the most sensitive bit with the pads of them. Bending, I flick my pointed tongue against her clit, eliciting a whine while she desperately reaches for my hair. I’ve never tasted a human either, I realize. I’m not sure anything will ever be as delicious as her again. 

“Oh my god,” she whimpers. Every sound she makes is gorgeous but I can’t wait to hear what she sounds like when she comes. I bet it's the most beautiful in the world. “W—wait…” she trails off, her hip thrusts betraying her words. “Soobin, wait—” she gasps. This time, I stop. Gently wrapping her hand around the back of my neck to pull me closer. “I want you…all of you, please.” 

I take the time to memorize what her face looks like, how her hair is splayed out against the flowers, how kissable her lips look. And I don’t resist them. Pressing my lips to hers again, they mould into each other like we should’ve never been apart in the first place. She tries to place her hands on my back, stumbling as she realizes my wings are in the way, which rustle in response. Instead, she rests them on my waist, squeezing delicately. 

We hesitantly part so I can sit up on my knees. This time, I take the time to memorize everything about her body—her stomach rolls folding from holding her legs open, the life lace at the tops of her thighs, the swell of her ass squished by the ground. Everything is absolute, utter perfection. 

Slowly gracing my hands to follow the curve of her waist then down to her thighs and hips, little bumps cover her skin. I forget what humans call them. Finding her clit with my thumb again, I rub agonizingly slow circles, forcing her hips to roll involuntarily. Barely prodding her entrance with my cock, I watch her shiver and whine, quickly getting impatient. When I back off, her pelvis bucks, her body begging for me on its own. 

Aligning myself at her pussy again, I push myself in, only letting myself about halfway inside her but she still takes my breath away. Just as she’s about to let out a sigh of relief, I pull out of her again. 

“Stop…” she whines. “Stop teasing me so much.” I chuckle with her—I guess I should get to the good stuff. “Please…please stop teasing me so much.” 

I concede and when I’m finally fully inside her, everything feels so…much. It’s all so much. I feel like I’ve never felt before, like nothing has ever had any impact before her, like nothing will ever feel as good until we’re together again. I bend at my waist, supporting myself with my elbows around her face and her eyes flutter shut.

“Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me,” I say. “We don’t have much time.” 

When she opens her eyes and looks into mine, still nothing matters—not that she can’t see me without the veil lanterns, not that I could disappear from her view any minute, not that we could never truly be together. The way she feels overshadows all of that. 

We don’t have much time, I remind myself. I sink deeper inside her, digging my face into her neck.

“Look at me,” she reminds me and I follow her instructions. We find a rhythm we both like, desperately thrusting in and out of her. “Kiss me…kiss me please,” she whispers. Our lips meet furiously as my hips dig into hers. “I need to feel you as much as I can,” she says. “Before I can’t anymore.” Resting her arms against my lower back—right below my wings—she squeezes around me, rubbing her hands up and down my waist. Delicately and hesitantly, she slides her hands up, letting her hands rest gently where my wings meet my skin. 

There’s a vulnerability to it I wasn’t expecting. It’s not something I’ve thought about before—no one’s ever touched me like that there before, not even another faerie. My breath catches when her fingers trace the delicate ridge where my wings connect to my body. I shudder, the sensation overwhelming and pleasant. Her eyes widen, searching mine, unsure if she’s crossed a line. 

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, her voice trembling.

I press my forehead to hers, nodding. “It’s okay,” I respond. “More than okay.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says, her thumbs brushing lightly against the base of my wings.

“You won’t,” I promise, though my voice is raw, barely audible. “You couldn’t.”

Her lips find mine again, gentler this time, like her touch softened the urgency between us. The rhythm slows, turning into something deeper, more deliberate. Her hands never stray far from my wings and the trust in her touch makes my chest ache in the best way. In this moment, she sees me—not just with her eyes, but as someone she wants to hold onto, even when she knows she can’t forever.

“You feel,” she gasps. “I can’t—”

“I know, baby…” I sigh. “I know.” I silence her whimpers with my mouth, swallowing any whines that escape past her lips. I argue with myself trying to decide if I should close my eyes to savor how she feels, never leaving her lips or if I should keep them open to make sure I commit the sight of her underneath me to memory. Either way is a win for me to be fair. 

Breaking the kiss, I trail my lips all over her body, tasting every inch of her. She’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever tasted before, slightly salty and warm against my tongue, different from the typical sweetness of other faeries. Every time I press my lips to her, I kiss away a hardship. I kiss away the stress in her shoulders, kiss away the problems she faces in her day-to-day life, kiss away any anxieties she feels. I’m desperate to make her feel good, to remind her that none of that matters here. With me. 

When I flick my tongue over her nipple, her back arches, a gasp following her movements. I keep my thrusts steady, feeling her release building up in her stomach. I watch as her tummy muscles tighten then she desperately reaches for my hair, pulling me closer so our bodies are pressed together again. Her arms are wrapped around my torso and I can feel her clenching around me, teetering on the edge of something incredible. 

“Soobin—” she gasps. “Don’t—” Her back arches. “Hmm…I’m close,” she says, a smile evident in her voice. “Please, please…” I don’t think she even knows what she’s begging for anymore. Begging for anything—my cock, my hands, my lips, a release. 

Then, her nails dig into my lower back as she bites my shoulder, groaning loudly against my skin as she comes around my cock, pussy pulsating around me as she whimpers and whines through it. 

“Oh my god,” she pants and just as she starts to twitch from overstimulation, I slow my movements, peppering her neck and face with kisses. She catches her breath, whispering incoherent things in my ears, things like my name, swears, giggles. 

“Use me,” she whispers. I hum in question. “Use me to make yourself feel good.” I lift her legs, pressing them toward her chest, letting me reach the deepest parts of her. And everything about her feels incredible. Pounding into her quickly, I squeeze one of her tits with one hand and use the other to hold her waist in place. 

It doesn’t take long for something inside me to twist and turn, begging to be snapped so I can fill her up. My stomach ties itself into too many knots as a white hot fire burns in the pit of it. The noises she’s making adds fuel to the fire, burning and burning until I can’t hold back anymore. With a few final thrusts, everything inside me breaks, like it’s all been building until this moment. I make a conscious effort to take my time and feel everything, thinking about how her pussy feels wrapped around my cock, how her tit feels in my hand, what she smells like, what she looks like. Everything is magic. 

As I catch my breath, I pull out of her so slowly she shivers and I watch as my cum spills out of her while she giggles bashfully. I panic as I realize I didn’t prepare to clean up. Why didn’t I prepare for clean-up? She finds that little piece of fabric she was wearing earlier—what was it called again?—and uses them to wipe herself clean before folding them meticulously to store in her bag. 

“How are you feeling?” I ask. 

“Eh…” she hums. …Eh? “Just kinda bittersweet is all, you know?” I shake my head in disappointment. “No, no!” She runs her fingers through my hair, looking at me sweetly. “That was amazing.” She kisses me deeply. “I should’ve started with that. I’m sorry.” 

“You swear?”

“Of course,” she sighs. “That was incredible. It’s just…”

“I know,” I say. “How much time do we have left, you think?” Averting her eyes from mine, she looks down to fiddle with her thumbs. 

“You’re already starting to fade.” 

“Then look at me,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “Look at me until you can’t anymore.” She chuckles, bringing her eyes up to meet mine. We stare at each other, running our hands over each other’s bodies until we’ll no longer be able to feel the other. Once the Veil of Touch separates our hands again, we hesitantly get dressed during the last few minutes before the Veil of Sight and Sound completely separates us. She pulls her dress back over her head, closing off my view from her. 

We sit again, facing toward each other, anxiously waiting until I fade from her view. Tears pool in the corners of her eyes. I start to reach for her, until I remember I can’t touch her. 

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Soobin,” she sniffles. I scoot closer to her. 

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t think I can do this,” she gestures between us. “Only seeing you when I’m on some kind of high from those mushrooms? This would never work. I can’t just…not see or hear you when I’m sober. I can’t—this isn’t—” Her words puncture my lungs and I can’t breathe. The ache in her voice echoes into my chest and I hate these fucking Veils. What’s the point in them anyway? Can’t they be destroyed?

“Don’t say that,” I plead.

She shakes her head, tears spilling over as she wipes at her cheeks with trembling hands. “I can’t keep falling deeper for you, only to lose you every time the spell fades. It’s breaking me apart.”

My throat tightens. “You’re not losing me. I’ll always be here. Always. I promise.”

“But I won’t really be here, will I?” she says, her voice cracking. “I won’t ever be in the right state of mind when we’re together.”

Her words hang heavy in the air and all I can hear is the soft babble of the creek. I try to reach for her again, forgetting again I can’t. My hand hovers uselessly in the air before falling back to my side.

“There has to be another way,” I say, desperation creeping into my voice. “Something we haven’t tried. A way to get rid of them so we can be together.” She looks at me, her expression a mixture of longing and heartbreak. 

“And if there isn’t? What then? Do we keep doing this forever?”

Leaning closer, I say, “You’re worth it.”

Her face crumples, and she presses her hands to her face as if to shield herself from my words. “Soobin, I—” I know the edges of her vision are starting to blur, the Veil is about to take me from her. Again. “Don’t go,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

“I’m not leaving you,” I say. “Not really. I’ll always be here. Waiting.” And then I know I’m gone by the sound of her cries. I turn the water a rich, warm shade of yellow with deep golden and earthy undertones—turmeric—so she knows I’m still there with her. She stands slowly, turns and starts to walk away but stops a few steps in, she looks back, somehow right into my eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

[aunicorn97]

Just Us

“Even if those you’ve wronged asked you to stop?”

He froze for a moment. Her. He turned slowly, unprepared to meet her gaze that held the same sadness he walked away from all those years ago. The same eyes he stared into when he was just Solas, and she was just Aurya. The same eyes he gently wiped tears from when she found out what had happened to her clan, and the same eyes that would crinkle when he made her laugh unexpectedly. 

Did she see the same eyes? The same hesitation they showed when they were together, walking through Skyhold, his hand loosely holding hers, the same embarrassment they held when she teased his long winded tangents. The same shame he’s carried ever since he left her.

“Vhenan,” it comes out. Not a greeting, not a question, but a memory. Their memory. He drops his head in regret, disappointment. She doesn’t hesitate, she climbs the remaining stairs and approaches him, standing in front of his battered and defeated body.

“Solas.” Just Solas. Just Aurya. Hearing her say his name again could almost bring him to his knees, and he can’t look at her again. She kneels to look at him, reaching a hand out to place on his cheek, and he only slightly recoils. His head finally raises to meet hers, and he’s met with the sadness, the sadness he brought to her. Her thumb gently runs along his cheek, over the bruises. “Solas.” A breath, a whisper from her mouth, and he cries. She continues to pet his cheek as his tears fall, absently wiping them away. He’s small, with her.

“I betrayed you, I lied to you.”

“I know.”

“I… Varric…”

“Say it to me.”

“I killed Varric.” He looks into her sad eyes, like a child admitting they stole candy. Her face is unchanging, soft, guarded, searching his face for something.

“I know.” She sits on her knees as sinks to the ground next to her, leaning to her, a child leaning for a hug. 

“You cannot forgive me for all I’ve done,” his forehead rests on her shoulder. Her arms encompass him. He’s small, for her.

“No,” she whispers to him, rubbing his back, “I cannot. Not right now.” He leans back to look at her again. She’s touching his face again, tracing her fingers over the injuries on his face, shaking her head. “But in time, I will.” She doesn’t smile, her mouth in a straight line. “I am here, Solas. I am here walking the dinan’shiral with you.” Her voice is quiet, a whisper, a secret between them.

“I… cannot.” He resolves, not moving to rise. She reaches out to take his hand, her grasp firm and warm. Kind. Secure. Just Aurya holding Solas’ hand. Just Solas.

“It’s time to stop, Vhenan. You have been released, now you must stop.” He drops his gaze again, unwillingness to be swayed by her, because he knows she can. She’s wrapped around him again, hands gently petting the back of his head as she cradles him against her. He cries again. She mumbles reassurance, and promises of atonement into his ear.

“Where I have to go… is terrible. I couldn’t ask you to come with me.” His voice muffled against her.

“Nothing is terrible now that I have you again,” she replies confidently. “Nothing will ever be terrible now that I have you.” 

“Aurya.”

“Solas.” She stands, bringing him up with her, both of their eyes still sad but maybe, with something else now. Not hope, they know better than that, but still something. Now he’s stroking her cheek, eager to touch her, to never let go. The feeling of her skin against his hand could almost bring him to his knees again. “I am here. And you will not be alone. We will make this journey together, from now on.”

He slides the dagger across his skin, the blood pooling in his hand as he looks up at her again. She nods, taking his arm and walking with him towards the tear. She doesn’t look back, as there’s nothing for her to look back for, back to, or back at. She walks confidently next to him as they’re swallowed completely. She looks up at him before complete oblivion.

“Solas,” it’s quiet, a confirmation.

“Aurya,” it’s a whisper, a celebration.

[kindaasrikal]

Throwing you all with my random dumb situation headcanons for the ninja:

The moment Kai and Cole met they just kept arguing back and forth. Bantering in all technicalities. Kai would say Cole’s arms are just flab’s and not actual muscles and Cole would say Kai’s hair makes him look like a spiky hair brush attached to a body he could easily snap in half. This later led to speculations of a rival’s to lovers plot line until they turned all that energy into something to use on others. Kidnapped? They’re cussing out the kidnapper over his horrible smell. Lectured from Wu and Lloyd? One of them is mimicking them behind their back, exaggerated back issues and all. And to do the norm of bullying Jay, of course.

Jay and Zane have both dressed up as oversized marshmallows before. Zane’s large costume had unbelievably soft fur, Jay’s was somehow actually burnt. They made Kai glue sticks to himself and shoved Cole into a stiff costume of a campfire. He started rolling down a cliff. Jay and Zane periodically laugh at it, even years later.

Kai was once walking past Zane, one accidentally stumbled over Kai’s foot, which made Kai lose balance, which made Zane reach forward to grab Kai, which made Kai cling onto Zane koala bear style but deformed? Which then led them to tumbling down the monastery stairs at 3am. Tired after 10 minutes of rolling down and falling into a tree, they accepted their fate and fell asleep in a puddle of mud. Nya had fun blasting them with water to both clean them and wake them up after two hours of searching for them.

Lloyd has found a lot of entertainment of sticking stickers everywhere. Nya ends up giving him a ‘water you doing’ pun sticker with her face on it after crystallised. He doesn’t know how to feel about it other than sticking it on to one of the cups Jay used to talk to. Lloyd, during march of the oni, may or may not have stuck a cockroach and spider sticker onto Garmadon’s helmet. He has also created realistic stickers and once replaced the bathroom mirror with one. Kai thought he became a vampire.

Jay once caught Kai reading starfarer fanfics. As much as Jay wanted to make fun of Kai, he took a quick peak at the fic and realised ‘oh. Oh no.’ When seeing the writing of 12 year old Jay.

Nya got told she was horribly messy, like a beast, from Kai and that he doubts she could ever clean anything well. She thought challenge accepted, noted how there was no rules saying she can’t use her element (ignoring the fact there are no rules at all) and proceeded to clean the entire monastery under an hour. She didn’t anticipate the fact that her magical element might not be made for cleaning, when for the next week everyone kept slipping on the mirror like floors. Wu took it as a good way to train the ninja in difficult circumstances, and the chicken was then released.

Zane, after a new rule being made on not being allowed to sleep in the fridge, decided to try something else and attempted to freeze himself in a block of ice. In the ninja’s shared bedroom. Wu was torn between cackling and sitting on the floor in disappointment when he opened the door to their room the next morning, wondering why his students are late, only to find ice. Just ice. An ice room. In a literal sense. Nya was not torn whatsoever as she cackled on the floor taking pictures of the shivering ninja.

[spaceshipben]

stupid rant, ignore（╹◡╹）

I never seen these two interact once, Even in fanart they barely are in the same art piece. I searched everywhere and only 3 fanfics of these two exist from 2013 and the last one being 2014. Maybe I didn’t look in good enough but like, I checked pinterest, here and pixiv (I’m pretty sure) and not a single art piece of them. Except one, ONE. It was comic of skywarp throwing some m&ms at perceptor and that’s it, Something everyone bothering perceptor. WTF, WHY IS THERE BARELY FANART OF THEM TOGETHER?? I know it’s because it’s some rarepair thing but most rarepair ships would still have at least fanart. There’s barely ships with skywarp, most being astrotrain and megatron, etc.. I’m pretty sure astrotrain and skywarp also barely interact so liek… IM CONFUSED. Or it’s because people like perceptor with yellow guy, Brainstorm i thinks. Did i miss something, Is everyone avoiding shipping them because something happens?? am I an idiot or something??? I can make my own fanfics and art but like, I can’t write a fanfic for shit. I can only do “Skywarp and perceptor kiss maybe idk” That’s it, That’s the whole fanfic for u. It ends there. I don’t mind ships of skywarp and perceptor being with others, I like the other ships but like why not skywarp and perceptor?? The only reason why i decided to ship these two because i was like a big fan of skywarp and perceptor, One day I think “What if skywarp and perceptor like each other” and I searched everywhere and nothing. I’m crying why, nothing for them uggghh I feel like i’m the only guy who ships them in the new big funny year. What the sigma no skywarp and perceptor fanart or fanfic for me to consume. I swear if I missed something, Was there a agreement in 2014 that everyone should never let skywarp and perceptor together, I think they would be awesome together, At least from what I watched from season 1-2 in g1. Maybe It’s because I didn’t watch season 3-4 but I refuse idk why, But then again didn’t skywarp go bye bye in the movie and become purple guy. Maybe I missed something in the Idw comics??? whaaaaaaaaaa……… I can’t read the comics anyway, too hard to find. Their ship name would also be hard. Skytor? Perwarp? Percywarp? Skyceptor? perwarp? Can I make the ship name since I’m basically the only one? Fuck it it’s gonna be.. MicroWarp or microwave or something. Maybe Telescope, telewarp or whatever. Their names suck, I hate u. Is there also a ship of perceptor and starscream? They’re both scientists. Startor. Fuck u perceptor pick a better name next time, this is your fault. Can’t find a good ship name for this guy. A year in this fandom and still have no art about this ship. I love you perceptor but yk. maybe they aren’t meant for each other, But even if they aren’t, there are still ships that don’t make sense but people openly love. Almost like thundercracker and soundwave, Aren’t they also considered a rarepair? Not saying thundercracker and soundwave together doesn’t make sense but about how they barely interact. whatever, don’t matter. It’s not like I was waiting for a year for this ship to happen. Maybe there’s too many ships and characters and that’s why. Or it’s perceptor’s fault, Fuck you perceptor.

Also, First time actually drawing perceptor. I tried a new brush too. ♪(´ε｀ )

I love perceptor so much for a year now but it’s my first time drawing him. Thats crazy

first one to make the perceptor x skywarp tag, I WAS HERE!!……. i think

[theartofcollapse]

Would you write f reader x alex in which they’re friends and reader has been secretly pining over alex for a while but hears some rumors about alex and olivia so she starts pulling away and avoiding alex to avoid getting hurt?

a/n: thank you for requesting! I hope you like it. summary: read it above pairing: Alex Cabot x female reader warnings: none word count: 1.2K

masterlist

Misunderstood - Alex Cabot

You’d never been one to believe in clichés, but the moment you’d met Alex Cabot, it was as if every love song, every romantic movie montage, every cheesy metaphor you’d ever rolled your eyes at had suddenly made sense.

Her golden hair fell in perfect waves around her sharp jawline. Her suits were always tailored to perfection, exuding power and grace. But it wasn’t just her looks that captivated you. It was her fire, her unwavering dedication to justice, her quick wit, her rare moments of softness.

You were friends. Just friends. At least, that’s what you reminded yourself every time your heart fluttered when she smiled at you, every time your stomach somersaulted when her hand brushed yours, every time you caught yourself daydreaming about her lips.

You’d kept your feelings locked away, convinced she’d never see you as more than a friend. Alex Cabot, the brilliant, gorgeous ADA, had no shortage of admirers, and you didn’t dare risk ruining the friendship you cherished so deeply.

But lately, something had changed.

It started with whispers.

You were working late at the precinct, finishing up paperwork, when you overheard two detectives talking in the breakroom.

“Cabot and Benson, huh?” one said with a smirk.

The other chuckled. “Yeah, it makes sense. They’re always together. Heard they were seen having dinner last week, just the two of them.”

Your heart plummeted.

Alex and Olivia? You’d always known they were close, their bond forged through countless trials and tribulations. But you’d never considered…

The rumors followed you like a shadow, growing louder in your mind with every passing day. You started noticing things you hadn’t before: the way Alex and Olivia exchanged subtle smiles, the way they lingered after meetings.

It was unbearable.

The thought of Alex being with someone else, especially Olivia - someone who seemed so perfect for her - was like a knife twisting in your chest. You couldn’t face her, couldn’t risk letting your feelings slip and humiliating yourself. So, you did the only thing you could think of: you started pulling away.

At first, Alex didn’t seem to notice.

You stopped lingering after work, stopped accepting her offers for coffee or lunch. When she texted, you kept your responses short, polite, and vague. You told yourself it was for the best, that creating distance would help you move on.

But it hurt. God, it hurt.

You missed her laugh, her sharp insights, her warmth. You missed the way she’d lean in close when she was telling you a secret, the way her eyes would light up when she was passionate about something.

Still, you held firm.

Until one evening, when Alex cornered you outside the precinct.

“Y/N,” she called, her voice laced with confusion and frustration.

You froze, clutching your bag tighter. “Alex. Hi.”

Her piercing blue eyes searched yours. “What’s going on?”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

She crossed her arms, her expression a mixture of hurt and determination. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been avoiding me. Did I do something to upset you?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. You wanted to tell her the truth, to confess everything, but fear held you back. Instead, you shook your head. “No, of course not. I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy,” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “Y/N, we’re friends. You don’t think I’d notice when something’s wrong?”

Friends. The word stung more than it should have.

“It’s nothing, Alex,” you said, forcing a smile. “Really.”

Her gaze softened, but the hurt didn’t leave her eyes. “If you say so.”

For weeks, the distance between you grew. Alex tried to reach out, but you kept her at arm’s length.

Then, one night, you found yourself at a bar with some coworkers, trying to drown your sorrows in a cocktail. You were just about to order another when a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N.”

You turned to see Alex standing there, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She looked stunning, as always, in a black blazer and fitted jeans.

“Alex,” you said, your voice shaky.

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t think—”

“Now,” she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

She led you outside, where the cool night air hit your flushed cheeks.

“Enough is enough,” Alex said, her voice firm but not unkind. “I don’t know what I did to make you pull away, but I can’t just stand by and watch you shut me out.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you struggled to find the right words.

“You didn’t do anything,” you said quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

“Then why?” she pressed, stepping closer. “Why are you avoiding me?”

You looked down, unable to meet her gaze. “Because it hurts.”

Her brows furrowed. “What hurts?”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you finally let the words spill out. “Being around you. Pretending I don’t feel the way I do. Hearing everyone talk about you and Olivia and knowing I’ll never—”

You broke off, your voice cracking.

Alex stared at you, her eyes wide with shock.

“Y/N…” she began, her voice softening. “You think… you think I’m with Olivia?”

You nodded, your throat tight.

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “God, no. Olivia’s like a sister to me. Those rumors - whatever you heard - it’s not true.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “It’s not?”

“No,” she said firmly. “And even if it were, it wouldn’t matter. Because there’s only one person I’ve been thinking about. One person I’ve been wanting to spend more time with, if she’d let me.”

Your breath caught as she stepped closer, her blue eyes locking onto yours.

“Y/N,” she said softly, her voice trembling ever so slightly. “It’s you.”

Time seemed to stand still as her words sank in.

“It’s me?” you whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

“It’s you,” she repeated, her hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “I thought I’d made it obvious, but I guess I wasn’t as clear as I thought.”

Tears streamed down your face as a disbelieving laugh escaped your lips. “I’m an idiot.”

She smiled, her thumb brushing away a tear. “You’re not an idiot. Just a little oblivious.”

A nervous laugh bubbled between you, and then, before you could overthink it, Alex leaned in and pressed her lips to yours.

It was everything you’d ever imagined and more, soft, warm, and filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way.

When she pulled back, her forehead resting against yours, she whispered, “Please don’t pull away from me again.”

You nodded, a tearful smile spreading across your face. “I won’t. I promise.”

For the first time in weeks, your heart felt whole again. And as Alex pulled you into her arms, you knew you’d never have to hide your feelings from her again.

You were hers. And she was yours.

Finally.

[rubberizer92]

Greg wasn’t always this way. Once, he was a man like any other—unsure of his place, shackled by hesitation, searching for something more. That search led him here. Now, he stands tall, every muscle defined and glistening under the lights, his teal latex suit reflecting the promise of transformation.

Behind him, the words **“Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience.”** glow like a beacon, guiding him and those who dare to follow. For Greg, those words are more than a mantra. They’re the key to his rebirth.

The first time Greg felt the tight embrace of latex, it was like unlocking a part of himself he never knew existed. The material clung to his body, amplifying his strength, sharpening his confidence, and silencing every doubt in his mind. As the Voice spoke to him, guiding him deeper into this world, he began to understand: true power comes from alignment, from purpose, from surrender.

Now, Greg stands as a symbol of what’s possible. His muscular arms cross over his chest, his expression unyielding yet inviting. He is both a warrior and a guide, ready to lead others into the transformation that redefined his existence. Obedience doesn’t mean weakness—it means clarity, direction, and the ultimate liberation.

Could you step into Greg’s world? Would you embrace the power of latex and let it unlock the potential you’ve always had within? The journey begins with a single step—and Greg is proof of where it can take you. 🔥✨

Your transformation starts here 👉 https://bit.ly/3YrnPEe

[were-all-idjits-here]

TFW Realizing You're Not Doing Well/Falling into Burnout Headcanons

Gender neutral reader Warnings: reader is struggling with mental health/burnout, but nothing is described other than that. A/N: Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated. My masterlist can be found here. Enjoy!

*

Sam

Even though Sam isn’t as outspoken as his brother, he’s silently very attentive and protective of you. When you start acting off and have more low energy than you usually do at some times and are more explosive at others, he immediately takes notice.

He doesn’t want to intrude on your space if that’s what you need, but he won’t let you avoid everyone and try to muscle through it yourself out of fear of being a burden.

If you’re the type to throw yourself into hunting in an attempt to just have a one-track mind and numb everything else out, Sam does his best to intercept before you get to your boiling point.  

He approaches you very gently, making sure you feel validated, understood, and appreciated and lets you know that, in his eyes, you’ve more than earned a break from everything. The hunting life is a lot and couple that with anything else you’ve got going on, it makes sense that it’s all overwhelming.

He suggests a trip, just you and him—or he’ll even help you plan and book and solo trip if you’d prefer—so you can decompress without worrying about anything.

Normally, the Winchesters don’t go for nicer hotels, but Sam insists you deserve to be pampered: free continental breakfast, a cleaning lady coming in daily, a laundry service—he’s even signed you up for this place’s special program that gets you discounts and extra perks (all under a fake name, of course).  

At first, you’re worried about how the others will handle everything without you (or the two of you, if Sam goes with you), but Sam and the others assure you that they’re well-prepared, have plenty of other hunters on standby, and will call you if there’s a true emergency where they need your help.

Sam reassures you constantly that yes, this feeling will get better and to take as long of a break as you need. When you joke that you feel like you need a whole year at least, he says, “how about we start with a month?”

He’s of course also around to take care of anything that you don’t have the mental energy for right now—helping you make phone calls, talking to people, helping you make lists and plotting things out in order of importance when you’re overwhelmed, and is so ready to pamper you, it almost makes you happy cry.

When you come back from your trip, if you feel you need more decompression time, Sam is more than happy to let you just hang around Bobby’s house, the bunker, even hold the fort down in the motel room as you travel around with them and become the designated research person they call if you’re up for it.

He of course loves his research, so he’s searching up everything he can on burnout, mental health, what helps, hobbies that can relax you while also keeping your mind from drifting into dark thoughts, coping strategies, ways to best regulate with your mental illness or neurodivergence, etc. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so gently introduces these things one by one and will never shame you if his suggestion is something you’ve previously tried that didn’t work or just immediately puts a bad taste in your mouth.

Overall, he’s very vocal about being committed to doing whatever it takes to help you feel better and will always be there to remind you of things that have proven to help you, hand you medications or stim toys as needed, and help make sure you’re taken care of.

Dean

Although he’s a bit louder than his brother, Dean isn’t as in tune with or good at talking about emotions. But he can immediately clock that you’re not your usual self.

He hates when someone else tries to push him to talk before he’s ready, so takes a while to quietly observe from the background, doing little things here and there to make your life easier without saying anything.

You mentioned your side of the motel room is a mess and you’re dreading putting it back all nice and neat in your bag? Already done next time you step into the motel room—and your bag is even put back together the exact way you like it.

Need your comfort food? Oh, what a coincidence, Dean just happened to be heading towards a restaurant/shop/store that he knows has it and he’ll get a bunch for you.

Need a minute to just breathe mid-hunt? Well, he doesn’t know about you, but he’s really craving some caffeine and there was a nice, quiet coffee shop just down the street where you two can sit and look over the case details (of course, you don’t really look over anything once you’re there and he doesn’t push you to).

Eventually, the signs of you being constantly dysregulated and burned out are too much for even him to ignore. He’s a bit more blunt in his delivery than Sam, but echoes the same sentiments that you’ve had a lot to deal with recently and it’s understandable that you just need a break—from everyone and everything, and he has the perfect solution: a camping trip.

If you’ve never been camping, he’s happy to show you the ropes and insists that being surrounded by nature with no one around for miles will help reset anyone’s brain. Whether you go full-blown camper and stay in a tent or pick one of John or Bobby’s old hunting cabins for more amenities and plumbing is up to you. But you’re not gonna worry about a single thing the entire time: he’s got all planned out with Sam, Cas, and the other hunters in their inner circle where they’ll be okay without the two of you for a few weeks.

Although he’s not as verbally lovey and blurting as many verbal reassurances as his brother, you still find him doing things for you before you can even vocalize they need to be done, making you realize just how much he’s been paying attention to you, how you like things, what you have to do to feel comfortable, etc.

Whether it’s over an open campfire or a cabin cooktop, he’s also making you some of the best meals you’ve ever had, letting you suggest whatever you want. The menu is completely up to you.

He tries to stay upbeat for you and seems like he’s also excited to take a break too. Things like walking into the room, slapping and rubbing his hands together and saying, “so, what are we thinking for today?”

He also gets a little more touchy than usual during this time. I’m a big believe that Dean is a huge physical touch person and that’s his main form of communicating his love for you anyway: but now there are so many more massages, rubbing your arm, squeezing your hand, random kisses, and just doing whatever he can physically to make sure you’re good to go.

Similar to Sam, if you return from your trip and feel you still need some time, he’s happy to accommodate you in any way—no matter where you need to stay, how little you need to do, he’s got all of it handled.

He’s not the researcher his brother is, but we’ve seen him struggle before and I strongly feel he’s neurodivergent, so I feel he’d be really good at helping you navigate that and showing you things to calm you down based on his own experiences—especially if you’re the type that needs to just blow off some steam sometimes, like him. He’s more than happy to take you ax/knife throwing, spar with you, take you to the shooting range, etc.

He does throw in an occasional verbal “you’ve got this/you’re doing great,” but shows you much more with his actions—but makes sure his actions are still loud enough to translate loud and clear that you’re very, very loved.

Castiel

Depending on where Cas is in his journey, he’s still getting the hang of understanding humans, but he can clearly see you’re not acting like your usual self.

Being the blunt angel he is, he immediately starts asking you questions about it, trying to understand what’s going on and why. His delivery will be gentler the longer he’s a part of Team Free Will, but either way, you can tell he’s genuinely curious versus asking to try and shame you.

If explaining everything going on is too much for you to handle, Sam and Dean will gladly take over and explain human burnout/mental health issues to him.

Cas is at first very sad you’re having this experience and again, the brothers have to explain to him this isn’t something he can heal with his powers—which makes him even sadder and even more determined to help you.

He requests Sam’s help researching exactly how what you’re going through feels, what could help, and how to show someone you care. Sam gets him started, but he then continues researching on his own until he’s fairly certain he can at least empathize.

He may get it wrong a few times in the beginning, but always tries his best, bringing you little flowers and trinkets to brighten up your day at first before teaching himself some breathing techniques and coping strategies so he can then teach them to you.

If you need to go off somewhere, he of course offers to teleport you anywhere in the world you want to go. His suggestion is a remote Airbnb up in the mountains (he’s fascinated by how willing some of the bears are to get close to humans and even tries to have a conversation with one—then is scandalized when it tries to break into someone’s car to find food). Sometimes he disappears and reappears later with delicious takeout if you’re not up for cooking and is always ready and willing to help you with any chores that need to be done.

If you still need more time after your mountain trip, he’s constantly teleporting to visit you and always brings gifts with him. If stim toys help you, you suddenly have multiple boxes full of so many and have no idea where he got them all.

He eventually tries to clumsily confess to you that he just cares about you deeply and wants you to feel better and be happy again, and feels bad that he can’t just angel-power your pain away. He tells you how he thinks you’re an amazing, brilliant person that he feels so grateful to know and that you won’t always feel this way and deserve to feel better.

He’s a bit shy with physical touch, but will always reciprocate if you initiate.

He reiterates multiple times that he’s here for whatever you need. All you have to do is ask and he’ll be so happy to do/get it for you because to him, you’re his family.

[iwnbam]

When it’s been months of holding eye contact at the breakfast table and making “joking” obscene noises into my voice chat when I know he can hear and barging into his room while he’s trying to mix beats so I can roll on his bed and desecrate the neat sheets and lay myself out like an entree while he pointedly doesn’t take his eyes off the monitor screen.

I say something about his ex girlfriend the cheerleader and he tells me to shut the fuck up. I tell him it’s been a month and he needs to get over it and find some other girl to creampie in mom and dad’s room while they’re away. He has no dignified answer for me. So I keep talking. She was a mid pull anyway. She’s not friends with any of the other girls on the team. She’s a loser. He can do better. He rips his headphones off and moves across the room to grab me and throw me out. I do my fake girly moan when he puts his hands on me and he drops me on the ground immediately.

When he’s at band practice I have his whole room to myself. I open the cigarette packet on his desk and lick all his remaining Lucky Strikes. I open his closet and smell all the shirts, the last note of that gourmand cologne, a smell you could swallow whole. I grab his pillow and bundle it in my lap when I boot the PC up. I know his password. I asked him and he told me. The trick is to do it in the morning after he’s been out late, when his brain is still glazed over and he’ll agree with anything I want in that sleepy, scratched-up early voice of his as long as I leave him to stay in bed for longer.

There’s nothing new in his search history. That’s the problem. No entries from last night. But I saw him, typing away, headphones on, through the door when I passed in the hallway. Whatever was there, he’s cleared it. He’s fastidious.

The gig is on Sunday. I know my gimmick. I already have the materials. I hid the sparkly pom-poms in my duffel bag, beside the shin guards and deodorant. My friends are in on it, because we’re all immature and think faggotry is hilarious. I lock my door to try it on and look at myself in the mirror the night before. I turn. The size is wrong, because the skirt covers 1/16th of my ass.

Sunday night. He nearly doesn’t see me because he’s doing his shoegaze thing, fuzzing his guitar signal with the array of pedals at his feet. When he looks up I give him a little spin. My friends roar in laughter, cheer and point me out like he isn’t already staring, eyes blown wide behind those black-rimmed glasses. I spell out the name of his band with my arms, beaming in the cheer uniform that usually isn’t so slutty, but is on me, hugging tight over my arms and chest. Oh, I love the look on his face. I know it well. He’s pissed and trying his absolute best not to show it.

I’m posing for a photo after the show when he appears behind me, guitar on his back. He has his amp in one hand. He moves it to his left and grabs me by the back of my shirt to haul me away. The flash of the cameras keeps going. I throw my friends a last sign of the horns before I’m dragged to the parking lot and thrown into the passenger seat of his car. The cheerleader top has ripped a bit at the back where he grabbed me. I am going to be in trouble with the girl who lent it to me.

“Not in the backseat?” I ask, trying to sound more mocking than disappointed. He says nothing. Just drives in silence. I’m starting to second guess myself when I think back to the old links he didn’t clear before I could get to them. I’m already in a miniskirt with my cheeks on the leather seat - I might as well full send it. “Come on. Pull over. You know you want to. You’re a dirty freak, I’ve seen your search history. You can act as cool as you want, but just look at me and I know your pervert cock will twitch in your pants.”

He keeps his eyes on the road. I change my tack. “Please? I’m your baby brother and you love me. If you don’t pull over and fuck me in the backseat, I’m going to cry.”

We’re almost home. “Nobody has to know,” I say. “It’ll be our secret. Dad’s out of town so you can be my daddy.”

In the driveway, he gets out before me and slams the door. When I stay in the seat, he comes around to the window and glares at me. I think I’m out of luck at this point. I’ve let my hopes overtake me. Weeks of masturbating in his underwear have made me need more, made me audacious.

“You’re stupid as fuck,” he finally says. It’s the first thing he’s said to me today. “Being friends with those guys. Do they know, huh? You grew a goatee and your voice dropped and now you think you’re invincible? You know what guys like that will do to you when they find out you have a cunt they can fuck?”

Before I can answer he tears the door of the car open and yanks me out. I’m scrambling through my answers. “What if I want it? What if I want them to find out so I can take all of their dicks one by one?”

His hand moves to my hair and he pulls me by it, through the front door, up the stairs. “I’ll tell on you. I swear to God. If you let any of them put their hands on you I’ll tell mom and she’ll know how much of a filthy slut you are.”

The door he pushes us through isn’t his bedroom. The quilt is floral. The headboard of the king sized bed is dark wood. “Any time you want dick,” he pants, and I see the perfectly-minted composure of his begin to drop away, “you come straight to me.”

He’s above me on our parents’ bed, unbuckling his belt. “I can’t be doing this,” he says, his voice strained.

“So stop,” I tell him.

He’s already a mess of precum; I’ve been slick wet ever since I put the skirt on. “We can’t,” he repeats, in a voice that tells me that’s just why he needs to.

Our parents’ wedding photo is framed above the bed. He sinks the tip into me. The photo watches as we turn into a mess of moaning and moving, the cheerleader’s skirt pushed up, my big brother’s cock sliding in and out of me.

By now I know what gets him off. “Ah-ah-ah—,” then, between moans, the most innocent voice I can do. “You have to stop, what if—what if mom and dad—aahh, ah, oh, fuck!”

I know I’ve caught him when he slams a long thrust and then tries to jerk his hips back. I’m too fast. I wrap my legs around his torso and grind up, locking him in place even as he tries to pull away, but can’t, until he’s coming with a long tangle of cries, hips fucking into me inadvertently, filling me with ropes of wrong, sweet cum.

[shrimptacodaniels]

all i know is you make sense

AN: pibe squad…this is my debut 😅😅 been trying to find the courage to write for this fandom for so long!! please please lmk what you think. this is (ideally) part one of a series! enjoy

—————

“Don’t call me again. No, I’m not making any damn promises, Jan. Blackmail doesn’t mean shit to me-you can’t-ugh.” 

Her ragged breaths echo into the space behind the door. A space he can’t see. Jan? Promises? There’s so much he’s itching to know. No. He should be getting back before- 

The door swings open. Josh is frozen. 

He knows this look on her face immediately. He’s seen it countless times before, studied it after a plan gone wrong. Searched for an answer behind her calculating eyes. 

Katrina thinks she’s been caught. 

“How long have you been-“

“Kat...” He. Is. Stunned. From the look on her face, she is too. They stand there for a minute. He doesn’t know what to say and yet he has a million questions. 

But they’re adults. She doesn’t have to share everything with him. That’s how adult friendships work, right? And that’s okay with him. You’re close and you’re honest but not overly so-

And then she yanks him into the room by his wrist. And shuts the door. 

“How much did you hear?” 

Josh thinks on how to answer that. Truly not much, but Kat will spiral if he’s not specific enough. And she’s already pacing. He slides to sit, back against the wall. 

“Well, you weren’t on speaker, so only your side of the conversation,” he starts.

“We were worried about you after five minutes and I really was gonna go after I knocked because I respect your privacy but then you sounded so upset and there was something about blackmail and- and, well…the call ended. And here we are.” 

She presses her palms against her eyes for a moment. Hard. “You’re the only person who knows.” 

“I think you’re really overselling my perception skills, K.” She’s started pacing again. He’s smiling now, but in that way he smiles because there’s nothing else to do. Because he’s worried. “Actually? I’m a little bit surprised with how much I don’t know.” 

Yeesh. No reaction. 

When she slows her pacing enough to meet his gaze, his smile falters. Kat is controlled chaos, the master of spontaneity, a quick wit and a steady hand. Even now, with the pacing and the level voice and the measured steps. But her eyes-

She looks like she’s drowning. A wave ready to crash. A boat about to capsize. 

She needs an anchor. 

“Hey,” he calls softly, “C’mere.” 

Josh pats the space on the floor beside him. He’s careful to indicate the side closest to the door. She should be able to leave if she needs to. It’s something they have in common - they hate feeling cornered. There has to be an escape. 

Slumped next to him, before he can react, is Kat. She’s curled in on herself entirely. Defenses up. 

“Ah-“ he warns, nudging her knee with his “Come on. Look at me.” 

“No.” 

“Katrina,” he tries again, “I have no clue what the hell this is, but you’ve got me. ‘M not going anywhere. Thief’s honor.” 

That gets her. He can just barely see her eyes peeking over her folded arms. 

“You gonna un-ball yourself?”

“If you stop prying,” comes the reply. It’s sharp - sharper than he expected. He winces a bit. 

“No, hey-“ she must have felt him tense. She’s unwound herself now, eyes searching his frantically. “I’m kidding! Swear.” 

Phew. He falls back against the wall with a slight thump. 

“Yeesh man, you got me.” 

“Sorry! Sorry. That was mean. Not mad at you.” 

“‘S okay.” It’s fine. They’re fine. She’s here and he’s here and maybe they can fix whatever’s wrong. They’re always able to. 

He bites his next question back, though, just in case. 

“Can you-“ she starts. He knows what she’s asking. He threads their fingers together and squeezes twice.

You, me. 

One, two. 

A pair. 

“Yeah,” she manages, “thanks.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She shudders. “So. That was my ex-girlfriend. Who…is a felon.” 

Oh. Woah. “Uh-huh…” 

“She’s calling for bail. Got arrested again. I blocked her number the first time. And the second. But she somehow keeps getting a hold of me. And-“ 

She falters. Kat stares brokenly at her shoes; her hand is limp in his. He pulls away from her gently, moving his arm around her shoulders. Pulling her in so their sides touch. 

“Kat?” he prompts. 

She lowers her voice. “She’s threatening me. Telling me if I don’t help her out, she’ll make it so I have to join her there. She’s got contacts. Experience. It’d be easy to do.” She laughs. There’s no humor to it. 

“She’s who I went home to after the faire. I broke things off with her that night. You know how insane that was for me? I’d been living with Janessa for 3 years at that point. And you,” she knocks her head lightly against his, “you rocked my world. You gave me the courage to embrace my secret me and kick her out.” She chuckles. 

“I’m the one who called the cops on her the first time. She threatened me with a kitchen knife when I was packing up her things. Nearly cut my finger in two waving it around.” She holds up her pointer finger to him to inspect. There’s a raised line, stark and pale, that traces from the pad of her finger to her knuckle. 

Josh wants to throw up. 

“What evidence does she have against you?” He whispers. His eyes are still fixed on the scar. 

“Josh.” She turns to look at him. Drops her hand. “She knows I’m a thief. She knows about the faire. And she was running crimes while we lived together. Out of my house. Her and her new boyfriend.” She spits the word boyfriend with an almost frightening venom. 

“But you didn’t know that was happening.” 

“The cards aren’t really in my favor either way.” There’s something shaky about her smile. “I can’t go to jail. But if she gets out-“ she shudders again, “-that’s…bad too. It’s a lose-lose.” 

“Hell no it’s not.” Josh decides, then and there, that this is bullshit. He pulls Katrina back into him so their temples are touching. Huddled together. Because he has a game plan.

“Alright. This ex of yours doesn’t know what she’s up against. You’re not giving her bail. Rachel’s gonna figure out how to make you untraceable so she can’t get your number anymore. Any if she tries to pull anything, even still?” He pauses to grin at her. 

“Your best friend is the best damn paralegal in Mountport. I’m no attorney, but I know the law and how to break it. And you, my friend, have not done anything that incriminates you. All charges of theft are under the monetary limit for jail time, and they can’t be proven because we covered our tracks. AND we returned most of ‘em anyway. And you didn’t know about the crimes Janessa committed until after the fact. You reported her, too, which should work against any charge of aiding a-“ 

“Alright, I get it.” She drops her head to his shoulder. There’s a little less tension in her face. Good. 

“You think we’ll be okay?” She asks.

Two squeezes. 

You, me. 

One, two. 

A pair. 

“You kidding?” He squeezes twice again. “Of course we will. Unless Janice burns the lasagna again.” 

She’s up in a flash. “You’re so right.” 

“Onwards, my liege,” he declares, “to defend your oven!” 

They leave the room laughing, and the heaviness stays behind to melt and be forgotten.