#no spoiler warning this time because the movie has been out for almost a month

[madpatti]

Frater Imperator

[angel-eyes05]

to leave the warmest bed i've ever known (part 4)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

pairing: spider-woman!reader x miguel o’hara 

summary: so much time has passed since you last saw each other. will old feelings come up again once you two find each other again?

warnings: HUGE ATSV SPOILERS DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THIS MOVIE, this is so against canon its insane, NSFW (we did it guys we're finally here), switch!reader and switch!miguel, blood mention, fang and claws play, p in v unprotected, cumplay, angsty (i couldnt help it), it goes, angst, smut, and then angsty fluff at the end youre welcome

word count: 3.2k

notes: for some reason, it didn't let me tag as many people who wanted to be on the taglist, so if i didn't end up tagging you for the final part, sorry idk what went wrong

also forgive me i was listening to boygenius while writing the parts leading up to the smut so it might get a little angsty there (i cant help it) (miguel and y/n are so bite the hand and cool about it core)

but then i balanced it out by listening to frank ocean (pyramids specifically) while writing the smut so you're welcome

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Three years had passed. Three years since you finally found Miles, defeated The Spot, and caused the collapse of the Spider Society. Everyone had gone back to their separate dimensions, but were able to still visit each other with their still working portal watches. Miles and Gwen specifically were very happy. Peter B. went back home to live with MJ and Mayday, sending you frequent pictures of Mayday to keep you updates. You were different. You didn’t return to your home world. You didn’t necessarily have anyone to return to per se. Instead, you decided to hop between dimensions, seeing what crime there was to fight in cities that didn’t have anyone to protect it. It was enough to keep you occupied, and as long as your watch still worked, you had the option to stop if you wanted to. Life was nice. You finally had found peace.

But something felt off. Something thudding in the back of your head. Because even though you had been at peace for three years, it had also been three years since you saw him. You had seen him during the final showdown between all of Spider Society, but your team had managed to keep you two apart, due to fear for your safety. After the fight was over, you two had made eye contact with each other a couple of times, but never approached each other. If you were being honest, you were still scared of him at that point, even seeing him tied up there on the floor waiting for someone to deal with him. 

It took a while for your gashes to heal, the ones on your back taking much longer to turn into scars than the ones on your tricep and thigh. The marks on your body were frequent reminders of him and the damage he’s caused to your life. Part of you hated him for it. But most of you just missed him. Unlike Jess, who sent you pictures of her baby every now and then, neither of you had reached out to the other. It was crazy how five years of shared history can be thrown to the ground so quickly.

Right now, you were sitting on the railing of your apartment balcony. For the past month or so, you decided to park it in Earth-3819. There wasn’t much crime going on there, so it was a nice place to stop when you needed a break. Your feet dangled off the edge of the railing, as you looked out to see the sunset on the skyline. The wind blew faintly at your face, causing strands of hair to fall out of your high bun. You had been thinking more about him recently, wondering if he was feeling the same way you were. 

Almost as if you manifested it, you heard the sliding glass door from your bedroom slide open. Startled, you quickly turned around, ready just in case it was an attacker.

It was much worse than an attacker. 

You mouth laid agape as his massive shadow covered your smaller body. Feelings that laid dormant for the past three years suddenly erupting in your stomach. You looked up to the roof of your building as a signal to meet you up there, as you attached a web to the top and swung up there.

Once you were both at the top, you faced your back to him to take time to catch your breath. Your emotions were all over the place right now. “You’re really hard to find, you know,” he said trying to break the silence. You wanted to throw up. As much as you hoped this moment would come, you never realized how unprepared you would be if it ever did. You couldn’t bare to look at him right now, knowing you would lose control of yourself if you did. “You look…good.” How would he know, he only saw your face for a second before you bolted off. You both stood there, the wind growing louder and louder with each second you both stayed silent. 

All of your senses came to a freeze once you felt his hand place itself on your shoulder, causing a flinch from you. “I wanted to find you again, mi vida,” he said in that rich, deep, smooth tone of his that drives you crazy. You could tell he was getting closer when you felt the hairs on your neck stand up from him breathing on them. “I missed you, and I was hoping we could pick up where we left off,” he said into the crook of your neck and began to plant kisses there. You broke free from his grasp by the third kiss he left. “No no no no no, no we can’t. It’s not that simple Miguel,” you said, pinching your bridge and sighing. There's no way he could've thought it would be this easy. He's not this stupid….is he?

“Listen amor, I’m sorry for everything that happened. But the past is the past.” He walked closer to you. “And I want my future with you.” He was up against you again. This time instead of your shoulder, he dragged his finger up and down your back in an almost hypnotic motion. God, you wanted him so bad, you wanted it to be this simple. That he can just apologize and everything could be okay. But you were reminded it couldn't be that way once his finger hit a pressure point in your scar. You swatted your hands in the air and walked away from him again. “No Miguel, that's not how this works. You can just do the things you've done to me and just say sorry and expect it to fix everything. You're not a child.” 

Once you turned around to face him, you saw him standing there like a lost puppy. You just wish he could see what you were talking about. “Don't act like you didn't do horrible things then too. I saw what you did to Jess.” “Don't turn this onto me Miguel. This is about you.” You walked up to him and pressed your finger into his chest. “This is about you, and the horrible things you've done to me! I can't even take a shower anymore without looking at myself in the mirror and seeing your damage!” You lifted up your shirt sleeve. “You did this! This was all you!” Miguel looks down at you with sympathetic eyes as your eyes began to well up. 

“And you can’t just barge in on this life I’ve made for myself and ask for me back because I won't go with you!” You were fully crying at this point, desperately trying to get your words out between sobs and lightly punching at Miguel's chest while he just stared at you. “Because I hate you Miguel! I hate you, okay!” You couldn't manage to talk anymore, overcome with the emotions he caused you to feel. You rested your head on his chest as you continued to sob. He wrapped his arms around you, causing you to do the same to him immediately. You sat there crying into his arms for about a minute, until he lifted up your chin with his finger.

“I’m so sorry I did this to you mi princesa. I’m so sorry. But I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.” Overtaken by emotion, you grab his face and crash your lips into his. Almost instinctively, his hands find a home onto your hips. You pull away for a second. “Just stop talking already,” you say breathlessly. He rushes to connect the two of your lips again, already going as far as to slip his tongue in between your lips. He’s so passionate about everything he does. His hands hold a tight grip on your body as his tongue explores your mouth. Almost like he’s hungry for you. No, not hungry. Starving. Famished. Three years apart was too much for him to stand without you by his side or in his bed. He needed you desperately. Like his life depended on if he was going to be able to fuck you into your bed tonight or not. 

He let out moans as your hands ran through and tugged on his hair. But as soon as his claws came out and dug into your hips, you pulled your mouth off of his, a string of saliva still connecting you two. “No claws Miguel. Bring them out again, and its over okay.” You still weren’t mentally over his attack against you. He nods. “Of course, baby.” With that said, you let go of him to walk over to the edge of the building. Once your at the edge, you signal him over. He follows, almost as if he’s under some spell. You attach one of your webs to your balcony railing below and use it as a guide to fall down to it. You land on your balcony, Miguel following close behind as you open the sliding door to your bedroom.

After you close the door and blinds, you turn to find Miguel almost hovering over you. He looked like some kind of lost dog the way he kept following you around, begging for more of you. You gently kiss him and guide him over to your bed. He sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to pull your hoodie off your head as you help him take off his suit. Once your sweatpants are off as well, you gently push him onto his back on your bed. Goosebumps form all over your body, partially from exposure to the cold air in your room, and partially from seeing him like this underneath you again. Finally, you take his already hard cock, and slide it into your hole, causing a rough groan out of him as you begin to rock on his hips.

You take things nice and slow while you’re in control, knowing the moment you get sloppy he’ll start to take over for you. You kissed down his neck and collarbone as you rode him, with him gripping hard at your back and your hips. “Nng, m-missed you s-so much amor,” he groaned out. “Tan hermosa.” You begin to speed your thrusting, tugging at his hair to get strained noises out of him. His hands make their way up to your back, digging into your skin. But your quick to rip his hands out of your back and pin them above his head once his talons come out again, into your back this time. You also take your lips off of his and stop your thrusting.

Miguel searched your face for some kind of explanation to the sudden stop, to find you panting and nearly frozen still. You’re taken back to that fight, a result from his claws finding a way into your scars. You’re pulled back to reality by Miguel’s voice. “Amor, que paso?” he asks with concern. You quickly wipe the sweat off your face and look into his beautiful crimson eyes. You wanted to forget the pain he caused you all those years ago, but unfortunately you couldn’t. But, you were willing to forgive him though. “Nothing Miggy,” you say gently, pressing a soft kiss onto his lips. He tries to move his hands back onto you, but finds his hands still trapped to the headboard. He looks at you confused. “What did I say about the claws, Miguel.” 

“Ay, baby you know its hard for me to control them around you,” he says, slightly annoyed, driven by the need to touch you again. “Well you’re going to need to try to okay? For now though, you’re going to stay like this.” His face drops, and he makes a sound almost like a whine. “Ay coño, lo siento péro you don’t need to punish me.” You felt powerful hearing him whine and beg like this. You were denying a starving man of his woman, his source of energy. 

Arms squirmed in your hand, as you began to rock on top of him again. You made sure to not kiss him either, moving away whenever he would try to place his mouth onto yours. He whined as you picked up your speed, desperate to feel you again. “P-please, let me go cariño.” You moved your mouth down and whispered in his ear, running your finger up and down his stomach, causing him to melt under you and whimper like a madman. “Not just yet,” you whispered seductively, sending extra chills down his spine and into his stomach when you bit into his ear lobe.

Overcome with your own urge to feel him, you accidentally let go of his hands and moved yours to grab hold of each of his pecs as you planted kisses over his sternum. Suddenly, you’re overswept as Miguel is freed and takes control over the situation. “I love you amor, but you have to let me touch your,” he says in that beautiful, rich tone of his before he goes at his own pace: slamming himself into you. 

He goes much faster than you did, and you almost come there on the spot as he nearly breaks your bed with his ferocity. You grip onto his enormous triceps for leverage as you let out a series of incoherent moans. “You like that, huh?” he pants out. You shove your lips onto his to get him to stop talking. “I-if you’re gonna do this, n-ngh, you’re gonna have to s-hh-ut up,” you manage to get out in between your almost inhumane sounds. He nods and shoves his tongue into your mouth, exploring the insides of your cheeks while his tip slams into your walls, causing that white heat to begin to build up in your stomach.

His hands swarm across your body, making up for lost time before, and eventually land on your breasts as he begins to palm at them. Just as you thought he couldn’t arouse you any more than he already has, he moves his mouth along your jawline, down to your neck, and begins to mark it with kisses and slight sucking. “I-I missed you too, Miggy.” 

That nickname you had for him drove him crazy. So crazy in fact, his next move was to drive his fangs into your neck, making sure to not let his poison seep into your neck. He presses his lips and sucks on the skin on your neck while sinking his fangs deeper into you. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, as you held onto his broad shoulders while he basically slammed you into the bed. “Oh Miguel,” you moaned out. He nodded, not able to speak, due to his fangs still being attached to your neck. You could tell he was getting close too with how sloppy his pace was getting. 

You’re washed over with bliss when the heat in your stomach finally takes over the rest of your body, almost clawing at Miguel while you come. His hands put more pressure on your breasts as he comes as well, moaning into the softness of your neck. Once you two have both finished, he slowly pulls his teeth out of your neck, and licks up the metallic liquid with his warm, delicate tongue. He slowly pulls his cock out of the sweetness of your cunt and rolls over to lay next to you on the bed, dragging his fingers across your pussy, taking the cum his fingers picked up and putting it in his mouth.

He plants a kiss onto your forehead before saying, “One second, princesa, I’ll be right back,” as he got up to go to the bathroom. He must have been in there for about 10 minutes before coming back into your room and reaching out his hand for yours. You take his hand as he leads you out of bed, reminded of how naked you are when you reveal yourself from the sheets.

He leads you into the bathroom to see that hes drawn a bath for the two of you. You blush slightly at the gesture, as he gets in first and leads you in. The touch of the water numbs your body slightly with the mixture of the cold room to the hot bath water. You almost melt as you sink in, laying your back against Miguel’s chest as he wraps his arms around your body. You could fall asleep right here, mixed between the comfort of the bath water, and Miguel’s body finally against yours again. The bathtub was kind of small, so his body was taking up most of the space, causing him to basically engulf you. 

You were surrounded in him, his lips almost attached to the nape of your nack, his arms consuming your upper half, and his legs intwining with your lower half. He wiggles slightly to reach the soap, puts it in the water to wet it, and lathers it onto your body. First, he washes your arms, rubbing the soap back and forth over your arm hairs, and even under your armpits. Next, he moves to wash your chest. He takes the soap and moves it over your breasts and your underboob, causing you to move in closer to him. His response is to peck kisses into the crook of your neck, getting little giggles out of you. You stop giggling though after he stops kissing you and stays still for a second. 

You wait in silence for him to do something. “...Miggy…you okay?” you ask when he doesn’t say anything. You turn your head slightly to see him. Out of your peripherals, you see him staring solemnly at your back. He’s finally seen them. The four almost perfectly placed scars warping across your back. They were huge. And he knows they’re from him. You turned your head back to the front and dug it in between your knees, pushing out your back even more. Miguel delicately traced his fingers over them, as you waited curled up for him to say something. “I’m sorry,” is all he can manage to weakly push out. 

You decide to turn your body around to face him, splashing water around in the cramped bathtub while doing so. His eyes are down with sadness creeping over his face. You cup his cheek with your hand and press a loving, gentle kiss onto his lips. You bring his arms over your shoulders and wrap your legs around his hips. You wanted to be engulfed by him. You were so pressed on staying mad at him for so many years that you forgot how much you loved being this close to him. You could hear his heart softly beating as you pressed your head against his chest. He soon wrapped his arms around your body, taking you into him, and dug his head into the crook of your neck, almost as if he was hiding. 

You stayed there for a moment before eventually turning back around. You laid your head in a position so you could still see his face if you looked up. You could feel yourself slowly dozing off in his arms. Your last thoughts before you slipped out of consciousness was of how perfect this was. 

You had found your home again. Moreso, he found his way to you. And this time, you were never going to let go.

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a/n: i just wanted to say thank you to everyone for sticking around during this series. i know it wasn't meant to be 4 parts and only 2 so i really appreciate everyone who stuck around for the whole thing. make sure to look out for my next thing cause i wanna start writing an enemies to lover oc x miguel thing so please go and support that once thats out. thanks guys!!!!

taglist: @jenniferdixon05207 @sweetanimebakery @azxulaa @daimiyu @vinkar345 @pinkninja200 @luvstich @rin-matsuoka345-blog @lillunna @konniebon @hwanunjin @simp-nerd-16 @chucklefuvk @elwyn7 @haileybxxr @ilovemymomscooking @lansy-4 @maxi-ride @d4rno @callsign-blue @obamnas-soda @sophipet @violentlyneon @d1lf-loverrr @afro-hispwriter @kirke-is-my-name @ilovemiguelohara @lavnderluv @konniebon @msecho19 @kiamewrites

[areyouwell]

Somnophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of sleep. Children or adults with this condition may experience hallucinations, voices and in some cases, death.

Ch.4

Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, no spoilers ;), mentions of suicide attempt, scarring, nightmarish sequences

Word count: 13.2k

A/N: a reward for all your patience :)

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside

‘Told ya you looked tired. Get some rest, see you at 11 am. L.’

You’d woken up that morning to a note scribbled on a folded piece of paper, propped up against your alarm clock in such a way that you couldn’t actually see the time. And it had been like that every day for almost a month before that month fell into two. You and Logan fell into a comfortable rhythm, teaching classes together every other day, and on the days you weren’t teaching, he was helping you develop your mutation. 

You’d cook together, sometimes for the kids as well, and spend hours talking over dinner before heading into the lounge and cosying up in front of some movie or tv-show. Most of the time Logan noticed just as you were nodding off and would switch off the show before carrying you back up to your room. Sometimes you were still awake, but you didn’t protest. It was all part of the routine. 

However, one thing was bothering you slightly. You’d assumed, with Logan’s more animalistic instincts, he’d waste no time pouncing on you and dragging you into bed, though the moment things would get a little heated between the two of you, he’d pull back, breathless and warm, muttering something like “Not here.” You were fine with it, for now at least, but considering the two of you went from strangers to kissing in the kitchen to Nick Cave, it took you off guard a little. 

Though you’d settled on the explanation that maybe he wanted to take things a little slower, you were frustrated. Pent up. And it was taking all of your concentration not to pounce on him now as he shrugged off his flannel shirt. Neither of you had class today, which meant it was a training day. Not that your training has been useful. You seemed to have regressed, being unable to pull the shadows out with you as you had that first time. It was a completely different kind of frustration, and it was pissing you off. Majorly.

“I’m starting to think Xavier was wrong and that we all collectively imagined what we saw a month ago,” you lamented, hanging up your hoodie on one of the hooks near the door. You’d occupied a regular training room for this session, opting to leave the danger room for another day. Nothing had been accomplished, though it did serve to prove once again just how well you and Logan worked together.

Logan folded his arms across his chest. In truth, he thought this was going to be a lot easier than it was turning out to be. The progress you’d made in that first session set him up with a false sense of confidence, though he had to remain encouraging, despite the growing concern that you may not be able to pull this off. That was why he’d asked Charles to take over from Scott. He’d lost too many people in his life and was unable to do anything about it. If things were going to go anywhere between you, he needed reassurance that you weren’t about to disintegrate in his arms. Because the thought of ever losing you genuinely terrified the shit out of him.  “When was the last time Charles was wrong, hm?” 

You huffed, rolling your shoulders, wincing slightly from the cracking of your joints. “First time for everything…” you grumbled, hooking your elbow around your other to stretch out the muscle. Logan swallowed, his eyes drinking in your appearance. A pair of fitted gym leggings that had him gritting his teeth every time you turned around, paired with a front-zip sports bra that his fingers itched to tug down. He could smell your morning shower, the deodorant you used, whatever body spray you decided fit for today. Never one of those gaudy, overly fragrant perfumes. You preferred a softer scent, something that gave the allure of a misty forest, or a rainy lake. 

Fuck you smelt divine. Logan’s teeth ground together, wondering if what he had planned for today was a good idea. He’d been holding himself back from you. Fear of hurting you or driving you away had him shoving his instincts and desires to one side, burying them deep, deep beneath the surface. He could smell it on you, though. When he barely had enough strength to control himself, with wandering hands and lingering touches. He could smell how turned on you got and it killed him to step away from you every goddamn time. 

It was fucking torture. He was torturing himself. He was torturing you.

Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all… but it was a little too late now.

“I don’t wanna focus on your mutation today…” he began, and you whipped around to face him.

“What? Why? Isn’t that kinda the whole point?” You challenged, and Logan sighed. You were irritable today, and rightly so. He recognised how the lack of progress must have been making you feel, and he knew you were scared, and he wished he could tell you he was scared too. How he was terrified of failing you. But he couldn’t, not if he wanted you to have someone to lean on. 

“You rely on it too much.”

“Says the man who tanks bullets because he knows he can heal.” you shot back, folding your arms defensively. Logan took a breath.

“That’s different, sweets. ‘S not circumstantial. You get surrounded in the sunlight with nothin’ around to duck into, and you’re dead.” However, that would never be the case because Logan couldn’t imagine a situation like that where he wouldn’t be by your side. But the hypothetical worked to make his point.

“Okaaaay, what do you suggest then, Professor?” there was nothing malicious in your tone this time, the curve of your smile doing dangerous things to his head. He pushed it down again, cursing his body’s truly terrible timing, before gesturing to his chest.

“Hit me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You heard. Hit me.”

“No!” 

“Yes.”

You took a step back. “I’m not gonna fight you, Lo’.”

“Why?” he took a step forward, smirking wildly. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

“Yes! Extremely!” Logan barked a laugh at your honesty, earning himself a smile of your own. “Look at you! How is this a fair fight?” you grinned broadly at the ridiculous idea of sparring with him. “I pick my battles, Howlett, and I’m not about to pick one where I get my ass handed to me!” you exclaimed through bubbles of laughter. Logan listened to the constant urge to be closer to you, stepping forward to wrap you in his arms, your chin against his chest as you craned your neck to look up at him.

“I’ll go easy on ya, how ‘bout that?” He was provoking you. The sly bastard knew you couldn’t deny a challenge like that, and the way your eyes narrowed told him he’d hit the jackpot.

“You’re incredibly grating, you know that?” you hissed, wriggling to free yourself from his arms, only for him to respond by holding you tighter.

“Yeah? You gonna do anythin’ about it?” he smirked again, and you had an extremely strong urge to wipe it from his stupidly handsome face through any means possible.

“Let me go and find out.”

“Get free.”

You huffed. “Logan I’m serious.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah? So am I. Get free. And don’t use your mutation.” If you weren’t so pissed off, you would have fainted at the way he fucking growled. But instead, you took a calming breath. Annoyingly, he was right. You did rely on your mutation a lot when in combat. You’d been lucky enough on missions so far not to get caught without any shadows around, but from what you could tell from the very few meetings you were permitted to attend, was that the fight was evolving. Technology was evolving, and if an all out war was to break out, the odds between humans and mutants would be falling into humanity’s favour. 

And sometimes, a good ol’ fashioned punch to the face was worth more than dragging people into shadow. 

Tensing and flexing, you attempted to contort from his arms, resulting in nothing but an infuriating chuckle from your captor. “Strugglin’?” he asked, condescension dripping from his tone, and you spared him a fleeting glance only to see a mocking pout on his face. 

“Fucking asshole.” you snarled, managing to free your arms enough to push back against his chest. But Logan was strong. Insanely fucking strong, and you were held fast.

“Now what?” he poked, deriving a sick amount of sadistic joy from watching your growing fury. He wasn’t worried. You were already harbouring a lot of frustration, and this was the best way he knew to help you let it out. Since the other option was off the table for now.

You’d been formulating a plan for the last few minutes, your last few wriggles had been purely for show. Lulling him into a false sense of cocky security. Your hands slipped beneath his arms, grabbing a secure hold on his forearms. Sending him a knife-like smile, you went to push against his arms.

Logan sensed what you were about to do, feeling slight pressure against his elbow, he moved his arms lower, assuming you were about to attempt slipping out underneath. 

Bingo.

You barked a triumphant laugh, changing your grip in an instant. Your hands slipped up between his arms and your waist and gripping his shoulders. Logan didn’t have time to do so much as blink before your foot pushed against his hip and you flipped backwards and out of his embrace, landing a sharp blow beneath his jaw with your knee before you rolled back to a steadying stance a few paces away.

He blinked, hand subconsciously braced against his chin. It was a savage blow, but the throbbing faded almost instantly. He stretched his jaw, pride blossoming in his chest. “Good job, honestly didn’t think–” he was cut off instantly as you ran towards him, glaring venom. Something in you had shifted, and he’d be lying to himself if it didn’t make him think twice about pissing you off so much. 

He dodged back as you swung a punch, your left hook flying dangerously close to his nose. You moved with a speed he hadn’t seen from you yet, and with precision he’d only expect from highly trained veterans. You swung again from the right, and he dodged left, only to be met with a sharp blow from your leg. How had you shifted your weight so damn quickly? He didn’t have time to contemplate before your foot slammed into the centre of his chest and he stumbled backwards.

Catching his footing, Logan looked back at you, eyes wide in complete surprise. You stood dangerously still, your dark gaze watching him like a hawk. He was right in his observation. Something in you had shifted. Like a switch being flipped, you’d gone from treating this as a simple training exercise to actually engaging in a fight. He held his hands up in an attempt to placate you. “Alright, let’s take a breath, yeah?”

You silently bared your teeth before launching yourself at him again. Your leg sweeping towards his face in a roundhouse kick. He flinched back, pushing your foot to continue its trajectory past him, only to barely escape another attempt to decapitate him from your other leg. He caught it in his palm, his hand gripping your ankle tightly as he called your name. But you didn’t respond, using his grip on your foot to pull yourself closer. 

You hooked your leg around his neck, the way you pulled yourself upright was a testament to your sheer core strength as you shifted your weight back, and attempted to bring both of you to the floor. But Logan was a lot sturdier than you’d anticipated, loosening his hold and quickstepping forward, letting you fall to the floor. You were only down for a second before you flipped upright again. 

Logan watched as you extended your arm into the shadow behind you, cast by the metal balance bar running along all four walls of the room. Whoever this was, whoever he was fighting, you weren’t there anymore. Was this what happened the night Jade died? He couldn’t contemplate that right now, not as the thin shadow along the floor started to morph and shift, running like water from your fingertips to your elbow. He watched in horrified awe as the darkness solidified into a blade around your forearm, your hand having disappeared completely into a sharp point. 

“Holy shit…” he breathed along with a terrifying realisation. 

You were trying to kill him. 

He called your name again as you lowered into a crouch, waiting for a beat before once again sprinting toward him, leaping with inhumane strength. There was a sharp clang as obsidian met metal, Logan’s claws unsheathing from his knuckles to meet your overhead blow. You wrenched your blade from between his crossed claws, launching into a flurry of swipes, slashes and kicks. With every strike, the shadows shifted to each limb with clinical precision, your movements timed to perfection. 

Logan was meeting you blow for blow, though never striking back. He was purely on the defensive, simply trying to stop you from taking off his head or hands. He didn’t know how to get through to you, calling your name having absolutely no effect, and he was getting desperate. “You gotta st–” he flinched backwards to avoid yet another savage swipe. “Stop!” he shouted desperately, ducking below your slash and snatching your other wrist. He managed to make you pause long enough to look into your eyes.

Or, what used to be your eyes? Those captivating irises he’d come to know so well had been replaced by wells of nothingness, and if he hadn’t known any better, he’d say they were just a result of using your mutation to this extent. But he’d seen your eyes that first time you’d dragged shadows with you, they hadn’t been like this. This was something else altogether. You were completely absent. Hollow. 

What the fuck?

Logan barked a cry as searing pain shot through his hand, that black blade piercing through his palm and through the back. He yanked back, flexing his fingers as he started to heal immediately, though blood still left his hand slick. 

“Logan? What’s–” he whipped around to see Jean in the doorway, her eyes now fixed on you, mouth agape in horror. “Shit! Logan, step back!” she instructed, and he did so immediately. Looking back at you, he saw you didn’t move, though your muscles shook with the effort to do so. Jean was holding you fast, he could see sweat beading on her brow with the strain. “The Professor’s on his way now. Damn, she’s strong. You alright?” she asked, not taking her eyes from your immobilised form, your lips pulled up in a permanent snarl, your empty eyes darting between Logan and Jean.

Logan nodded a little hesitantly. “Yeah, ‘m fine…” whilst it wasn’t exactly a lie, it wasn’t the whole truth either. Physically he’d always be fine, his healing factor always saw to that. But it wasn’t your deadly strikes that alarmed him. Nor the sniper precision of your blows. He would be fine with both of these things if it wasn’t for the unmistakable stench of fear. 

Logan knew better than anyone, the more cornered the animal, the louder the snarl, the more viscous the bite. You weren’t acting on logic, you were acting out of fear. You were scared. He could smell the desperation to survive, the necessity to fight your way out. Your strikes had been cold and calculated, but every landed blow had a feeling of panic behind them. 

But you’d told him your past. Where the hell could this have come from? Was it simply an inherent part of your mutation?

Answers could wait as he took a cautious step towards you, his hands held out before him. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” he soothed, glancing back to see the strain on Jean lessen slightly. He looked back at you. “It’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt ya, you’re safe,” he continued, ignoring Jean’s call of protest. “It’s me, yeah? It’s Logan. ‘M not gonna hurt ya, firefly. Never gonna hurt ya…” he reached out slowly, his heart breaking as your breathing quickened, wide eyes flickering between his hand and his face. If Jean hadn’t been holding you, he had an awful feeling you would have flinched away. Although, if Jean hadn’t been holding you, he had no doubts he’d be on the ground slowly healing from whatever you’d have done. 

His palm gently cupped the side of your face and your breathing stopped altogether, void-like eyes staring endlessly into his, your brow creasing as if you were searching for something. He watched as you stopped struggling against Jean’s hold. “You’re alright, it’s just me. It’s just Logan…” You exhaled a breath, your eyes closing, visibly relaxing into his touch. 

“What the fuck happened?!” your eyes flew open again, your head snapping to the doorway where Scott, Xavier and Ororo had just appeared, Scott’s fingers braced against his glasses. You only managed to swing your arm a few inches, Jean catching you before your blade pierced Logan’s gut. He jumped back, though instinctively positioned himself between Scott’s line of sight and your frozen form.

“Damnit Scott, we had her!” he seethed, wanting nothing more than to knock him to the ground. If he wasn’t so trigger-happy with his eyes, Logan would have done. But the hand on his sunglasses had him staying put. 

“Charles I can’t hold her for much longer…” Jean strained, her hand shaking ever so slightly. Xavier placed two fingers against his temple, closing his eyes slowly. 

“Let her go, Jean…” he instructed, and the woman instantly fell to her knees, Scott crouching by her side, his arm around her shoulders, though his eyes never left you. Logan turned back to where you’d been released, your chest heaving, head twitching slightly as Xavier invaded your thoughts. Your eyes screwed shut, your hands flew to your head, Logan only just managing to catch your bladed wrist before you sliced your ear off. He grit his teeth against the pain of the edge carving through his palm, but he didn’t let go. He’d endure it. He’d endure fucking anything if it meant you’d be safe.

You whimpered as your legs gave out, crumpling into his hold as he gently lowered you to the floor. It was a terrifying display, your body contorting and writhing, your back arching as if you were possessed whilst Charles worked to set you free or bring you back or whatever the fuck he was doing.

“C’mon sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay. I promise you’re safe. ‘M gonna look after you, yeah? You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe…” he kept whispering over and over in the hopes that wherever you were, you could hear him. You could follow his voice. Holding you against his chest, he grazed his lips against your hair as you started to slow, hearing your heartbeat begin to settle. You still twitched slightly here and there, but you’d stopped writhing.

When you fell still completely, Logan had to shakily check your pulse just to make sure you were still alive. Finding the slight but steady beating beneath his fingertips, he raised his eyes to the rest of the team, irises glittering with murderous intent. “What the fuck was that?” he snarled, looking at each mutant individually. 

Ororo seemed the only one brave enough to step forward, Charles still occupied with your mind. “It… we saw this happen once before, around three years ago now. It was the night–”

“Jade died…” Logan finished, his features instantly softening as he looked back down at you, palm smoothing your hair from your face. “Why? Why does this happen?”

Charles removed his fingers from his temple, opening his eyes now you’d been placated. 

“We don’t know…” Jean exchanged a glance with the Professor as Storm continued. She crossed the room to kneel by your side, now knowing you were unconscious and no longer dangerous. “We think anger might be a trigger.”

“She wasn’t angry,” Logan countered, his eyes not leaving your face. “She was scared. I could smell it. She was fucking terrified like we were…” he trailed off, not wanting to voice what he was thinking. It was like you thought he was trying to hurt you. You fought back out of self-preservation. “I don’t understand… she’s told me about her upbringing. Her childhood, I didn’t-” he cut himself off as he took your hand, eyes widening as he noticed something he hadn’t before. How the fuck had he not noticed this before?

A thin, heavy scar ran down the length of your wrist, a centimetre wide and a few inches long. His breath caught in his throat as he rushed to check your other hand, finding a mirrored mark. Running his thumb down the scar, his eyes flickered to Ororo’s, who looked away.

“Guess she hadn’t got round to telling you that yet…” she said by way of explanation. His heart shattered. It had been a long time since Logan had cried, but he felt hot tears line his eyes. The thought of you being low enough to attempt to take your own life, the possibility of you succeeding and he never got to meet you. To know you. To love you.

He gathered you back into his arms and held you close, tucking your head beneath his chin. He wanted to apologise. To apologise for not being there for you. For not even knowing you. It was illogical and pointless, but he wanted to make up for not always being there for you. For only coming into your life now. 

“We should get her to the med bay,” Jean broke the silence, standing from where she was recovering on the floor, Scott’s arm still wrapped around her shoulder, steadying her. 

“I can’t be the only one thinking what we should actually do, and what we should have done years ago. She’s unstable, there’s kids here for fuck’s sake!” Cyclops exclaimed, gesturing to the floors above.

Logan felt his anger bubble to the surface. He didn’t need to be telepathic to know what Scott was talking about, and there was no way in hell he was about to stand by and let this motherfucker neutralise you. “Why don’tcha say it out loud, Scott,” he snarled, baring his teeth. “Let everyone know what ya thinkin’.”

“Logan take a breath, nothing’s going to happen to her,” Ororo placed a calming hand on his shoulder, though he was too riled up to care. “Right Scott?” she prompted, and Scott scoffed loudly.

“Yeah, right. Though, not that it shouldn’t.”

Logan snapped. Passing your body to Ororo, he leapt from the ground, claws bursting through his knuckles as he thundered towards Scott, who was taking his arm from around Jean to grip his sunglasses in retaliation.

“That’s enough!” Xavier’s voice cut through both the air and Logan’s mind, and taking a glance to the group, everyone else had heard it in their heads as well. He ground to a halt, eyes glaring bloody murder at Cyclops. “Now is not the time to fight amongst ourselves. Storm, take her to the med bay. Jean, I need you in my office please. And you two,” he looked pointedly between Logan and Scott. “Find somewhere far away from each other.”

“Fine by me.”

“Not a problem,” they spoke in unison before Logan turned back to where Ororo was holding you in her lap. “I got her, just lead the way,” he spoke curtly, stooping to effortlessly pick you up, holding you tight in his arms. Storm nodded as she stood, dusting her knees off before heading for the door. Logan took a minute to look down at you, drinking in your unconscious appearance. He felt a pang of fear for you echoing throughout his chest, brows pinching as his eyes frantically flickered across your face. 

“She’ll be okay Logan, just give her time,” Charles said gently, knowing to choose his words carefully. 

“We don’t got time.” Was all he said in return, before following Storm out the door and to the med bay.

Time was simply a concept. Nothing mattered. You’d found yourself sinking into your mind, taking a backseat in your own body. Floating in water but breathing wasn’t impossible. It was peaceful, tranquil, the same kind of feeling when you were nestled against Logan’s chest in an evening, or standing by his side and instructing him how to perfect a sear on a steak. 

Logan. Your chest surged as you thought of him, colours around you shifting and swirling from obsidian to the dark greens and browns you associated with his scent. Being around him. Content wore a new face, joy had a new feeling. Swirling colours became scenery as your bare feet touched grass. Wind kissed your cheeks as you looked around at the rolling hills surrounding, nothing but blue skies above you. Though you were confused, nothing could dampen your sense of ease. Pinewood and smoke wafted through the breeze and you turned but saw nothing. 

“Come back.”

You turned again, laughing as if he’d told a joke. It was his voice, unmistakably. You guessed he was just in a playful mood. Your toes dug into the ground as you spun around, laughter bubbling from your chest. 

“Where are you?” you called out, only your echoing voice answering from the hillside. The wind died down, birdsong quieting to nothing as you waited for his voice again. 

“Come back to me.”

You whirled again, your smile slowly fading as you once again were met with nothing. “Logan? C’mon, this isn’t funny anymore!” you called out, hoping he would finally stop the games and come out. You could feel panic start to rise as you heard nothing in response. You spun and twisted, only to be met with silence and emptiness, the ease of the countryside now morphing into anxious loneliness. “Logan…?” you called out again weakly, your hand crossing your front to hold your arm in an attempt to bring some kind of comfort. 

The next time you turned, your heart stopped and you stepped back. Seven humanoid shadows stood before you, their forms shifting like smoke. In unison, their heads cocked to the side. Like the shifting of emotions, the blue sky faded to grey, then to black. Angry, broiling storm clouds swirled overhead, and once again in unison, the shadows sank into the ground.

Fear gripped your heart as you tried to do the same, but found yourself unable to. You tried again, only to force yourself to your knees, the ground refusing to let you pass despite the darkness overhead. With a frustrated cry, you punched the earth with your fist, as if you were able to beat it into submission.

“Come back.” 

This time his voice provided no comfort as you hung your head, tears stinging your eyes and falling into the grass, blades shifting slightly. “I want to…” you responded shakily, despair clawing at your mind, having no idea how. But you had to. It didn’t matter how. You just had to.

Standing back to your feet, you took a deep breath. You could do this. You could find your way back. With newfound determination, you took a step forward.

Only to find, the moment your foot touched the ground, a hand crawled from the shadow, wrapping around your ankle. Once again panic clawed at your chest as you tried to yank yourself free, watching in horror as one of those seven shadows rose from the ground, its humanoid body contorted and backwards, head twitching from side to side. 

You tried to pull away. Tried to take a step back, only to find another holding your other foot, rising only far enough for its head and shoulders to reform from the ground. Another hand grabbed at your thigh, then another around your waist. You fought to free yourself, kicking and flailing as you felt the ground beneath you give way and you started to sink. A hand clawed down your back, another wrapped around your neck, silencing your desperate scream as your hand outstretched towards the dark sky above.

Your eyes went dark as those shadows gripped your face, obscuring your vision before all you could feel was nothing. You were nothing. And you were sinking. 

Down. Down down you were dragged, those inky black hands weighing you down like a ball and chain through water, only this time you couldn’t breathe. You tried to scream again only to find yourself voiceless, bubbles of emptiness rising from your mouth. 

You didn’t know how long you’d been drowning before light burst from above you and you inhaled a guttural breath, closing your eyes against the blinding white. When you managed to adjust to the light, you cracked open your lids, panic still flooding your veins. An operating theatre? No, it was too light. But judging from the instruments to your left, that’s exactly where you were. You tried to lift your head only to find coarse leather strapping you down. Trying to move your arms and legs resulted in the same conclusion. 

A whimper escaped from the other side of the room, and you turned your head, eyes widening as you saw your brother, clad in some kind of hospital gown, tears streaming down his face. “Rowan…?” you croaked, your throat raw from what, you didn’t know. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispered shakily, before agony flared through your body and you released a blood-curdling scream, fire reining free throughout your nerves, your limbs straining against the bonds holding you down.

‘We remember.’

Your eyes flew open as you sat bolt upright on the table, panic surging adrenaline through your system as you took in your surroundings. You were still there, in that room, just a different version of it. But you weren’t tied down, not this time. No, this time, you followed the wires hooking your body up to a monitor, the dips and valleys in the lines meaning nothing to you, only serving to fuel your fear.

You ripped the stickers from your body, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Whatever, or whoever was holding you clearly didn’t have the sense to leave you unattended. You might still be learning how to control your mutation, but that didn’t mean you weren’t dangerous.

Crossing to the drawers opposite, you tugged the top one open, rifling through the contents in the hopes of finding some kind of weapon. A scalpel, a knife, hell you’d take a staple gun at this moment. Anything that would help you escape this nightmare. You had to find Rowan. Why the fuck was he here? What the hell was going on? You brushed the questions to the side for now.

None of that mattered at the moment. Your sole goal was to find him and get the two of you out of here. 

A slight sing sliced through your fingertip as you rifled through the second drawer, pulling out a small scalpel. It wasn’t ideal, but you figured it was better than nothing. Clutching it tightly in your hands, you cursed medical rooms for their bright white lighting, only finding singular shadows beneath the bed and around the desks. Nothing connected, so you couldn’t travel far. 

You whirled at the slight whoosh of the doors behind you opening, holding the scalpel in front of you threateningly, attempting to still your trembling hand. Though it took your eyes a moment to register who you were looking at, you knew that voice and the way he softly called your name like the back of your hand.

Logan had only stepped out for a few moments, spending the last three days by your side, vigilant, unmoving. But upon the insistence of Jean, he’d taken seconds for himself to smoke a cigar and calm down. Every twitch of your body, every micromovement he noticed, every small cry of his name set him on edge, fighting the urge to pull the medical tags from your body and keep you safe up in his room, build a home for you there. He’d resisted purely because both Jean and Charles had said it was safer to monitor your brain and heart.

But now here you were, eyes wide, pointing a scalpel at him. He held his hands up, trying to show you he didn’t mean any harm. “It’s me…” he soothed as you looked around wildly as if trying to recognise your surroundings.

How was he here? Why was he here? Had they got him too? But he looked fine, dressed in his usual white singlet, worn jeans and brown flannel. “Logan?”

He breathed a sigh of relief, taking a slow step towards you. “Yeah,” he confirmed, noticing how you were still caught up in confusion and fear.

“Wh– where am I? Where are we?” you asked frantically, still keeping the small blade pointed towards him as he inched closer around the bed.

“We’re in the med bay, underneath the school. ‘S’okay, you’re safe here.” he explained slowly, gingerly reaching for the knife in your hand, his fingers wrapping around the warm metal as he gently took it from your grasp and set it down. 

You let him take it from you, your heart settling in your chest as he encircled your wrist. “The school?” you asked, uncertainty lacing your tone. Logan nodded in confirmation, and you let loose a steadying breath. “What happened?” your voice was barely audible, shaking slightly as he guided you into his arms and enveloped you in a sense of security.

“You’re okay…” he breathed, not only to reassure you but to also reassure himself. For three days he’d sat by your bedside, listening to people tell him you were gonna be okay, but it was so fucking hard to believe them when you were lying unconscious on a medical bed, the only sound being the steady beep of the heart monitor you were hooked up to. 

Seeing you here, on your feet, awake, set that fear to rest. He set his chin atop your head, closing his eyes as he breathed you in, your scent wrapping around his heart in a comforting embrace. You were safe. You were okay.

You allowed yourself to simply feel him, basking in his presence and the peace he brought you. Your arms slowly wrapped around his body beneath his shirt, clasping tightly at the back of his singlet. “I don’t understand…”

“I know. Neither do we, not fully. But we will, ‘kay? Promise,” he hoped it was enough to reassure you, but it was barely enough to reassure himself. “What d’you remember?” he asked pulling back slightly to cup a hand against your jaw, angling your face to look up at him. 

You swallowed, brow furrowing as you tried to think back to the last thing you remember. “Training. We were training. You said we weren’t gonna focus on my mutation, and you challenged me to get out of your grip… that’s it,” you explained quietly, your eyes flickering between his own in search of some kind of answer. “That’s what happened with Jade, isn’t it? It was the same thing…” Logan nodded again, though almost imperceptibly as if he was afraid to confirm your own fears. “What happened?” you asked again, though this time a little firmer.

Logan took a breath, bracing himself for your reaction before he’d even spoken. “You tried to kill me…”

You instantly stepped out of his arms, and as much as he didn’t want to, he let you. Horror flickered across your face as you looked down at your hands as if you could see the blood staining them. You couldn’t do this again. You couldn’t kill someone else you loved because you couldn’t control yourself. “It wasn’t your fault, I pushed you too hard. I didn’t know this w–”

“Don’t.” you stopped him quietly, eyes staring, unblinking, at the white tiles beneath your bare feet. “Please don’t…” you inhaled shakily, balling your hands into fists by your side. “Scott was right.”

Logan froze, knowing exactly what you were referring to. He guessed what he suggested three days ago wasn’t the first time he’d said it. “The fuck he was. You lost control, that doesn’t make you a monster. Y’think half the kids here were monsters before they learnt how to control their mutations?”

“Half the kids here don’t try to kill the people they fucking care about!” you cried, feeling like he just wasn’t listening to you. 

“No, they just do it by accident. Remind you of anyone?” He didn’t know how else to get you to see. You were no different from those who just hadn’t learnt to control it yet. “Why is it always so different when it comes to you, hm?” he took your hands in his own, begging you to understand. 

“I don’t wanna kill you, Logan. I don’t know what I'd do if I did…” you looked up, tears silently sliding from your eyes. But Logan simply smiled.

“Then ain’t it peachy I can’t die. Hundred ‘n’ thirty still going strong,” he thumbed away the tears from your cheeks as you blinked in realisation. “Forgot that, didn’t ya?” 

“Yeah… guess I did.” you tried to smile, but Logan could tell you were still burdened by guilt and grief. Planting a kiss on your forehead, he guided you back to the centre of his chest, wrapping you up again. 

“We’ll figure it out, yeah? Whatever this thing is, we’ll figure it out. Charles can help you,” he promised, his hand stroking through the back of your hair. “And fuck Scott, he doesn’t know what he’s fucking talking about.” That earned him a teary chuckle against the crook of his neck.

“Fuck Scott,” You repeated, nestling closer into his embrace. “Thank you, Lo’.”

“Anytime, sweetheart,” he responded, pressing his nose against the top of your head, breathing in your distinct scent. “The good news is, you harnessed your mutation flawlessly.” 

You looked up at him with slight awe, your mouth parted slightly. “Seriously?”

Logan nodded. “I almost brought ya back as well, so I’m thinkin’ we should–”

“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted, your chin resting against his chest. “Not a good idea.”

“Might be the only way,” he shrugged, delicately moving a strand of your hair from your face. “Think it over.” He prompted softly, his hand travelling from your jaw to your cheek, eyes lingering on your lips for a beat before he dipped down, capturing you in a soft kiss. Your lids fluttered closed, arms sliding from his back up to his neck, your fingers finding a home in his soft hair. 

You groaned softly as his hands left your face to occupy your waist, lingering long enough to squeeze you gently before descending lower to your thighs and hoisting you against him. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, ankles crossed against the dip of his back. 

Logan swallowed your gasp as his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, and he couldn’t tame his low growl of approval when you opened your mouth for him, your nails scratching lightly through his hair and tugging against the soft strands in a way that had his closed eyes rolling skyward. Carrying you back to the steel table, he set you down, his lips never detaching from yours even as your back touched the steel. Your ankles stayed crossed at his tailbone, and the way you arched your hips into his growing arousal had him groaning your name against your lips.

The sweet scent of your slick drove him fucking wild, and he knew he had to stop himself before he fucked you here and now on this godforsaken table. He drew back from you, jaw falling open as you dug your nails into his shoulders. Fuck you looked so good, a passionate flush dusted your cheeks, your lips slightly reddened from his mouth. He panted against you, attempting to catch his breath. “We can’t, n–”

“Not here, right?” you finished, frustrated irritation lacing your tone. “Then where, Lo’? Because so far, it hasn’t been anywhere.” You finished, sitting up as he pulled away from your legs. “What’re you so afraid of?” It was your turn to gently pry, hoping to gain insight as to why he always stopped just when things were getting good. 

He looked away from you, tensing his jaw against your question. “‘M not afraid…” 

“That’s a lie.”

His eyes shot back to look at you, recalling the last time he called you out. He’d used that same phrase, that same no-bullshit tone. Logan debated shooting back at you the same way you did back then, but at the same time, he wasn’t that petty. He could be petty, sure, but not that petty.

He ran a hand down the side of his face, taking a deep breath. He heard you shift on the table, your hand gently pulling his palm down. “I’m not made of glass, I won’t shatter.”

But that’s exactly what he was afraid of. “I– I’m good at controlling my instincts most of the time… but when I feel you like that… when I can smell how you react to me, it gets so much more difficult. I’m so afraid of hurting you,” he confessed, and you silently pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You’re not gonna hurt me, Logan. Was your plan to just, not have sex this whole relationship?” you asked softly, watching as he processed the wording of your question. 

“Well, no but, is that what this is…?” he asked slowly, and you raised a brow.

“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends, Lo’, but I guessed we never really discussed it…” you mused, not a single worry on your mind. You were what you were, labels didn’t really matter to you, and you had a feeling they didn’t matter to him either. 

“Hate the title of boyfriend,” He wrinkled his nose and you snorted a laugh. “Makes me sound like some inexperienced kid.”

“How would I know how experienced you are, you refuse to have sex with me. Maybe it’s appropriate.” You teased, and Logan shot you a dark look full of even darker promises. “I’m not too bothered either way, to be honest. We don’t have to put a label on things. We’re just…”

“Together.” He finished, his dark glare softening at the words he uttered and how right they felt. 

“Exactly. And you’re not the only one who can heal, remember?” You flashed him a grin now it was his turn to blink. “Now look who’s forgetting things.” He returned your smile before pulling you in for another lingering kiss, both his hands braced against the soft skin of your waist. He hadn’t forgotten about the scars on your wrists, nor the way you’d cried for him in your unconscious state, but he’d save those questions for later, for when you weren’t in the med bay still wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing three days ago.

Not that he minded. You smelt irresistible. 

Footsteps echoed in his ears from behind the door, and he separated from you. He glanced to the door in response to your look of confusion just as the two halves separated and Jean strode through, stopping immediately upon seeing you.

“You’re awake! How’re you feeling?” she asked, setting down her mug of coffee on the desk before crossing to the flatlined heart monitor and switching it off, the screen going dark.

“Physically or mentally?” you asked, a little sarcastically, and Logan had to pretend he was extremely interested in the screens around Jean’s desk, covering his mouth with his palm to hide his smile.

“You were out for three days, it’s only natural for me to ask.” She responded flatly, shooting Logan a pointed look which he chose to ignore.

“I’m fine. Weirded out and I wanna know why this keeps happening, but I’m fine.” You shrugged, wanting nothing more than to head up to your room, shower until you burn off all of your skin, and fall into bed. Preferably with Logan by your side, but you’d take what you could get with that whole situation. 

Jean shifted on her feet, busying herself with the monitor, and Logan picked up the distinct scent of discomfort. “The Professor’s working on it, for now, he wants you to rest, maybe take a break from training and teaching, too.”

You scoffed, standing up from the table. “He gonna send me away for another two years, yeah? Keep the big bad wolf away from the children? Just in case I go ape-shit again and commit mass murder. Seems like a sound plan, worked last time, didn’t it? Oh, except it didn’t, because I’ve only been back two months and the same fucking thing happened. Only this time we got lucky because Claws over here can’t fucking die” You spat, annunciating every fucking syllable. 

Logan shifted his gaze to you, giving you a look as if to ask why he was being dragged into this. You responded with something he could only interpret as apologetic. Good enough.

“It wasn’t like that–”

“It was and you know it, don’t you?” Logan chimed in, suddenly feeling the need to rush to your defence. You’d already been through enough today, you didn’t need to be gaslit to be added to the pile. “Just like you know more about what’s going on here, right?” He raised a brow, coming to stand by your side, an arm braced against your shoulder. 

Whatever Logan had noticed, you trusted his instincts, staying silent as Jean straightened, her gaze steely. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Logan,” she responded plainly, before turning to you. “And since you seem well enough to wander around and rifle through my equipment, I’d say you’re well enough to head out.” It was as rude as Jean was ever going to get without being unprofessional and telling you to get the fuck out. 

You raised your head, narrowing your eyes in challenge, before deciding that maybe scrapping so soon after you woke up was a bad idea. So instead you turned on your heel, striding out the door with your dignity and without leaking blood. 

Logan fell into step beside you, his palm resting at the small of your back. “Ya know, she could barely contain you when you went all… freaky. You’re strong as shit.” He smirked down at you, and your eyes widened along with your smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You both entered the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. “Fuckin’ A.” You grinned, and if he was being honest with himself, Logan didn’t think he’d ever been more proud of you.

“I’ll be below so if you need anythin’, just shout, I’ll hear ya,” Logan instructed so sincerely your heart skipped a beat. After insisting he made you a rudimentary evening snack of grilled cheese, he’d escorted you up the stairs and into your room and was now looking into your eyes with such seriousness it made you laugh a little.

“Logan, I’m taking a shower, not heading into the Colosseum. Though, you’d know all about that, right? What were the Romans like?” you asked, feigning innocence when he rolled his eyes. “What? I’m curious.”

“Glad ya feelin’ better, freak.” He flicked your forehead and you chuckled, not bothering to swipe his hand away. “If you need anything–”

“Howl at the moon three times and spin in a circle yeah Logan I get it. Now clear off so I can shower, I smell like a dead horse.” You shooed him away, but he caught both your hands in one of his own, his bare arms flexing as he pulled you closer so he could lean into your ear.

“You smell fucking delicious,” he growled and your knees almost buckled. Fuck, how could he do that with one small phrase? “But I’ll let ya go, see you later.” He pecked a kiss to your lips, brows raising in surprise when you leaned into him in a much more passionate display before you pulled away far too quickly for his liking.

“See you in a bit!” you beamed, before heading into your ensuite and shutting the door, leaving him standing breathless in the middle of your room. 

You were gonna be the fucking death of him. If he could die, that is.

To say your shower was refreshing was an understatement. Scalding water seared your skin slightly, leaving behind delicious tingles of cleanliness as you scrubbed the last three days of unconsciousness from your skin, using the wild bluebell shower gel Ororo had gifted you for Christmas last year. It was definitely one of your favourite scents –other than pinewood, smoke and whiskey, obviously– but it was the gel you used the least out of fear of running out of it. You lathered your skin, shivering slightly as you remembered the way Logan was holding you earlier. The way his fingers dug into your thighs, the way he squeezed your waist. 

You had to shake yourself back to reality before you used all the water in the goddamn mansion. Quickly rinsing yourself, you switched off the shower and snatched the towel hanging from the hook on the back of the door and opened the window to let out some of the steam. Drying yourself off, you vaguely hoped your plants would forgive you for neglecting them for three days, though a delusional part of you said they’d understand.

Maybe you were losing your mind. 

You finished up moisturising your face, rubbing in the last bits of cream and securing your towel around your chest before opening the door to your room, steam rolling from the bathroom and onto your sad-looking tropical plants, who you swore instantly perked up. 

“Yeah yeah, no need to be so dramatic Herbert, I’m sure you can survive three days without me.” You said to your Herringbone Plant. You found that naming them and giving them all personalities helped with the development and growth… or so you told yourself. 

You crossed to your built-in wardrobe, pausing as you saw an incredibly familiar flannel on your window seat. You had a vague recollection of Logan setting it down when he took a seat there, the two of you talking for a minute of thirty before you finally remembered you needed a shower. 

Considering how little he seemed to talk to the rest of the teachers here, it served to make you feel pretty damn special the way he would talk for hours with you. You smiled thinking about it, picking up the shirt and feeling the material beneath your fingers. It still smelt like him, and your smile widened further.

There was a quick knock at your door, and you barely had time to welcome whoever it was before it opened. “Sorry, forgot my– fuck.”

Logan stood in your doorway, his eyes shamelessly looking you up and down, from your heat-flushed collar to the tops of your thighs where your towel cut off, down to your feet before trailing back up. “Fuck…” he repeated, and your breath quickened just like that.

Maybe he could die. Because there was no possible way he’d just survived looking at you this way. You looked edible, for fuck’s sake, and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into the side of your neck and listen to you whimper beneath him. He closed his eyes against the images plaguing his mind, hoping to hell neither Charles nor Jean were prowling around the mansion’s minds.

“Looking for this?” you asked, your tone laced with faux innocence as you held up his shirt. “Shame, I was just about to see how good it looked on me.” You pouted, and Logan closed the door with the back of his foot in response.

“Don’t let me stop you.” His eyes were dark, pupils blown with lust as he watched you thread your arms through the sleeves that were much too big for you. 

Oh, you were having too much fun with this game, making sure the flannel covered your ass as you turned away from him, letting the towel fall from around your chest to pool at your feet. You grinned wildly at his audible groan as you started feeding the buttons through their respective holes, stopping just low enough that your nipples were covered, but not much else.

You took a step back, glancing at your appearance in your floor-length mirror on the opposite side of your room. “Think it suits me, personally,” you turned, placing a hand on your waist, accentuating just how baggy his clothes were on you. “Don’t you?”

Logan’s chest heaved at the sight of you in his clothes. His clothes. Your hips swayed as you sauntered towards him, hooking your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans and tugging him closer. His breath hitched as you traced your fingertips across his naval, only briefly dipping below the waist of his jeans, untucking the white singlet he was wearing. “Cat got your tongue?” your voice was as softly teasing as your fingers, his entire body shivering as your hands skirted beneath the white fabric, your palm cooler against his heated skin.

“You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart.” He grit as you thumbed the thick vein pulsing just inside his hip bone. That sweet scent of your arousal hit him like a truck as you leaned up to his ear, biting softly at the sensitive skin just beneath. 

“Then ain’t it just peachy I can heal?” you used his phrasing from before, and it was Logan’s undoing. Ducking back, he crashed his lips onto yours, your mouth eagerly parting to allow his thick tongue to dance with yours. He wrenched your hands from his front, throwing them around his neck as he lifted you from the floor in exactly the same way he did not an hour ago. 

Though this time you moaned freely as your core pushed against the steadily growing steel in his jeans. He bucked his hips in response, growling as you both all but fell onto the bed, your hands tightening their rough grip in his hair. He let his eyes roll as he nipped the supple flesh of your lips, trailing open-mouthed kisses down to your chin, over your jaw and into your neck. His tongue smoothing the sharp bites he left against your skin.

“Logan…” you breathed his name when he found the scar on the side of your neck, your hands clawing at his shoulders when he sucked a small bruise against the mark. You gasped, tilting your head up to provide him with easier access.

His hands had been trailing up and down your sides, venturing beneath his shirt, feeling your bare skin against his palm. Your chest inflated as he teased the underside of your breasts with his fingers, and he nipped against that spot on your neck at the same time as encasing your breasts in his hands. You whimpered beneath him and it was everything he’d dreamed of, and so much more. 

“Fuck, sweetheart you’re killin’ me.” He groaned as you wrapped your legs around his waist again, pulling his clothed cock closer to your core. His hands squeezed and groped at the soft skin of your chest, rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to hear you gasp again.

He could tell you were getting impatient, your hands trailing down his back to the hem of his singlet, pulling it up to his shoulders. He drew back from you briefly, sitting on his heels and pulling the top over his head. You swore you drooled.

“Holy shit Lo’, you’ve been keepin’ this from me?” You followed him up, your legs still wrapped around his hips as your hands found the muscles of his abs, drinking in every valley, plain and peak of his physique. Your fingers grazed up through the hair dusting his chest, bracing against the hard plateaus of his pecs. “Fuck me…” you breathed in disbelief, and Logan responded with a wild smirk.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he trailed off, hands cupping the sides of your neck as he brought you in for another searing kiss. Logan gently pushed you back down on the bed, swallowing your low moans of need. His fingers deftly plucked at the buttons of his shirt, exposing more of your body for his hands to feast on. He pulled back again to shove the material off your shoulders, dragging it from beneath you to discard on the floor. “Gorgeous.” He uttered under his breath.

You were completely bare before him, and his eyes locked onto every perfect imperfection on your body, from the various scars on your chest and stomach to the small dents left behind by his own fingertips. You panted softly, placing a foot against his shoulder just as he went to lean back down and hold your lips hostage once again.

“Even this up, Howlett.” You breathed, and Logan turned his head to nip your ankle sharply. Though before he could even think about loosening his belt, you’d already surged forward, your hands flying to the buckle at his waist, your head ducking into the crook of his neck you so often liked to nestle into. Only this time you bit savagely, earning yourself a surprise, husky groan. 

There was a soft clink of metal as you pulled at the leather around his waist, placing it within arm’s reach. Just in case, you told yourself as you licked at the slight salt of his clavicle. You popped the button of his jeans, careful to pull down the zipper before shoving the rough fabric down below his hips. Logan tugged them the rest of the way, shoving them somewhere with the rest of the discarded clothes. 

You fell back against the pillows of your bed, unable to stop yourself from biting your lip as you devoured the sight of his tented briefs, his heaving chest and dark eyes. Crawling back over your sprawled form, Logan dipped back to your neck, ghosting his lips down across your collarbones, his tongue lavishing the dip between the bone and your throat, before descending further between your breasts. 

He nipped at the soft flesh, his mouth fluttering from left to right as if he couldn’t pick which one he wanted to devour. Your back arched in desperation, pushing your pebbled nipples further into his face before he sucked one into his mouth, teething slightly the sensitive skin. You gasped his name, your nails returning to his sinewy shoulders as pleasure coursed through your veins, one of your hands reaching up to grip the headboard behind you. Fuck he was good at this, switching between sucking softly and nipping sharply, before releasing your breath with a gentle pop, only to devour the other. 

Your hips bucked against his abdomen and he moaned against you, grinding his desperate cock against the soft fabric of your duvet. He wanted to taste you first, wanted to feel you on his tongue before he even thought about fucking you. His hands replaced his mouth on your breasts as he travelled further down your body, biting and sucking every scar he came across before he was nestled sweetly between your thighs, drowning in the sickly sweet scent of your dripping arousal glistening between your thighs, the coarse, dark hair around your cunt now completely damp.

Anticipation set your nerves alight as you waited for him to do something, anything. And you threw your head back when his lips settled on your inner thigh, finding yet another scar for his tongue and teeth to explore. You whined softly, needily when he skipped your pussy completely, moving to the other side and leaving a mess of bruises for you to inspect later. 

“Fuck Logan, do something!” You managed to grit, feeling his huffed laughter fan your aching cunt. 

“I am doing somethin’ baby. Wanna be more specific?” he teased lightly, fingers tracing circles against your outer thigh. You bucked your hips towards his face, grinding into thin air. You called to him like a siren calls to a lost sailor, and he was all too happy to fall into the ocean for you as long as he was allowed to stay here for the rest of his long life. 

“Fuck me with your tongue goddamnit!” you spat impatiently, and he grinned victoriously. His grip tightened against your thighs as he dragged you down and onto his face, his lips instantly latching onto your swollen clit. 

You pitched back, spine arching as you pinched your lips together to stop yourself from crying out. Bolts of electric pleasure struck each and every nerve, setting you on fire as you writhed beneath his tongue, your hands darting to his hair, dragging him to where you needed him most.

Logan’s deep groan reverberated against your throbbing pearl, adding another layer to your ecstasy, and you barely managed to make a mental note that he liked his hair pulled before you were drowning in honey-laced lightning once again. 

You tasted better than he could ever imagine, and he’d imagined this a lot in the last two months. Your slick like morning dew on his tongue, he ate you out as if he were starved. He guessed he was, in a way. Starved of having you like this, a whimpering, moaning mess beneath him. It fucked with his head, the way you sounded so submissive and yet the grip in his hair was anything but. His cock throbbed with each tug, tip leaking copiously as one of his hands shifted from the outside of your thigh to inside, teasing your throbbing entrance with his fingertips. 

Your mouth hung open as he slowly inserted a thick finger, your walls clamping down as if he would try to escape. Logan latched onto your clit once again, sucking along with every pulse of his wrist, the pad of his fingertip massaging that delicious bundle of nerves hidden inside your cunt. 

Back arching, chest heaving, you held his head exactly there, not letting him move as you could feel those knots tighten and tense, the thread of your arousal building to snap into a mind-blowing orgasm. Your hips undulated in time to the pumps of his finger and the sucks of your clit, riding his face with each pulse of hot pleasure.

You couldn’t stop your pitched whine as he slowly inserted a second finger into your tight cunt, curling them against your liquid heat. You gasped his name to the sky above, managing to crack your eyes open and look down to where he’d made a home between your thighs. 

Sensing your gaze on him, Logan raised his eyes to yours. Your pinched brows, flush face, and gaping mouth were all the encouragement he needed to tongue-fuck you with renewed vigour, lapping at your leaking essence with reckless abandon.

“Fuck! F–fuck, Logan… ‘m gonna cum. G’gonna– gonna make me cum!” you warned, and he responded with nothing but a dark, sadistic smirk as he ground his fingers against that spot that made you see stars.

With another, long suck of your clit, you came undone, the wire finally snapping as you barrelled into your orgasm. Your hands clawed at the sheets by your head, your back arched off the bed with a soft cry of his name. Logan held you fast against his face, eliciting a deep moan, loudly slurping your release like it would in any way satiate his thirst for you. But it only served as an aphrodisiac for his own neglected desires. 

Shadows trembled around the room as you panted with each wave of ecstasy, your hips bucking with no rhyme or reason against his face until the pleasure became a little too much, a little too intense, and you had to tug him away by his hair, gasping as you were met with resistance before he acquiesced.  

You felt like you were floating, basking in the cloud-like afterglow of your high, only to be brought back by Logan’s hand cupping your face, guiding you to look at him and his smug smirk.

“Still with me?” he asked cockily, and you didn’t have the mind to do anything but nod and laugh lightly.

“Yeah, just about. I take it back… You’re definitely experienced…” you breathed and he hummed a chuckle against your cheek. 

“Been around for a while, you learn a thing or two,” he grinned before his jaw went slack with a silent moan. He hadn’t noticed your hand move from beside your head, only realising when you palmed his steel cock through his briefs. You gently pushed his shoulder until he rolled onto his back, swinging your leg over his waist to seat yourself atop his aching heat, rolling your hips slightly and watching as his head fell back, neck exposed for you.

Leaning down, you licked a long stripe up his throat and along the rough stubble beneath his bearded jaw, pinching his ear between your teeth. You tugged slightly, and his hands braced against your waist, guiding you to continue your movements with your hips. You wanted to take your time with him the same way he did with you, but your desperation to feel him inside of you outweighed your yearning to both hear and taste him cum on your tongue. 

Sitting back on your heels, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of his briefs, dragging them down over his muscular thighs, smirking slightly as his cock sprang back to lightly slap against his naval. He was fucking delectable, flushed tip leaking clear slick, veins pulsing down either side of his shaft. You pushed down the want to trace them with your tongue as you shoved his fabric past his knees. 

Logan kicked off his briefs a little too eagerly, and if he wasn’t so drunk off arousal, he would check his behaviour. But the truth was, he didn’t care. Not in this moment. Not when you scooted back a little to take his member in your hands, slowly sliding your palms up and down. 

“Shit darlin’, like that. Fuck, just like that…” he groaned lowly, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as you circled his tip with the centre of your palm. His hips bucked into your grip as you alternated your hands, using a corkscrew motion that had him squeezing his eyes shut, every sense consumed by the pleasure you were giving him. 

You thumbed down one of those pulsing veins and watched as he inhaled sharply, bearing his teeth in a silent, heated snarl. Biting your lip, you rose on your knees, leaning forwards before sinking onto his cock. 

Your back arched as he filled you, stretching your needy cunt deliciously. A long, low moan rose from the depths of Logan’s chest as you seated yourself fully, your cunt pulsing rhythmically around his sensitive heat. Taking a moment to adjust to the feeling, your nails sank into the muscles of his chest, slowly clawing down to his naval and watching as his brows pinched in desperation.

If you were feeling a little meaner, you’d have made him wait. But you’d both waited long enough, so you languidly rolled your hips, mouth falling open as his tip grazed the spot his fingers had been massaging not moments ago. “Logan…” you uttered breathlessly, falling into a steady tempo. 

The shadows of the room quivered and shifted along with your movements, and you felt an itch along your back up to your shoulder blades. Logan cracked his eyes open, watching as the darkness around the room morphed into those same two, broad wings he’d seen that first time your mutation flared. However, nothing was threatening about the sight. If anything, seeing the way they flexed and fluttered as you picked up your pace filled him with a sense of wonder. Fuck you were so fucking beautiful.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you, fighting with his instincts to pound up into you in favour of savouring the way your hips ground against him, your cunt squeezing him in a vice grip, obsidian wings extending towards the edges of your room. Rising into a sit, you whimpered softly with the slight jostle, before downright crying out as his fingers grazed the shadowy membrane. 

You panted into his parted lips, barely able to form a thought other than how fucking good he felt inside you as you bounced on his cock, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and clawing red hot lines down the thick muscles of his back. Logan growled in your ear, no longer able to resist the urge to fuck up into your molten ecstasy.

“You’re so fuckin’ good sweetheart. Feel so fuckin’ good.” he groaned, moving his hand from your wind to your waist, encouraging your movements. He could tell you were close, your thighs shaking slightly both with the effort and the pleasure, your pitched whimpers fanning his neck as you buried your head, nipping and biting in the space where his shoulder met his throat. 

“‘M so fucking close… fuck ‘m so close!” you gaped, nails still scratching down his back, earning yourself yet another delicious growl. Logan bucked his hips, pulling your head back from his neck by your hair to look him in the eye. He wanted to watch. Craved the sight of you losing control on his cock, because of his cock. The hand on your waist skirted down between your thighs, fingers expertly playing with your clit as you crested your high.

Head thrown back, spine arched, you exploded in euphoria, pleasure coursing through your body like a tidal wave, crashing on the shore. Your wings flared in either direction, shaking as he continued to grind his tip deep inside you, rubbing your swollen, sensitive pearl ruthlessly. Breathing came second to feeling, unable to inhale as you all but seized up completely, your muscles trembling along with every wave of your orgasm. 

Logan panted against the hollow of your throat, all and any self-control quickly dissolving as he recklessly flipped you both over, your clock and lamp clattering to the floor as the tips of your void-like wings swept beneath you, his hands gripping the pillow beside your head.

Seeing you cum on him like that, feeling your walls tightened and quiver, Logan lost every semblance of self-control he was clinging to. Sinking his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your neck, he pounded into you relentlessly. Pure, unadulterated pleasure spiked through his system as you whimpered and whined beneath him, your nails clutching his shoulders, breaking the skin and clinging on. 

“Fuckin’ perfect for me. Shit darlin’, squeezing me so good.” He snarled before his teeth returned to the dents he’d made against your neck. He tasted iron as he bit down and you cried out in pain-addled pleasure, dragging your sharp nails from his shoulders, down either side of his spine, to the dip in his back. Your ankles locked around his waist, and it was his undoing. 

Logan’s hips stuttered as he utterly lost control, his staggered groan muffled by the skin of your neck, eyes screwed so tight he saw stars. His fingers gripped the fabric on either side of your head, razor-sharp claws ripping through the threads and sinking into the headboard as he hit his climax, bucking with each spasm of ecstasy flooding his veins. His cock reached new depths as he filled you so completely, anchoring deep within your cunt. Muscles flexing and contracting, he rode out his orgasm as your tight walls milked him for all he was worth, before he almost collapsed into you, his chest heaving.

He struggled to recall a time when he’d cum so fucking hard, his ears almost ringing as those sharp bolts of pleasure started to recede and he pulled his teeth from your neck, tongue swiping up the small trickles of blood he’d drawn. 

Were you still alive? Honestly, you couldn’t tell, feeling so weightless you were sure your soul had left your body. You only knew you were still clutching to the mortal coil because of the satisfying scratch in your shoulder blades as those shadows returned to the room, leaving you with just your corporeal body. 

Logan rose on his arms, his claws retracting into his knuckles as he looked down at you, and you looked up at him, both speechless. Why the fuck had the two of you waited so long to do that. Your brows pinched as he pulled out of you, his hand cupping the side of your face. Since neither of you could form words, he encouraged you to speak through your lips, moulding his own against your mouth.

And you poured every ounce of your adoration into him, arms circling his shoulders, holding him close. You could feel his grin growing before he drew back from you, sweat sliding down his brow.

You responded by mirroring his smile, laughter bubbling from your chest. “Holy shit…” you manage to breathe as he rolled off you, drawing you into his tight embrace. 

He inhaled deeply, basking in the scent of flowers, iron, sweat and sex. “Yeah…” was all he could say, still finding himself reeling a little. “Sorry ‘bout your neck. And your pillows. And headboard… and lamp……” he paused sheepishly. “And the clock.”

You giggled madly as he rolled onto his back, pulling you with him and using you almost as a blanket. You folded your arms across his chest, Bracing your chin atop the backs of your hands and gazed up at him whilst he got comfortable, an arm propped up behind his head. “Please, I think a clock and lamp are worth possibly the best sex I’ve had in my life.” You smirked, bending your legs at the knee for your heels to rest at your tailbone. 

“Yeah? Better than the infamous Shots Shack bin shed?” he teased, cocking a brow.

“Know your limits, Howlett,” You bit back, to his deep chuckle of amusement. Letting the silence settle for a moment, you allowed yourself to reflect on what had just transpired, blinking in realisation as you remembered. “Did… did I pull the shadows…?” you asked slowly, and Logan’s smile widened to a toothy grin.

“Yep. Now that I think about it… this might be a good way to train.” You smacked his chest, your face a picture of faux scandal. 

“Logan Howlett, are you suggesting we have sex every time we train?” You asked in mock offence, unable to keep your façade as he genuinely debated it for a moment. “Not sure Charles would be too pleased. Or Scott, for that matter.”

“I’m sure they’d get over it,” he responded and you snorted a laugh, rising from his chest to sit at his side, stretching your sore arms and back. Your neck throbbed a little, but honestly, you didn’t mind, it served as a reminder of the pleasure you’d just shared. It was the best kind of pain. 

The idea of showering now filled you with dread. You couldn’t be fucking bothered, realistically. Besides, Logan seemed to like it when you smelt like a dead horse earlier. Settling on your decision, you tugged at the duvet beneath you both, clambering beneath the soft blanket and snuggling into his side, an arm slung across his front, ear pressed against the beat of his heart.

A fond smile pulled at his lips as he looked down at you nestled against his chest, your deep sigh fanning his pecs. It had been far too long since he’d felt peace like this. Far too long since he’d felt this kind of comfort, it almost made his eyes water, only now recognising how fucking lonely he’s felt. 

Sinking back into the pillows, Logan’s arms wrapped around your tired form, holding you close. God fucking help anything or anyone that dares try and take this away from him. He’d lost too much, and though he was terrified of losing you too, it only solidified that he’d fight claw, tooth and nail to keep you safe.

Your breathing steadied as you succumbed to the exhaustion and slow, soothing swipes of Logan’s thumb against your waist. It would take a while for him to fall asleep, and he wished he’d had the foresight to bring a cigar with him when he came to retrieve his flannel. But just like you with your shower, the idea of even leaving the bed wasn’t even worth entertaining, let alone the idea of leaving you.

So instead he simply lay with you, listening to the sound of your breathing and the beat your your heart, until sleep knocked at the door of his mind, and he closed his eyes.

Only to snap awake mere hours later. What the time was, he had no idea, your clock at been knocked to the ground in the tryst. You’d both shifted in your sleep and whilst your head was still buried in his chest, he’d turned to face you. 

Logan’s eyes blinked against the darkness, adjusting rapidly to the severe lack of light. Something was off. He could sense it. 

Silently, his claws fed through his knuckles, instinctively moving his hands from your body as he slowly raised his head.

And froze solid.

Seven humanoid figures draped in smoking shadow stood around the bed, heads cocked to the same side as if their necks had been snapped. His pulse quickened, adrenaline pumping through his veins, fight or flight response triggered.

Although, there was never much flight involved when it came to Logan. He didn’t move, not out of fear, but to not provoke anything. They stood unnaturally still, simply watching with eyeless faces. You shifted in your sleep, and Logan spared a glance at your vulnerable state, his protective instincts flaring wildly at this unknown threat. 

Simultaneously, they all began to sink into the floor, and Logan watched with subdued horror as their bodies faded into the darkness as you stirred awake.

“Lo’? You ‘kay?” you asked groggily, your eyes heavy with sleep. 

He nodded. “Fine. Heard something ‘s’all.” He lied, though making a promise to tell you the truth once the sun had risen. “Probably just one of the kids. Go back to sleep,” he smoothed your hair from your face as he settled back next to you, wrapping you up safely in his arms. You breathed deeply, murmuring something even he couldn’t comprehend before you were dragged once again back to sleep.

Logan stayed awake until long into the small hours of the morning, watching the room with vigilance, glancing it at you with each slight sound you made in your sleep. But whatever those things were, they didn’t return that night. 

[joshs-big-toe]

I Hate That I Love You

a/n: hey my loves, this fanfic that i wrote is definitely a gift because of my lack of writing. i tried something new and wrote this one in first person POV, so let me know if you like that. i do want to give a warning up front, this contains spoilers for the beekeeper movie as well as an ending that made my proofreader, @peetas-nose, say "what the fuck". derek danforth will never get a happy ending.

edit: I LOVE YALL BUT I WARNED YOU IT WOULD BE SAD

CW: heavy smut, p in v, fem!reader, aggressive sex, mentions of drinking and drug use(cocaine), oral sex(fem!receiving), depressing ending, SPOILERS

word count: 3844

PRESENT DAY

Derek Danforth. Momma's boy. Rich kid. 28 year old man-child. Let me be clear, Derek wasn't always this way. He was kind once upon a time. He was always rich, don’t get me wrong, but god when his mother was campaigning, he turned into the biggest asshole you could imagine. When he changed is when I broke up with him. We were 24 when I ended things between us. Though, things never ended between us truly. I was tired of the selfish person he had become. But then again, I use him for things too. He has money, I get sex, it's a win-win situation. This sounds like a prostitute situation, it’s not. He doesn't pay me, not necessarily, but my life has never been difficult since our agreement. I make him look good, he gives me benefits. I’m getting ahead of myself, though. Let me rewind to four years ago. 

FOUR YEARS AGO

I sat down on the couch, running my hands down my face before I looked up at him. “Fuck, Derek, you’re not the same person I met! What happened to you?” Derek paced in front of me. He was manhandling a glass of whisky. I honestly was afraid he was going to spill it. 

“Y/N, you know I’m doing this for my mom!” His words were slurred. He had started drinking a few months prior when his mom first started talking about running for President. President, ha, fucking insane, right? Not to Derek and not to his mom. I hated it the moment he picked up his first glass, flipping through websites, spending hours up all night on the phone. He did some shit that I’m still in the dark about. I shot up from the couch, snatching the glass out of his hand. His eyes bore into mine, sending a chill up my spine. “Give it back, y/n.”

“Derek, your moms life has become your life. What are you doing with your money? Why are you doing this, this isn’t who you are!” He set his jaw, taking a step forward toward me. 

“Give it here.” His voice was almost too calm at this point. I loosened my grip on the glass, allowing it to fall to the ground and shatter on impact. “Fucking hell, are you fucking serious right now?” 

“Oops,” I shrugged, sitting back on the couch. My arm rested on the arm rest and I crossed one leg over the other. “Get your head out of your ass or you lose me, Derek. Thats how this is going to be.” I motioned toward him, studying his blazer and whatever-the-fuck expensive shoes he was wearing. “This… This is not who you are, or were, Derek.” 

“I’m doing all this shit for her, not me, don’t you get that?”

“I call bullshit on that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said I call bullshit.” He started pacing, running his hands through his hair. I followed him with my eyes, studying his movements, the crunch from the broken glass under his shoes. He paused in front of me, looking down at me. 

“I am working my ass off, getting more money than you could ever comprehend for the sake of her. You don’t fucking understand the fucking stress I’m fucking under!” I was taken back. More money than I could ever comprehend. Ouch. I stand up and take a step toward him, our noses almost touching. I could smell the whisky on his breath and see the frustration and anger in his eyes.

“I can’t do this, Derek. I can’t be with, whoever this is, because it’s not the person I fell in love with.” I ran my hand through my hair as I began to walk away. 

“Y/N, help me with this!” He was almost shouting. I shook my head, but before I could get too far, Derek grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms, pushing his lips against mine. I fucking hated the taste of whisky, and I hated how I did not want to break away from the kiss. My brain immediately became foggy with arousal. Something about the way his lips moved against mine sent a tremor of heat down in my core. His hand trailed up my arm and to the back of my neck, holding me against him. My mouth gapped, allowing him to slip his tongue into my mouth. Our mouths worked perfectly with each other, drawing me deeper into the kiss. I finally somewhat came to my senses, pulling away briefly, him still attacking my lips as I spoke.

“We,” his lips connected to mine. “Fuck, we’re still done after this.”

“Yeah,” I leaned in, desperately connecting my lips to his again making him gap his sentence. “Okay fine, just shut up.” Shut up I did. As much as I hated who he had become, or more accurately stated, who he was becoming, I couldn’t deny sex. He was insanely good at it, even though he seemed almost careless. And for some reason, his carelessness was why it was so intoxicating. Derek groaned, shoving me down onto the couch, pushing the breath out of me. He moved quick, sliding my shirt and jeans off of me, leaving in nothing but my bra and panties. He bit his lower lip before leaning down to attach his lips to mine again. I could feel him fumbling with his belt before throwing it to the ground, momentarily breaking our kiss to slide out of his dress pants and boxers. His cock sprung out leaving nothing to the imagination. Derek was only slightly above average, but fuck he knew how to work his body with mine. I looked at him, noticing a bead of precum forming at the tip, turning me on that much more. He pulled my panties down to my ankles before turning me onto my stomach, pulling my ass into the air. As he pulled my hair back, I heard him spit into his hand before the wet sounds of him stroking his own cock filled the room. I was getting impatient. I decided to push my ass against him, however I earned myself a hair pull. “We may be done after this,” he huffed, “but we can keep having fun, yeah?” He sighed out as he slowly pushed into me. “I can’t get enough of this fucking pussy, you understand that?” I tried to nod, but the grip on my hair was too tight. I opened my mouth to speak, however as i tried he began pulling in and out of me and grabbing at my ass to roughly pull me onto him. A moan escaped my lips instead of words. “What.” he growled out, not stopping his movements. If anything, it made him go faster. “Did I fuck the words out of your mouth already?” His breathing picked up as he continued his pace. His nails dragged into my ass, making me whine in a pleasured pain. 

“D-Derek, fuck,” I struggled to answer him. I felt one hand reach around me and push a finger against my clit. Derek groaned, the sound of skin slapping overpowering any other sound that was in the room. His used his finger to circle my clit. I felt him plant soft kisses on my back as he worked at the bundle of nerves. He released my hair and grabbed my ass again and began to push and pull me off of him again. 

“Struggling to use your words, y/n? Come on baby, use those words. Even if we aren’t together, you'll still let me use you right?” I could feel his breath on my neck. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pleasure coursing through my body.

“W-what~ aha fuck- whats in it f-for me?” I managed out, trying to stifle my moans. He was pounding into me at this point, his finger still pressing against my clit. I was struggling to keep it together. There was a heat rising up in my lower belly as I felt my orgasm approaching. “F-fucking hell, Derek.”

“Whats in it for you?” His voice was low and his movements were erratic. He was close too. “A life of p-pleasure- fuck.. No more struggling. B-benefits.” I tipped over the edge, my orgasm spreading through my body as I clenched around him. I buried my face into the cushion of the couch, crying out in the pleasure of the orgasm ripping through me. His hands felt their way to my hips, his breathing ragged as i felt him twitch before filling me up with his cum. He pulled out, turning me over onto my back, watching me as I caught my breath. “So,” he panted. “Your answer?”

“You,” I paused to take a breath. “I’m here for whatever you need,” I began. “But I get a peaceful life in return.” He grabbed my clothes, throwing them onto me before getting his own and putting them on. After we both were dressed, he looked down at me and held out his hand.

“You have yourself a deal.” With that, the fate between us was sealed in a handshake. 

PRESENT DAY

I regretted the agreement the moment my hand touched his for the handshake. I wish I could hate Derek more, but part of me still very much loves him. The consistent sex over the next four years definitely didn’t help. Derek and I turned 28 a few months ago. He kept changing, he turned to drugs and alcohol, his fashion sense got so much worse and he decided to get these bullshit frosted tips. And I still couldn’t help but look at him and wonder what we could’ve been if he was normal. Once again, I found myself at one of his parties. I was sitting on his lap with my legs crossed while his hand rested on my thigh. On the table next to him sat a glass of whisky and a small vial of white powder, I assume cocaine. For this party, he had me dress in this form-fitting short red dress that ruffled at the end. I draped around him, putting on a show for all his little rich-boy friends. 

“You guys have any idea how much we made with that one woman alone?” Derek chimed in, his smile wide as he spoke. I smiled, looking over at Garnett as he raised his glass into the air.

“Wish I could’ve seen the look on her face as she saw that,” He paused before raising his voice. He shot his arms into the air, squeezing his eyes shut and shouting out in victory. “3.7 MILLION DOLLARS!!” All of Derek’s friends’ voices started ringing together, creating a dissonance of voices and shouts. I hated it here. I couldn’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke and the drunk men trying to poke and prod at me everywhere. Derek could see the discomfort on my face, or maybe feel it in the rigidity of my body draped over him. I feel his hand run up my thigh, the tips of his fingers resting under the hem of my dress. I look down at him, his hair looking fried and his stupid green suit he was wearing. I grimaced. He glanced in my direction, pulling my head down to where my ear met his lips.

“Liven up, y/n, we have an agreement.” He mumbled, the heat of his breath tickling my neck. 

“Oh-ho-ho,” Garnett exclaimed. “Derek wants some from his bitch!” I winced but kept a smile, even choking out a little laugh. 

“Watch it, Garnett, remember your place.” Derek’s tone was serious. Garnett raised his hands in surrender.

“My bad, my bad. I'm going to take the boys and go talk about the new branch you’re building.” Garnett stood up, his posse following close behind, giving Derek shoulder punches and shakes as they made their way out. The door slammed shut behind him, cueing me to get off of Derek and make my way to the couch. I kicked off my heels and leaned my head back against the head of the couch groaning, my eyes screwing shut. 

“You’ve been here for an hour, are you seriously acting like that right now?”

“I don’t want to hear it from you. I wore what you wanted me to, did my makeup the way you wanted me to, god forbid I’m tired of playing pretend with these jackass friends of yours.” I looked over to him. He was laid back in his chair, head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“If you’re done, I need you to tell me. I have plenty of other girls who would fight to be in the position you’re in.” His eyes met mine, a mocking smile was on his lips. I rolled my eyes and looked away, unable to hide the grin that threatened the corners of my mouth. His smile became more sincere. “That’s my girl.”

“Still not yours, Derek.”

“You are while you’re here.” He stood up and took a sip of his whisky before grabbing the vial and sauntering over to me. “You don’t understand how fucking hot you look right now.” He knelt down to the ground in front of my knees, gently spreading them apart before getting in between them. “You’re going to stay still for me, right?”

“Derek, what are you doing?” He held the small vial up and shook it in front of my face. “And you plan to…”

“Just stay fucking still.” I watched him closely, eyeing his every movement. He fumbled around his suit pockets, finding a $50 and handing it to me. “Pull your dress up, then roll that, yeah?” His face was flushed as he watched me push my dress further up my thighs, exposing my panties in full. He bit his lower lip as he looked at me, an obvious wet spot from my own arousal seeping through already. His eyes met mine, a grin plastering his face. “I love the effect I have on you, y/n.” I felt my face heat as I rolled the bill for him, knowing what he was going to do, but taken by surprise with how he did it. Derek broke eye contact first, taking the vial and unscrewing the lid. He brought it over to my thigh and carefully began pouring a line of cocaine on me. I wanted to shift, to mess him up just to see how I would react, but I was infatuated with what he was doing. Fuck I hate that he does this. I couldn’t stop him. He held his hand out, telling me he wanted the rolled up bill from me. I complied, wordlessly placing it between his thumb and pointer finger. “Good girl,” he mumbled. He turned, looking at my other thigh, quickly pouring out another small line across me. “Better stay still, understand me?” I was afraid to move. “Words, you know better.”

“Yes, Derek. Perfectly still.” He smiled. He brought the bill up to his nose, plugging one side and lowering himself close to my thigh. I tensed as he sniffed up the powder. He groaned, rubbing his nose before turning to the other thigh and doing the same thing but on the opposite side of his nose.

“Fuck,” he mumbled as he pinched his nose and sniffed again. “You still have some..” Before I could comprehend what he meant, he ran his tongue up my thigh where the line was, but did not stop. He traced the top hem of my panties until he reached the other thigh, dragging his tongue down my thigh picking up any residue from the powder that may have been left over. His eyes connected with mine, both of our faces flushed. 

“The door locks on its own, right?” I mumbled, my arousal taking control of me. That was the hottest fucking shit I have ever seen in my fucking life. He nodded, no words coming from him as the tips of his fingers dragged slowly up my thighs, hooking around my panties and sliding them down my thighs and pulling them off of me. He met my eyes again as he brought them up to his mouth, licking my arousal off of them before discarding them to the side. Fuck that made my stomach flip. His pupils were already blown, not looking away from me as he pulled me down the couch until my ass was barely on it. I sigh as he maintains contact, leaning down and planting a kiss on my pubic bone. 

“Such a perfect little pussy,” he mumbled onto me. The movement of his lips against me made my body jolt. “All for me, too. Fuck,” he pressed his tongue against my clit, moving his head up and down, my eyes following his. He groaned onto me as I wrapped my legs around his shoulders. My hands found their way into his hair making him nip at me in response. “Hands to yourself,” He growled, shoving his tongue into me. His movements became faster and more erratic and his hands squeezed at my thighs. I groaned, trying to focus on him and his movements, but the pleasure that was spreading through me was almost too much. His nose pushed against my clit as he tongue-fucked me, the heat building within me rapidly. My body begged for release as he pulled away, denying me, before standing up and grabbing my jaw and spitting in my mouth. “The things you fucking do to me even after all these fucking years. God I can’t believe I ever let you leave.” His words took me by surprise, but he took me into a needy, heated kiss before I had the chance to respond. His tongue worked its way into my mouth, making the kiss deeper. I reached up toward his pants and began unbuttoning them and waited for him to stop me. If anything, he gave me more access to slide them down. I began to palm him through his boxers, a groan escaping into my mouth. “T-take them off,” he growled before immediately attaching his lips to mine again. I obliged, not waiting before dropping his boxers to the ground. He wasted no time before stepping out of them. My hand connected to his cock, slowly pumping it. He stifled a moan. “Fuck I love the way you fucking touch me. Like nobody else in the fucking world. You drive me insane, y/n.” He pushed me back on the couch as he removed his blazer, throwing it off to the side somewhere in the room. I began to turn onto my stomach but he stopped me. 

“I thought-”

“Just shut the fuck up, will you? You think too much sometimes.” He grabbed one of my legs and draped it over his shoulder. His eyes met mine, focusing on my face as he slowly pushed himself into me. Just the tip. I didn’t look away despite every bone in my body telling me to. He started moving his tip in and out of me, my hands grabbing at his shirt to try and get him to fully push in. I am desperate, and with desperation comes begging, and with begging, I come apart. 

“Fucking hell, Derek please just-” before I could finish my thought, he pushed himself into me. He grabbed my hips and pulled me onto him, filling me up completely. I threw my head back and bit my lip to stifle the moans that were threatening to escape. There was still a party going on outside, afterall. He didn't hesitate before grabbing my jaw, making me look at him. 

“I love seeing your face as you come apart. The face you make when I make you so fucking needy. Fucking hell.” He pulled out of me before aggressively thrusting himself back in. He continued at this pace, forcing me to look at him. “I fucking love everything about you, y/n.” My eyes widened. He’s just high, he doesn't know what he’s talking about right now, right? I felt him twitch inside me telling that he was close. He brought his free hand down to my clit, pushing his thumb against it throwing me over the edge into an orgasm. I whined and he groaned as I clenched around him, his body convulsing as he reached his climax, filling me up. He allowed his body to fall on top of mine and rested his head on my shoulder as he caught his breath. We stayed there for a moment before he got up and put his blazer and slid up his pants. He threw his boxers at me and watched me wipe myself clean.  

“Where’s my underwear?” He shrugged, lazily checking the ground around the couch. I groan and throw his boxers at him. He made a face at me, dodging them. 

“Gross, you could’ve made a mess on my jacket.” I rolled my eyes and pulled my dress back down, leaning back on the couch.

“You said something earlier.”

“Don’t.”

“Did you mean it?” He was pacing again. All he seemed to do was pace. 

“You and I are not… We fucking can’t, okay? This won’t be spoken about again, do you fucking understand that?” Without a word, I grabbed my heels off the ground, stood up and began my trek out of the room. I felt his eyes burning into me as I approached the door, turning to face him as I placed my hand on the handle. 

“Goodbye, Derek.”

3 MONTHS LATER

The day I found out Derek was dead was probably the hardest day of my life. I knew what he was doing, though I didn’t know the extent of how bad it was. I knew he was investing in companies and owned call centers. I thought they were authentic tech support centers. In actuality, he was scamming older people out of money. Billions of dollars. The comments his “friends” made made sense now. I would have stopped him. I could have stopped him if I had just known. He was murdered in the crossfire of some vengeful man in a group called the Beekeepers. Shot him in the head in front of his own mother. 

—--------

I sighed as I sat down on the fresh patch of grass where he was laid to rest. I placed a flower on it. The stone itself had been defiled. I was here once a week to try and keep it in good, well, okay shape. “You are a fucking idiot, Derek Danforth. You should've just…” A tear slipped down my cheek. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed the same. I would’ve fucking married you, dumbass!” My hand hit the ground. I cried silently for who knows how long before I decided to get up. I hesitated, dusting my jeans off looking down at him. “I love you.” I mumbled before walking away, trying to carry on with my life like I never had him to begin with.

[wheresmymilliondollarman]

please do a part to the Grayson Hawthorn head canons maybe where he meets eve and that whole mess.

the moment i knew

grayson hawthorne x fem! reader

you're confident in your relationship with grayson hawthorne. that is until a girl who look exactly like emily laughlin shows up at the mansion.

(part of these hcs )

a/n: im SO glad someone requested this bc i had ideas while writing the hcs for this scenario. get ready for some drama and grayson being dumb💯 also finally happy to be back to posting!! been hectic but now i have free time <3 ty to everyone for being so understanding ur all amazing. listened to my sad playlist for the fighting part LOL also i wanted to make this fic format but i was already way too deep into the bullets to fix it.

word count: 7.2k (wayyy longer than intended)

warnings: angst (i love and hate it), swearing, eve, fighting, death threats, final gambit spoilers but also plot changes

dating grayson hawthorne was truly the most beautiful feeling. you would even consider it better than finding out you were going to inherit billions. that's not true, but dating grayson is a close second still.

he was a fantastic boyfriend who cared so deeply for you, and you greatly got along with his family.

the two of you had occasional fights, but it was never anything that lasted more than an hour of being mad at each other. plus, he always caved in first whether you were right or wrong.

life was truly straight out of a movie for you. you were going to be a billionaire, run a foundation, and have a boyfriend. freshman year you would never be able to believe it, especially the boyfriend part.

it was almost too perfect. you should've expected an event to come crashing down at some point. because, after all, this still was the hawthorne family you're dealing with.

the road to disaster was initiated the moment grayson hawthorne left the house. he'd gotten into the ivy league of his choice, harvard and you were more than thrilled for him. but you were unsure of where it put the two of you at. he would be leaving the mansion, while you were forced to stay.

your's and avery's contract had yet to end, you still had a few month to bypass - so you couldn't leave the residence for more than 3 consecutive days.

grayson assured you the long distance thing would work, and he'd visit you as often as possible, then when you passed the year mark, you'd be able to visit and stay with him for long periods.

the plan he formated has eased your worries about your relationship. however, a small, but growing wall had formed between you, and you feared him leaving would lengthen it. you'd begun to notice a distant feeling from grayson at times, it was as if he was still concealing a part of himself. it was a build-up of all the unresolved emotional stresses he's faces - mainly from the death of both emily and tobias.

there were moments when you had attempted to get him to open up - but he either never got the hint or desperately wanted to remain ignorant. you'd decided to leave it as is, and perhaps that was your first error.

before leaving the family had put together a party as a 'farewell' gift. since the night began, you sensed the distant feeling had returned and grayson wasn't entirely there.

when a young girl had fallen into the pool, and grayson was quick to save her, jumping right into the pool in his suit and tie. you were quick to approach them with towels; even after the girl was returned to her family, grayson stayed still with a distant look in his eyes. you called his name and shook him a few times before he finally snapped back. but before you could question anything, he sought off into the house - leaving you on your own.

you gave him time alone since that was what he obviously wished for. you were relieved to see avery return with grayson, so relieved that you were insensible to the tension between the two.

thought things weren't resolved when grayson left, you were still hopeful for the both of you.

it started off great; frequent texts, late-night calls, occasional visits, and even gifts delivered to you. you felt silly for not having faith in the long-distance thing.

but your doubts returned when those daily calls turned into weekly texts and updates and those every other weekend visits shifted to seeing each other once a month.

grayson's excuse had been he was adjusting and had a hard time getting a grip on balancing everything in his life. had it been anyone else, you'd believed it better, but because it was grayson hawthorne, who you knew could effortlessly take on any task - you were growing suspicious. but you had yet to have a serious with grayson about it.

your silence broke the moment avery sat you down and revealed what had gone down in the wine cellar with grayson the night of his party.

she started with her concern for grayson, then ventured onto what happened after grayson ran off. avery had been in the wine cellar getting a bottle at jameson's request when grayson stumbled in. she immediately noticed he was in distress, and it wasn't long before he started breaking down. avery did her best to help, but he just insisted she leave, then went on a tangent about seeing hallucinations of emily and all the stress caused by being a hawthorne. avery's first thought was to get you, but he begged her not to tell him, which is why she was silent until that moment.

you were too occupied on the information regarding your boyfriend to even get a little mad that avery withheld the information. you had an inkling grayson wasn't well, you hadn't known it had gotten as bad as it did, and it was probably much worse by now.

you made an urgent call to grayson the as soon as you got to your room, and it took a couple tries to get him to answer. he answered a bit agitated, but you didn't care and started hounding him for an explanation on everything avery had told you.

at first, grayson was taken aback by both the interrogation and avery betraying him, then he finally confirmed that avery's words were true.

your heart grew heavy, and he confirmed everything. it was silent on the line for a second before you spoke up again. the first thing you asked was 'why?' why didn't he tell you about his trouble, especially the fact he was having nightmares and hallucinations about emily, his ex- girlfriend. and why, why had he confided in someone else instead of his own girlfriend.

you weren't jealous of avery nor did you fret over something happening between grayson and avery, but it hurt like hell to know she was the first he opened up to, whether it was intentional or not.

grayson repeated apologies over the phone, but by then, you were over it and wished him goodnight before hanging up. and once the line went dead, you curled up in bed and cried til you were tired enough to pass out.

grayson called multiple times the following day, and you declined them all. when calls were a bust, he turned to a flux of texts hourly, all consisting of the same mantra of sorry's and 'call me back'. you still didn't budge. you continued that behavior for a week or so, still upset at him.

however, you couldn't help but feel bad - the last thing you wanted to do was add stress to this place. nonetheless, your emotions were also valid; no one likes their boyfriend keeping things from them, telling said secrets to another woman he used to live with at that.

what you didn't expect on your monday morning was grayson to show up behind your bedroom door when you opened it. knowing he came all that way just because you were ignoring him made your heart flutter, however, you kept you solid composure.

grayson begged you to hear him out, so you hesitantly let him into your room and sat on the bed, waiting for him to say something. then grayson gave permission, he spilled his guts.

he revealed to you all of the difficulties he was going through, and you listened with an open heart. by the end of it he was crying, and you didn't hesitate to comfort him in his arms, a gesture he gladly accepted.

when it was safe for you to speak, you told him he didn't have to face all of it alone, there were many people in his life who cared for him.

"hawthorne or not, i'm your girlfriend. you are free to run to me when things get hard. then we can take it on together, okay?"

"you still want to be with me even after i've cried on your shoulder like this."

"the crying actually makes me like you more." you joke, and he gives a small smile at that.

you felt everything had gotten better after that. you'd manage to knock down another wall grayson had built, and now the two of you were closer than ever. avery's birthday was soon, so any two weeks after that, you'd be able to see grayson much more.

you were going to surprise your boyfriend by telling him you'd been looking at apartments in cambridge and landed on the perfect apartment for yourself. so, as soon as the year was up, you were moving there. yes, it was a huge step for someone you hadn't even been dating for over a year, but there was no place you'd rather be than by grayson's side.

avery's birthday had been, as jameson described, an "introvert's ball." and to be frank, you'd prefer it that way. after the way the last big party ended u, you were happy to have it just be immediate close friends and family.

everyone had a great time, grayson had made time to attend, and the both of you danced almost all night long. by the end, you're feet were blistered and bruised, but courteously swept you off your feet and carried you in his arms and into his bedroom. you were out like a light, but not before hearing grayson say 'love you' when he thought you were sound asleep. you went to bed with a smile etched on your lips.

you would've never left his bed had you known what was in store for you both the next day.

you'd just eaten breakfast with avery when you had both been informed by oren of a visitor name eve. avery looked anxious about it, and you didn't wait for her permission to follow her to the gates.

from the distance, you'd assumed it was rebecca, but as you approached, you realized that wasn't her. the girl in front of you was an exact copy of emily laughlin, more than her own twin.

"what the hell."

you were stunned to see a version of emily in person, and not just from photos you'd seen. avery was shocked, but it wasn't because of her appearance, more so due to her appearance at the manor. you were highly confused and began to think you were still sleeping.

avery had no choice but to confide in you everything that had gone on with toby and grayson's father, and how eve was toby's daughter. it was all much for your morning brain. but you processed enough to know the hawthornes, mainly grayson, seeing eve was the last thing needed. a part of you wanted to halt the meeting for selfish purposes. but the issue with eve being at hawthorne mansion meant a bigger issue; toby was taken.

oren, you, avery, and eve were discussing how to proceed, but there was little time to discuss the matter because the first person to come outside was grayson. the last person you'd wanted to come out of the mansion.

"emily?"

he was, understandably, pale as a ghost. it wasn't every day you saw a replica of your ex-girlfriend. you ran up to him with no plan of action. what could you possibly say? 'oh, this isn't emily this is eve, who just happens to look exactly like emily. and she's toby's daughter. oh, and by the way, your father is actually dead.'

grayson walked closer to eve, the resemblance becoming clear as day. looked to you to verify if what he was seeing was real or another figment of your imagination. you could only nod in response.

grayson didn't look away from eve, even when you tried to pull him back into the house. eve was annoyed by his trance and demanded to be taken inside for a shower after all she's had to deal with for the day.

so it was decided that everyone would gather in avery's room while eve used her bathroom. jameson had already been in avery's room when you four entered. he obviously noticed eve but made no comment until she was into the shower. since eve locked herself in the bathroom, grayson's eyes didn't move from the door. you couldn't lie and say it didn't create a sour feeling inside of you.

you knew it was horrible to make your boyfriend's trauma about you, but you couldnt help it. you were worried eve having the same face as emily was going to bring back unwarranted feelings. you bit back your envy, seeing that jameson was unaffected by eve's face, in contrast to grayson who stared longingly.

"tell me everything, heiress one and two."

avery briefly went over eve's appearance and toby's disappearance. she believes toby being taken has to do with a disk he gave her, one eve didn't know about. she ended it with an open discussion on ideas on how to get toby back.

jameson was the first to recognize how little you all knew about eve, and if you could truly trust her. you were glad someone had similar thoughts and you wouldn't be the first to voice them.

"we have to help her."

you turned to grayson at his words, your lips turned slightly down. jameson and avery also looked at the brother weirdly. was he seriously defending eve because she was an emily dupe?

"gray, we don't know her."

"it doesn't mean we should leave her to her own devices."

eve stepped out of the bathroom with clothes provided by avery,and grayson now had a look in his eye you coulden't identify. you had just about enough and lamely excused yourself to your room.

a part of you stupidly hoped your boyfriend would follow, but he never did.

as you busied yourself in your room reading books of fantasy lands to forget your own reality, avery knocked at your door. you hollered at her to enter, and she did. you continued reading, waiting for her to speak first.

"what do you think of a few welcome festivities?"

you raised a brow, "what did you have in mind?"

"how does chutes and ladders sound?"

chutes and ladder did not sound very fun, and frankly you'd never heard of it until that moment, but avery needed everyone in the game to get eve on board. you were even less enthused finding out grayson had been where eve was.

'you trust your boyfriend. you trust your boyfriend. you trust your boyfriend.' you repeated over and over. maybe you would believe it at some point.

as everyone gathered in the study and took a seat, you took your usual place next to grayson. you clenched your fists in your lap as you witnessed eve do the same.

as xander droned on about the rules of the game, you subtly side-eyed the pair beside you. your attention shifts back to the game when xander instructs the first person to go is the person with the best-kept secret. so that meant each of you had to confess something.

grayson took the liberty of starting off, not before sparring a guilty glance at you, "a girl tried to kiss me at harvard."

your head snapped, "what?"

"seriously, it was nothing."

"i can't believe you wouldn't tell me, i thought we agreed no secrets!"

"i didn't think it matter, it obviously pushed the girl away."

"it was enough of a deal for you to choose it as your secret."

you got up from your seat and opted to sit between avery and maxine. grayson grabbed your arm in an attempt to stop you, but you shook him off and took your new seat. grayson attempted to throw apologies, but you disregarded them.

to lighten the mood, maxine continued revealing she had a tattoo and xander continued telling the room he found his birth father; most of you gasped and asked for more, but xander kept his mouth shut. avery went next, heartfelt, saying she felt tobias made a mistake choosing her. you couldn't deny you didn't feel the same at times.

then eyes shifted onto you, awaiting your confession. you had a plethora to give, but you settled for one that matched the vulnerability of avery's.

"not to speak ill of the dead, but sometimes i think tobias hawthorne is a coward for leaving a game in his will instead of an explanation."

the room was silenced by your voice. you and avery each gave a look toward one another in understanding. you couldn't bare to turn your head in grayson's direction for his reaction. plus, you were still upset at him.

eve took the moment to finish the circle of secrets with her own. she disclosed her relationship with her family and their resentment toward her. you didn't fully trust eve, but you sympathized with her story. part of that sympathy was broken off as you saw grayson lean closer to her without a second thought. you started to think you would explode if the game didn't start any sooner.

as you wished, the game commenced - no surprise to you when eve was decided to go first. then the rest of you followed, and the race began.

you truly had no intention of trying that hard for a game, but it seems your inner competitiveness took the lead when you noticed eve ahead and grayson trailing right behind her.

maybe your anger and irritation spurred you on, but in everyone's, including yourself, surprise - you were right on eve's tail climbing up the ladder behind her.

your next move was a dirty one, maybe even callous, but in all honesty, you hadn't meant to do it. you think.

trying to grab onto the next rung as fast as possible, you managed to also grab the heel of eve's foot - causing her to misstep, lose her balance, and hang off the ladder by an arm and a foot. you utilized the time eve had to stabilize herself to then slide past her. you shot her a sorry look on the way up, and opened the hatch to the rooftop, declaring you the winner.

eve was right behind, grayson and jamseon after, and avery after two minutes. eve shot you a glare but didn't say a word about the incident. grayson was making his way in your direction, but you steered the other way to where jameson and avery stood.

jameson chuckled, "i didn't know you had it in you to play dirty."

"it was an accident, she tripped!" you defended.

jameson gave you a knowing look, but raised his hands in surrender and walked away to where xander and maxine were on the verge of entering. (they got sidetracked by a pillow fight)

you told avery you were off to shower and change; you hadn;t realized how sweaty you got until that moment. she nodded and you made your way to the hatch, but before you went down, she grabbed your arm.

"between you and me, was it an actual accident?"

"it was... if you count grabbing her foot and dragging her down as an accident."

avery shakes her head, "can't say i wouldn't have done the same given the opportunity."

walking down the hall, you heard your name being called. on instinct, you turned; grayson was behind you. you figured avoiding him wouldn't work forever.

"can we talk?" he asks, interwining his hand into yours.

you open your mouth the respond, but he cuts you off - "actually, you don't get a choice. i'm going to talk, and you're going to listen."

his tone left no room for argument, so you conceded. grayson went on to apologize for the 'almost-kiss' incident and for the lack of telling you.

"forgive me, angel. it was idiotic of me to assume it wasn't a important matter to communicate to you. you are the only girl i'll ever want to kiss."

you were a sucker for sincere apologies, and his piercing eyes made for a compelling argument. you sighed, "okay, i'll forgive you. but next time a girl tries to kiss you and you don't tell me, i'm kicking your ass, then hers."

grayson smiles and leans in for a kiss, which you accept. as his lips ignite with yours, you can't help but think of how much of a hypocrite you're being by not telling him your emotions regarding eve. 'it wasn't the right time,' you told yourself. it was only her first day, you were jumping to conclusions too soon. everything would work out.

the morning made for a rude awakening; threatening note sent to the gates hadn't been on your to-do list. avery shook you so hard you jumped out of bed, thinking it was an earthquake and smacked grayson's face in your alarm. (he wasn't pleased at that)

the threat contained a photo of toby, and a crypt message you all decoded. everyone started to think of suspects for the culprit behind the kidnapping. number one being skye hawthorne.

however, the investigation proved to be fruitless because she didn't have toby, and the other suspects led to a dead end. the threats hadn't stopped either.

you found yourself sleeping in grayson's more frequently. grayson didn't feel comfortable leaving you in your room, but you also knew it was because he secretly loved cuddling you at night. he held off going back to harvard, claiming he couldn't leave while there was danger lurking. it made you feel safe, but you also wondered if eve had anything to do with it. part of you didn't want an answer to that.

on this night, the two of you were in the pool past midnight. now that you learned to swim, grayson wouldn't stop challenging you to races. you knew what the outcome would be, but you accepted everytime, telling him you'd beat him eventually. (doubt, but it was nice to dream). for every win, you'd award him a kiss per his demand.

on his fifth victory, you leaned in to kiss him, only to ambush him with water to the face. grayson pretended to be annoyed and claimed revenge. you quickly swam away, but it didn't take long for him to catch up to you. he hands attacked your sides, and you were tortured by the ticklish sensation. you begged for him to stop, but he refused and wanted an apology.

you were stubborn, but finally threw in the towel, and accepted defeat. even after he stopped, grayson kept you in his arms as you calmed down from your fits of laughter. for a moment, it was just the both of you gazing into each other's eyes lovingly. at the same time, you titled you heads and reduced the gap between your lips.

before your mouths made contact, the lights, alerting the presence of another, shone. you both quickly turned toward the direction of the light, and grayson made a swift move to push you behind him. you were half expecting it to be another hawthorne brother, or worst-case scenario - the kidnapper.

but instead, there stood eve. she wore a silk lilac nightgown with a small slit that stopped midthigh. you immediately recognized it as your own by the small tear on the strap. 'when did she get this from my room?' had she stolen it or did grayson give it to her? both answers made your blood boil.

grayson relaxed as he recognized her, but you stayed tense. eve apologized for the intrusion, she was walking around the grounds and hadn't realized there were others awake. despite hating the interruption, you assured her it was alright, and she should be careful roaming around at night.

you thought that was that, and she'd just wander off, but it wasn't.

"do you mind if i swim, too?"

"well we-"

"not at all."

you turned your head to your boyfriend and gave him a questioning look, but he ignored it. his attention was now on eve. you had no choice, but to go along with it.

eve was quick to remove her your nightgown and reveal a one-piece swimsuit under. you were a bit confused, didn't she say she was just roaming the grounds, why did she already have a bathing suit on? but you stayed silent.

she jumped from the edge of the pool and landed a few feet away from where you and grayson. for a moment she struggling to reach the top, likely from not expecting how deep the pool actually was. grayson, ever the hero, swam to her aid, grabbing her hand to reel her back to the surface.

at this point, you couldn't even blame eve for these little accidents. you were getting upset at how grayson never failed to aid her when she was in need.

eve laughed, and thanked him for the gesture. then they started conversing about a topic you didn't care to pay attention to. had you just become a third wheel? 'no, no. he's just being friendly. gray will come back to you any second, then you'll both return to his room.'

except that didn't happen. eve asked grayson to race her, and he gladly accepted. even teased her about how badly she'd lose. not once did he turn back your way. no, but as eve swam to the edge, she gave you glance, obviously noticing how you awkwardly floated in your spot waiting for grayson. but she didn't speak a word, and continued to race in preparation for the friendly competition.

you had more than enough at that point. you swam to the pool's railing and pulled yourself out. you stomped out the swimming area, not even bothering to get a towel, and walked back into the mansion. you'd apologize to the cleaners for the wet mess later.

you were more heartbroken than angry. which was worse in your book. you'd been trying not to act like a jealous girlfriend who couldn't trust her boyfriend, and you took grayson's trauma with the emily situation into account, so you made excuses for all of grayson's actions toward eve. but sometimes, you shouldn't deny what's right in front of you.

now, you were cold and wet. you just wanted to go to bed. taking on threatening notes seemed so much easier now.

with all your deep thinking, you missed the sound of running feet from behind you. when a hand grabbed your wrist so suddenly, you were startled, and on instinct - you hand went flying at whoever stood behind you.

seeing now that it was grayson, you gave a small apology, seeing him clutch his face in pain. but you weren't that sorry at all. you probably would've done the same thing if you knew it was him.

grayson collected himself like nothing, "why did you leave?" he gently asks, wrapping a towel, you just noticed he brought, around your form.

you feign innocence, "oh, you actually noticed i was gone? 'figured you'd be too busy racing your new best friend."

"what are you acting like this?"

"i'm tired. tired of standing by as you treat eve like she's a damsel in distress. eve's no better; she clearly knows the effect she has on you."

"you're misinterpreting the situation. eve is one of us, we have to protect her."

"i'm sorry, did we forget you launched a full federal investigation on avery and i as soon as we got here? even after the will reading, i don't remember getting this warm welcome from you."

grayson lips form a straight line, frustrated, "that was different. eve has no one else-"

"she's not emily, grayson."

"trust me, i know that."

"i dont think you do! you see her as your second chance. news flash grayson, she isn't, emily is dead!" you venomously spit out. you hadn't intended for the harsh words to come out, but you wanted to hurt him as much as he was hurting you at the moment.

grayson's fists clench at his sides, he eyes brim with rage toward you, "jealously isn't a good look on you, y/n." the blow cut deeper than you had wished.

"neither is ignorance." you bite back.

you angrily turn your back and storm off in the direction of your room. luckily, it was only less than twenty feet away. you hoped grayson got the hint to not follow.

"we owe her our loyalty, y/n." grayson calls out one last time in a calm voice - different from the aggravated one from a second prior.

you enter your room and turn to him, deciding your final words before closing your door, "your loyalty was to me first."

part of you expected an apology the following day, but it never came. you were unsure where the two of you stood, and you weren't going to waltz up to grayson door to ask.

you confided your feelings in avery and libby, both defended your stance. avery was also wary about eve, and libby just loved any chance to bash a hawthorne.

you were sure the whole house was aware of the argument, likely the laughlins and thea calligaris as well. news travels easily around here. you didn't even want the know eve's point of view on the whole thing.

you steered clear of grayson, and busied yourself with toby's kidnapping along with everyone else. (which honestly should've been the most important matter.) you ensured avery everything was fine because you felt selfish making it about you when toby was in serious danger.

even without being in the same room with grayson, the tension was painfully evident. you could always sense when his gaze was on you, and it took everything to not return it. when you both were in the same room, you made sure to stay on opposite ends. everyone else had trouble deciding on how to handle the situation, but there were no direct comments, at least not that you heard.

there were nights when you wished grayson would show up at your door and just apologize. you wanted a reenactment of those cheesy romance movies where the guys begs the girl for forgiveness, and then they kiss and makeup. truthfully, you would've taken him back in a heartbeat. but this wasn't a movie, and he never showed up at your door.

you wondered if he even felt half of the heart ache you were going through. by the way eve was still hanging around him, even after the argument, you were starting to doubt it.

the more the investigation ensured, the more you and avery grew suspicious of eve. though whenever you thought you had a smidge of proof, it never followed through. it only succeeded in making you look like the villainous ex girlfriend and eve the innocent protagonist.

you and grayson were in a forced proximity when you had to investigate the wine cellar, along with avery and jameson. it was an awkward situation for all four of you, especially pertaining to the event with avery and grayson. but nonetheless, it proved to be useful because the final clue was hidden in the crystals of the chandelier. 'DON'T TRUST ANYONE'

you shouldn't had been so surprised that it was another vague message.

after critical thinking, you and avery came to the same conclusion - eve. the game started with her, she had to be the one tobias was warning about.

however, jameson and grayson weren't convinced by the conviction. both inferring that it would've stated 'her' instead of 'anyone'. but you persisted, avery backing you up.

jameson sighed, "i think recent events are affecting your judgment, y/n." you were taken aback by the claim, especially it coming from jameson. hadn't he been suspicious of her as well?

"i'm not acting out of jealousy. the old man knew of her, even made a plan in the event she arrived to the mansion, yet failed to mention her to anyone. why is that?"

"y/n." grayson spoke to you for the first time in awhile, "this isn't like you to act so rash. if you gave evie a chance-"

"evie? what, you guys have fucking pet names for each other now? don't you see how she's played you since the beginning!"

"y/n, you're not thinking straight."

you shake your head, "no, i don't think it's ever been clearer than right now. so, i'm going to give you one last chance grayson. to, for once, take my side over eve's. because if you don't, you're going to lose me."

there was silence, a hairpin being dropped could be heard. grayson put his head down and said nothing. and yet, it told you everything. you laughed at yourself for expecting a different outcome.

you scoffed with a humorless grin, turned around and walked away. you heard avery call out for you, but you ignored it. you didn't want to see the pity she'd have in her eyes after that embarrassing debacle.

you made it all the way to your room before crying into your pillow. you finally got the answer of whether or not it was over. the pain of the night at the pool seemed like an easy feat to face compared to your anguish now.

when you calmed down a few hours later, you looked out the window and saw the pool. a flashback of pain seared in you at first, but then you noticed something peculiar you failed to notice before. there was a part of the tiles that weren't aligned with the rest. you likely would miss it if you were close to it, but from far away it was noticeable.

something inside you told you to investigate. maybe it was the need for a distraction, but you followed your gut, not even stopping to change attire.

once getting to the pool, you jump straight in to create enough force to reach the bottom of the pool more efficiently. there, you observed the tile for a second before attempting to move it. nothing happened, and you readied yourself to get a breath of air -but suddenly, a key popped out from a compartment under the tile. you got it and returned to the surface.

without the chlorine in your eyes, you were able to immediately know where to put the key to use; the chapel tobias built for nan hawthorne. you rushed there, not caring for how soggy your hair and clothes were.

luckily, nan wasn't anywhere in sight. you rushed to the statue in the center of the room and eyed it for a moment before finding the intended target, the statue's mouth. you fit the key inside and wiggled it around before hearing that 'click' to let you know it was unlocked. a second later, a small plate popped out and with it it contained a usb. you'd never been prouder of yourself for figuring out one of tobias's stupid puzzles without avery's help.

you pulled out your phone and pressed on avery's contact, and started ringing her. she picked up in an instant, "hello?"

"avery! you won't believe it i-"

your sentence was rudely cut off due to your phone being shot of your hand. by a bullet.

you gasped and snapped your head to the entrance of the chapel. you saw the gun at once and its owner; eve.

"sorry, i think you're going to need a new phone," she says innocently.

you let out a cheerless laugh, "i knew it, you psycho bitch!" obviously not the best choice of words to say to the person pointing a gun at you, but god, did it feel good to be right about eve.

eve rolled her eyes, "i suppose you did, but it wasn't like anyone believed you. i'll admit you and avery almost, just almost, got me. but eventually, i was able to fool her too. now give me the usb and i won't shoot you." she got you there.

you gripped the usb tightly in your palm, "why do you want it?"

"i'm getting what's owed to me, what was taken from my family by that stupid old man. god, was it easy to infiltrate the hawthornes. especially grayson." you flinched at the mention of his name and eve took note of it.

she laughs, "right, he's your boyfriend- i mean ex-boyfriend, oops." there's no sincerity in that apology. "you know, when i heard you two were dating i was prepared to work twice as hard to get his attention.. but it was proven unnecessary because as soon as i stepped on hawthorne mansion - i had him." ouch.

"enough chatting, now walk over here slowly and hand me the drive." eve commanded, emphasizing the gun in her hands.

where was your bodyguard when you needed him?

you followed her commands, and took slow steps to her. she took on hand off the trigger to open her palm toward you. you made a motion to place the usb in her hand, but then quickly charged at the gun.

you both struggled back and forth, moving the gun. suddenly, the weapon flew out of both of your grasps and landed in front of the angel statue.

with the usb situated in your pocket, you ran to retrieve it, but eve was quick and tackled you from behind, causing you both to land on the ground. you were both rolling up and down the aisle, trying to get the upper hand. eve roughly situated herself ontop of your waist, immobilizing you. then her hands slithered to your neck and squeezed hard.

it was getting harder to breathe, but you were a fighter. your armed flayed at her, grabbing whatever was closest. as a last resort, you clawed at her face.

"bitch." you mutter as your nails scratch across her face.

it worked, eve howled in pain and retracted her hands from your neck. you briskly shoved her off your body. having little energy from the lack of oxygen, you still take your chance and crawl toward the gun. but eve had recovered, and dragged you back by your heel. 'talk about karma' you thought.

you're crazily moving your feet to shrug eve's hands off as you continue to painfully crawl. but suddenly the gun is lifted off the ground, both you and eve look up to see grayson now clutching the gun. you're both relieved and worried.

you stand up on your feet, eve does the same. grayson waves the gun toward both of you and both hold your hands in front of your forms.

"gray, thank god you're here. i came here looking for a clue, and found a usb, but then y/n showed up.. s-she took the usb from me then pulled out a gun and tried to kill me." her voice was no longer diabolical, now it was full of vulnerability and fear.

"grayson, she's lying, she almost killed me!"

"y/n's been working with vincent blake, she plans on giving that usb to him."

"oh, you little liar!"

"look at what she did to my face!" eve points at the bloody scratch on her face, starting from her left eyebrow and ending at her lip.

grayson eyes went back and forth in observing both you and eve. the gun was pointed in the middle, still deciding its target.

his eyes landed on yours, as does the gun. "y/n. give me the usb." your stomach drops.

"grayson." you plead.

"y/n. now." he held his hand out. you knew that tone. it meant 'no room for argument'.

if he didn't believe in you even now, then you had no choice. you took steps toward him.

"careful, gray, pretended to give the usb to me and then attacked me." eve warned. you shot her a nasty glare.

grayson doesn't say anything and waits for your move. you drop the usb in his hand.

"thank you." you say nothing.

grayson turns his head to eve, "i've always known who to believe." eve smiles at that, "i just had to stall long enough for john to show up."

in an instant, eve is brought down to the floor. oren is behind her, holding her arms behind her back long enough to put handcuffs on her wrist.

you let out a large breath you didn't know you were holding. grayson believed you in the moment that mattered most.

grayson tosses the gun to the ground and engulfs you in a hug. you accept it, and grip onto him like your life depends on it. his hold triggers your emotions, and tears spring out from your eyes. you can't help it when you start crying into his shoulder. he soothes you, cradling his hand on the back of your head.

"im sorry." grayson muttered into your hair. "you were right. i can't let emily rule my life any longer."

"you're an idiot." you say in the midst of tears.

"i am." he agrees

"and i'm still super mad at you."

"i know."

"you're going to have to work really hard to earn my forgiveness, like beg on your knees and hold a boombox outside of my window type stuff." you croak.

"i will, baby." grayson smiles.

for now, you were happy to feel safe and protected in his arms.

bonus:

"is this really necessary?"

"very," avery confirms, "you broke boyfriend code, now your penance must be fulfilled."

"you guys only made up those codes a day ago," grayson counters.

it was true, after the whole eve fiasco grayson was willing to do whatever to earn your forgiveness. you were ready to forgive him, but you also wanted to give him a hard time. it might've been a little evil of you, but you thought it was well deserved. after a girl talk with avery and libby, you came up with a new set of rules you liked to refer to as 'boyfriend code.' inspired by the code the brother share.

"exactly why we ought to use you as an example for future culprits," xander justifies waving a hand in grayson's direction.

grayson groans, looking up at the ceiling, "i love my girlfriend. i'm doing this for my girlfriend." he murmurs to himself.

"that's the spirit" nash cuts in, he lifts his drink up.

avery looks around, "where is y/n, anyway?" she asks.

"here!" you announce, walking out from behind the stage, "i was just preparing the song." you take a seat next to jameson and grin mischievously at grayson, "you'll love it."

graysons eyes narrow, "i have a feeling i won't."

just then, the beginning of a song plays out from the speakers.

grayson eyes widen, and he looks at you, "no."

your smile widens, "oh, yes."

"c'mon gray, we're all waiting." jameson hollers from his seat.

everyone starts egging grayson on, cheering for him to commence.

he takes a deep breath, "guess i have no choice."

as grayson starts to sing the lyrics of "shake it off" by taylor swift, jameson leans over to you.

"gotta say, this is a brilliant punishment for him."

you nod in agreement, "and it'll be even better after when i reveal, i have ten other taylor swift songs for him to perform." specially, 'ME!' was next.

"yikes. remind me to never break boyfriend code."

[absurdthirst]

Immortally Human {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: Vampirism, suggestive banter, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, mentions of child planning, hypnotizing, sacrifice, witch's protective spells, violence, throat ripping, staking, gore

Comments: When Max falls in love you, a human, he must get permission from his sire to tell you about his true nature. When he tells you, he must turn you or kill you and you don't want to be a vampire. Leaving Max to protect you at the cost of his own immortality.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Max Phillips Masterlist ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Babe! Are you ready?” Max calls over his shoulder from his spot on your sofa. He knows you are running behind, but the reservations are hard to reschedule and he pulled a few favors to make sure he got a table tonight. He has a very important question to ask you. “I’m coming, almost done!” You yell back breathlessly, making him grin as he checks his watch. If you had told him six months ago that Max Phillips would be in a committed, monogamous relationship, he would have called you an idiot. Laughed in your face right before he went about doing whatever he wanted. But that was before he had invited you out for a drink and fallen head over heels. Most who know him would call him egotistical. A frat-boy douche has been thrown his way several times when he’s smoozed his way into a promotion or stolen an important client. Business was what mattered and he was good at it. Leaving his private life a series of hook ups and perpetual bachelorhood until you had flipped his world upside down. 

Max was faithful. He was trying to be kind and thoughtful. Loving. Bringing you lunch or taking you out to dinner. Even sitting through movies he had zero interest in. Not because he was looking forward to getting laid after - although the sex is mindblowing - but because it makes you happy. Even though you don’t live together, he’s positively domesticated and is ready to take the next step with you.

When you come out into the living room, Max whistles. “Daaaaaaamn baby. Look at you. Looking fucking delicious.” He stands up and reaches for you, pulling you up against him to inhale your scent. He hears your blood pulsing beneath your skin and his mouth waters but he pushes that aside. Your relationship is perfect…except for one thing: you don’t know he’s a vampire. He hasn’t had the guts to tell you. Scared that you’ll reject him or be terrified of him and he only wants to see love in your eyes, not fear. He will tell you. He has to tell you. Max murmurs your name and you slap his chest playfully when he asks if you have to go to dinner. 

“Yes. It took forever getting ready and we need to eat. You can devour me later.” You say and Max waggles his eyebrows, “is that a promise?” You snort and slap his chest again but he catches your hand, placing a gentle kiss on the back of it. “Come on baby, let’s go eat.” He says and lets go of you so you can get your purse.

Hustling you out to his car, Max races around it and slides behind the wheel. “Hang on, baby.” He tells you with a smirk. “Gotta rush to get there.” He prefers to drive fast, in complete control of his reflexes, but you always seem to worry when he’s zooming through the streets. “We don’t want to miss our reservation.”

You grip the handle on the door and squeeze as Max rounds a corner too fast. “We aren’t indestructible. I don’t care if we are late, I just want us to make it.” You wince as the tires squeal as he accelerates and Max snorts, wanting to tell you he’s indestructible apart from wooden stakes to the heart. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’ll be fine.” He promises and reaches for your hand that isn’t gripping the handle.

You snort in disbelief beside him and Max takes his foot off the gas for a split second, allowing the speed to go down by a few miles per hour. He still can’t tell you why he’s so confident, but soon he will. “I know you’ve been looking at the menu. Tell me what you want to order, baby.” He knows talking will keep your mind off his driving.

You snort again, amused that he knows you look up the menu beforehand and already know what you will order. You squeeze his hand, "I was thinking about getting the duck. It's not something you see on a lot of menus. I want something different. Then they have this Death by Chocolate cake that is to die for, according to the reviews." You say, and Max smirks slightly at your choice of dessert.

“Then that’s what my girl will have.” He hums as he turns a corner sharply and wheels protest again. He’s only a mile from the restaurant and the reservation is in five minutes. It means he will pull up to the valet in time to escort you inside and be seated. “And we have to have a bottle of good wine to go with it.” 

“I’m gonna need a drink after your driving, Phillips.” You chuckle breathlessly as he screeches to a stop at the valet booth. “Thank God we made it in one piece.” You exhale shakily as the valet opens the door for you. Max is there in a blink of an eye to take your hand and you are always so amazed at how quickly he moves and you take his hand to let him guide you into the restaurant.

Max winks at the valet and slips him a fifty. “Take care of it.” He asks as he guides towards the door. “Was there any doubt that I would take care of you, baby?” He sends you a pout and a grin that somehow doesn’t look ridiculous on him when combined. Leaping forward so he can open the door for you to enter the building and biting his lip as your ass shakes in front of him. At the host stand, he gives his name. “Phillips, party of two for seven o’clock.”  

His commanding presence has always turned you on and to see him like this has you eager for him already. You are escorted to your table where Max holds the chair out for you and you sit down. “This place is gorgeous. You didn’t have to spurge like this, baby.” You say with a slight tut, knowing Max likes to spoil you but you never ask for it.

“Of course I did.” He winks at you and sends you a small air kiss. It might look smarmy to some, but he adores you. “Tonight is special. And there’s nothing like spoiling my girl.”

You wonder if you've forgotten an anniversary or something but you've been with Max for just over a year now and every day he seems to spoil you despite your requests that he saves money - you are happy to sit down at home with take out and watch a movie. You reach for his hand after he sits down, "you're too good to me. I'll have to make it up to you." You smirk, stretching your leg to nudge his ankle.

“Hmmmm, I know you will.” His own smirk is knowing, loving how uninhibited you are and how you just want him. Not anything else. You are addicted to him and he doesn’t have to do anything more than what he does now. The waiter comes up and Max looks over at you. “What kind of wine do you want, baby?”

“Mmm I think red.” You say, having decided on the duck before even sitting at the table. Max takes the wine list and scans it, selecting a Cabernet and you squeeze his hand. “Excellent choice sir.” The waitress says and says he will be back to take your order. “What are you going to order?” You ask him, “do you want to get an appetizer? I think I just want to have the entree.”

“No, no appetizer.” Max decides, sending you a suggestive smirk. “I want to save room for dessert.” Waggling his brows suggestively, he knows he will have your thighs spread wide and his tongue buried in your cunt tonight. “I’m going to just have a steak, rare.” He decides, barely even looking at the menu, too busy staring at your beautiful face. 

You fluster at the way he stares at you. Still unnerved by the way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world for him. “That’s what you always get. And you never eat it. I swear…you always make me take it home for lunch.” You shake your head, concerned about him paying for a steak and never eating it. Before Max can explain, the waiter comes back with the bottle of red and opens it, allowing Max to taste before pouring your glass. He takes your orders and leaves you and Max to enjoy your drink.

“To us.” Max offers, holding up his glass as a toast. “To our future together and tonight is the beginning of happily ever after.” He offers, giving you a sincere smile as he waits for you to react to that. 

Your heart flutters at his words and you clink your glass against his. "To us." You practically sigh with contentment. Part of you wonders if Max is going to propose tonight and that makes your stomach twist with happy anticipation.

Taking a small sip of the wine, he makes a noise of appreciation and sets it down. Much preferring to watch you until he can capture your hand again. “I love you, baby.” He starts softly. “I’ve never felt this way, about anyone, but you - you’ve completely changed me. I can’t imagine my life without you.” 

"Max." You gasp softly at his speech. He's a very physical lover, cocky with his words but never emotional. This is rare for him to say and you are shocked but happy. He loves you and you are so in love with him, all of him. You look down at your joined hands, "Max. I- I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine."

“I want to ask you something serious.” His brow furrows slightly and he squeezes your hand. “I want you to go away with me, meet my family.” He’s never mentioned you meeting anyone in his family and while it’s not exactly a proposal, this is serious for him. “Would you come with me to Romania?”

You’re surprised again. A little disappointed if you’re honest. You thought he was gonna propose. You soon gather yourself, replacing your slight frown with a smile as you tilt your head. “Your family? I- I thought you said your parents are dead.” You frown again and Max nods, “yes, but I have an uncle. I want you to meet him. See where I’m from.” You bite your lip and think for a second, seeing the desire in his eyes and how can you resist? You nod, squeezing his hand. “Of course I will. I’d love to meet your uncle and see your homeland.”

He can tell that you are disappointed that he didn’t pull out a ring and propose to you. Knowing that you are unaware that he has to get permission from his uncle - his sire -  to marry you, and to tell you that he’s a vampire. “I love you baby. I promise that you won’t regret it.” He leans in and presses his lips to yours. “He’s going to love you.” 

**** 

It’s cold when you land in Romania and you are escorted to the black car waiting for you outside of the airport. “How the hell did you deal with the cold when you live in L.A?” You ask Max when the car is moving along to your hotel. You’re nervous to meet Max’s uncle. You haven’t heard much about him other than Max wouldn’t be who he is today without his uncle.

“Jackets.” He jokes with a grin, although he really isn’t affected by the cold like you are. It’s one of the perks of being a vampire. “You need me to keep you warm, baby?” He asks, scooting closer to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I can warm you up just as soon as we get to the hotel if you want.” 

You giggle, turning your head to kiss his jaw. “I wouldn’t mind that. After all, this is our first vacation together. We might as well make the most of it.” You smirk and nudge your nose against his jaw. You and Max don’t live together. It’s been over a year of dating but you’ve never pushed it, knowing he might just want to do things traditionally and get engaged first. “When are we meeting your uncle?”

“Tomorrow.” Max knew that jet lag would affect you, so he had told Serge that he would bring you by tomorrow afternoon. He didn’t want you to be tired or less than your best when you meet the man who had turned him into a vampire when he was here in college. “That way you can get a good night’s sleep.” 

You snort, “a good night’s sleep with you around? I doubt it, Phillips.” You nudge him and he squeezes your arm, “I want you to like each other so maybe best if you don’t look like you got your brains fucked out all night long, huh sweet cheeks?” He hums and you smirk, “you say that now but wait until you see what I brought with me to sleep in:”

Max groans, rolling his eyes at the thought of you in lingerie. You love wearing things that make him feral to touch you, although he’s never shown you how feral he could be. Carefully keeping that side of him contained, so he doesn’t hurt or scare you. “So you want me to fuck you all night, got it.” He smirks. “Besides, it’s gonna be on the floor in shreds within minutes of you showing me.”

“That’s why I brought more than one.” You smirk and kiss his jaw, making him growl softly under his breath. 

****

“Max. This isn’t a hotel, it’s a goddamn castle.” You gasp as you enter the impressive abode, the drapery and stone imposing but warm as you step into the foyer followed by Max.

“Did I forget to mention that?” Max squints as he looks at you questioningly. Of course he wasn’t going to admit that it was a castle, he wanted to see your face as you experienced it for the first time and you didn’t disappoint him. “Sorry if it’s not romantic enough.” He pouts.

"Are you kidding me?" You chuckle humorlessly, walking over to him to wrap your arms around his neck, dragging him down to press your lips against his. Your fingers running through his hair. "I love you Max. This is - it's incredible. Where on earth did you find this place?"

“It’s actually…” Max sends you an apologetic look, “not a hotel. This is my uncle’s house.” He explains. “But don’t worry.” He assures you. “I told the housekeeper we were going to keep to our room tonight. They will send up dinner and we can just crash…or…whatever.” He hums, waggling his brows again.

You are a little taken back that this is his uncle's place but you don't argue it, knowing that this place is incredible and Max likely didn't want to make you more nervous. "Uh, sure. That works babe." You nod, sliding your hands down his back. "Of course there's a housekeeper." You giggle, looking around the foyer in awe. His uncle must be important to have a home like this. "I think I'd like to try the 'whatever'." You tease, sliding your hands lower to squeeze his ass through his jeans.

“Yeah?” He leans in, growling playfully and he scrapes his teeth over your pulse. Never allowing himself to let his fangs descend, he tortures himself with the alluring scent of your blood. “Come on, baby,” he groans. “Let me show you where we’ll be staying.” His sire has already had his old rooms prepared and he knows that he won’t intrude on the two of you.

You let him guide you through the impressive hallways, walls lined with portraits, and you gasp when Max opens  the large double doors. "Max. Wow. This is - wow." You look around at the large four-poster bed, the heavy velvet drapes. It looks like a vampire's lair and the thought makes you giggle. "What's so funny?" Max snorts after setting down your bags and you spin to face him. "Nothing. Just can't believe this is real. You are - I am so lucky to have you." You turn sappy, wanting him to know how much you appreciate him.

You slide your fingers through his hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss and he slides his tongue into your mouth. You know you need to shower after the long plane ride so you pull back before it can get too hot and heavy. "I want to shower baby. Can you lift my case onto the table? I gotta find my toiletries."

“Of course, sweet cheeks.” He pulls back and gives you a little wink before rushing over to the bags. You don’t know about his vampiric strength, so it’s always fun to show off how strong he is. Lifting the heavy case easily and setting it on the table. “While you search for your toiletry bag, you want me to call down to the kitchen for anything? Something to drink? A snack?” Having a human lover means taking care of your needs, far more demanding than his own.

"Some water would be nice. A snack too. I don't know what your uncle likes or has. You know what I like so just pick something, okay?" You kiss his cheek, "thanks baby." You say as you rifle through your things for your toiletry bag and the bag containing your nightwear. You shower, glad to wash the hours of traveling from your skin, and after you dry off, you put the lacy little number you bought with Max's reaction in mind. You open the bathroom door and find Max sitting on the edge of the bed.

Checking his emails, Max looks up and freezes at the sight of you in the doorway. The lacy lingerie has his cock immediately hardening and he flips the phone out of his hand behind him, letting it land carelessly on the bed as he stands up. “Fuck, baby.” He growls. “You look good enough to eat.” He chuckles. “Fuck a snack, I want the whole damn meal.

You giggle at his hungry gaze and his hands find your hips, squeezing them, and you gasp at the strength in his grip. "Damn Max, you're gonna leave bruises." You warn him playfully and he has a guilty look in his eyes that you haven't seen before. "Hey. It's okay. I liked it." You promise, cupping his cheeks.

“Sorry baby.” He’s a little out of sorts, being here. The scent of vampires is concentrated, seeped into the stones and you don't even know. He’s feeling more possessive of you, and his more animalistic side is simmering just under the surface. “I’ll make it up to you.” He promises, guiding you back towards the bed. “By eating your pussy until you scream.”

"Now that's more like it, Phillips." You let him lay you down on the bed and you look up at him as he shrugs off his button-down and exposes his chest. He's not chiseled but he's built, a strength simmering beneath the skin that takes your breath away. He slides his hands along your legs, making you stare at him, chest heaving as arousal dampens your panties. "I love you." You sigh when he kisses your knee.

“I love you too.” He’s certain that he does and he wants to prove it to you. He wants to remind you of how good it is between you before you meet his sire. Starting to shift to his stomach, he kisses down your thigh, inhaling the scent of your wet pussy and the sweet blood in your veins with a loud, pleased groan.

You whimper when his mouth presses against your panties, mouthing at your clit through the lace, and it's enough to make a moan escape your lips. Loud and echoing off of the stone walls. "That's it, sweetheart. Lemme hear you." Max murmurs as he pulls your panties to the side and you watch as his dark eyes meet yours while he drags his tongue through your folds. "Shit." You pant, toes twitching as he dives in.

Max had been good at oral before, but it was always given selfishly. It was so the girl would suck his dick or brag to her girlfriends about how good he was. So he could possibly bang them later too. This is just because he wants to. Because he’s addicted to your taste and sounds. His tongue curling up inside you and then coming back out to flick over your clit as he devours you. Groaning into your cunt like a man starved, he could spend all night between your thighs just like this and be happy pulling orgasms from you.

You whimper as he happily eats you out like a man starved. You can never complain that Max isn’t a giver with the way he licks your cunt for hours. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair and he growls into your flesh. His fingers digging deep and you know he’s going to bruise you but you don’t care, too caught up in the feel of his tongue curling inside of you, his nose pressed against your clit. “Fuck, Max. So good. Always so good.” You praise him, “love this. Love you so much.”

Max loves when you praise him, soaking it up and it makes him work even harder to pull an orgasm out of you. His eyes are dark and lust blown as he watches you, just shy of turning yellow in his desire.

You see that dark look in his eyes that he gets a lot and you love it. The hunger there makes your stomach twist and pushes you closer to your orgasm. He pushes his tongue deeper, curling it inside of you and you fall over the edge. “Max!” You squeal, thighs squeezing his head as you cum, soaking his tongue and you throw your head back as your orgasm shakes your body.

Max growls, the sound vibrating into you and he eagerly drinks down every drop of your release that you will give him. Loving how completely undone you are because of him. You’ve told him how powerful the orgasms are and he gets drunk on the pleasure he gives you as he strokes you through the high with his tongue.

You reach down to run your fingers through his hair, a lazy smile on your face as you melt into the mattress. “Shit. I fucking love you, Phillips.” You sigh happily, licking your lips and you beckon him up to you by tugging on his hair. “Want you inside me.” You request softly.

Despite the fact that he is hard and aching, Max takes his time to kiss you. Pressing his lips to your gently and licking into your mouth when you open for him. Not minding your taste, you kiss him back eagerly as he starts to slowly cover your body with his own and slide his hands down to lift your legs up onto his hips. “I love you too, sweet cheeks.” He promises when he pulls back, looking into your eyes as he notches himself at your entrance and slowly starts to push inside you. 

You moan his name as he pushes deep inside of you. "Shit Max, feels like you're in my guts." You groan in bliss as he nudges the back wall of your pussy. He is longer than any other lover you've had. You caress his back as he kisses along your neck, making you tilt your head until his lips are over your pulse. Unaware of the danger he poses as he scrapes his teeth over your skin. "Hmmm Max." You hum as he starts to move.

“You feel so good, baby.” He groans, pretending to pant because he doesn’t need to breathe. Sliding his arms underneath you, he pulls you closer as his hips start to rock fast and deep, making sure you feel every inch of his cock inside you . “Love you so much, you’re perfect for me.” 

You know you’ve never felt like this about anyone. It’s gonna always be Max. He’s your forever and you don’t know how true that rings for him. Your hands caress his shoulders as you lift your thighs a little higher, allowing him to sink deeper inside of you. “Yes, baby. Oh shit. I’m gonna - you’re - I’m close.” You tell him, amazed at the ability he has to make you cum so fast.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” He groans, eyes rolling back at the way your cunt clenches down on him. “Cum for Max, show me how wet you get when I fuck you.” He leans down and presses his lips to yours again. “I love you. Cum for me.” 

You moan into his mouth, unable to stop your orgasm from hitting you hard and your nails dig into his skin as you cum, toes curling against his ass as you clamp down on his cock with a moan.

He loves it. Moaning your name, he can’t help but fuck into you a little harder. Not too hard, he can’t hurt his little human, but enough that it enhances your orgasm and makes you squeal again. Max buries his head against your neck, hiding the way that his face starts to shift, feeling his own end starting to build. It only takes a few more pumps of his cock before he’s growling, pushing deep and filling you up with hot ropes of his useless seed. 

You sigh as Max fills you up, loving the way he relaxes on top of you, and you kiss his hair as he grunts against your neck. “I love you Phillips. So much.” You murmur, caressing his back and you feel his muscles beneath the skin.

“I love you too.” He turns once his face has morphed back to normal and presses his lips to yours, making sure that he pants so you will believe that is out of breath. He slowly pulls out of you with a groan and nudges his nose against yours before he rolls off of you onto his back so you can cuddle against him. “Didn’t tear this set.” He muses as he slides his hand up and down your lingerie clad back. “Must be tired.” Turning, he kisses your forehead. “Do you want to soak in a bath baby, or take a nap?” 

“Nap.” You murmur, shifting onto your side so you can look at him. “Definitely nap.” You close your eyes and you smile when Max kisses your shoulder as he leans over you. “Get some sleep.” He orders softly and you hum, knowing he will clean you up before he goes to sleep. He always falls asleep after you.

It never takes long for you to fall asleep after he’s fucked you. Watching you as your breathing starts to even out and before too long, you are asleep. It’s one of the reasons that you aren’t living together yet. You would notice that he never sleeps if you lived together. He could always pretend to have slept for the few nights you stayed over, but if you were constantly together, you would figure it out. You aren’t stupid. When he’s certain you won’t stir, he slowly shifts out from under you, moving towards the bathroom to get a washrag to clean you up. Smirking to himself when he sees the cum on the inside of your thighs and dripping out of you. While nothing could ever come of it, it makes him incredibly possessive to see it. 

Max sighs as he lays down beside you, watching you sleep, and he wonders what you are dreaming about until he hears his name across the castle. He can hear his sire calling him from anywhere and he groans, shifting off of the bed to dress and make his way over to his “uncle’s” suite. “Max.” Serge greets Max when he opens the door. “It’s been a long time,”

“It has.” Max admits, knowing he has not been back for years but he doesn’t apologize for it. He had been busy making his way up the corporate ladder. “And this time you have brought a human.” Serge’s expression is amused and he watches his protegé carefully. “The entire east wing smells of her blood. She is sweet.” 

Max swallows down the growl that threatens to make its way up his throat. “I’m assuming you’re here to ask me for permission to turn her?” He asks, knowing that Max needs the authorization of his maker to turn what some would call “his mate.” Max nods and stands straighter. “I’ll need to meet her of course. Tomorrow. I need to see if she’s suitable.” Serge hums, wiping some invisible lint off of his shirt.

“She will be suitable.” Max assures his sire, forgetting how abrupt he could be. “I- I love her.” He admits, knowing that Serge will take Max’s wants into account when meeting you. “She is perfect for me.” 

Serge chuckles, “I’ll be the judge of that. She smells delicious so I’m sure she will be sweet. She has tamed you, Maxwell.” Serge playfully tuts, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

He bristles slightly but allows himself to relax. “She has.” He admits. “She balances me out. Keeps me from being outrageous like I used to be.” He wants this to go well. “A perfect mate for me.”

Serge nods, “we will see tomorrow. I just wanted to see you when you arrived. You may go back to your human. She must be tired after all that traveling.” Serge says and looks out of the window at the moon that has risen high in the sky.

“Tomorrow.” Max nods and lets himself out of the suite to walk back towards his rooms. Hoping that Serge is impressed by you and allows him to turn you.

****

To say you’re nervous to meet Max’s uncle is an understatement. You know you need to impress the only family Max has if you have any chance of your relationship continuing and you focus on making sure you look good this morning so that Max’s uncle is impressed by you. You exhale shakily when Max calls you from the bedroom to let you know a breakfast tray is here. “I can’t eat, Max.” You admit, “what if your uncle hates me? I can’t ask you to choose between me and your only family.”

“Don’t worry baby.” He reaches out and wraps his arm around you to pull you close. “He’s gonna love you.” He nudges his nose against yours before he kisses you. “Please just eat a little? For me? I don’t want you to be hungry.”

You nod, kissing him again, knowing you should probably have something to settle your stomach. You reach down to take a piece of buttered toast off of the tray and bite into it, watching as Max prepares your coffee the way you like it.

“Don’t think of him as someone scary.” Max tells you, turning and handing you the coffee. “He’s just my uncle. I’m introducing the woman I love to him. He’s gonna be thrilled. You’re far too good for me.”

You take the cup and playfully roll your eyes. “Sure, Phillips.” You snort and take a sip of the coffee. “Says the man who brought me to a fucking castle.” Max chuckles and you set the coffee down after finishing it. “Okay let’s go.” You brush yourself down and try to ignore the hammering of your heart as you prepare to meet Max’s uncle.

Max holds your hand after leaving the suite, wanting to reassure you. “You look beautiful today, but you look beautiful everyday.” He compliments, lifting your hand up to kiss the back of it. “We are going to meet Serge in the drawing room. Nothing too formal, baby.”

“The drawing room isn’t formal?” You snort and Max smirks as he squeezes your hand to guide you through the ornate house to the drawing room. You exhale shakily, unaware that both men can hear your heart pounding as you enter the drawing room to find a man around Max’s age standing in the room already. That confuses you. Unless he looks really good for his age, Max can’t have an uncle that’s the same age as him.

Max beams, guiding you close to the other man. Saying your name, he motions towards Serge. “This is my uncle, Serge.” He explains. “Serge, this is the woman I want to marry.”

Your heart flutters and you turn to smile at Max as he says that. You figured he wanted to take the next step bringing you here but to hear him say it aloud has you grinning from ear to ear. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You hold your hand out to his uncle who hums as he takes your hand in his. “She’s a pretty one, Max.” He says with a wink towards you, squeezing your hand. “Do you think she’d make a good vampire?” He asks and you can’t stop the confused chuckle escaping your lips.

Max doesn’t laugh, just nodding seriously. “She will.” He tells his sire. “She has amazing self control and she’s smart as hell. If you allow me to change her, it will be good for our coven here and in the States.” Serge cares that he chooses wisely when turning people now, the unfortunate fiascos that can occur when you turn too many has been a lesson learned over the decades. He turns to look at you with a proud smile. “She would be amazing.”

You turn to look at Max with confused eyes, waiting for him to say “ha, gotcha,” but he doesn’t and that makes you gasp. “Wait…are you joking? Or - or are you for real? Like- like vampires exist and I- you are one?” You ask Max, still waiting for him to burst out laughing and say it’s all a joke.

“It’s real sweet cheeks.” Max reaches for your hand again. “It’s the reason that I’ve not been able to move in with you yet. Serge isn’t my uncle, he’s my sire. He made me a vampire and I have to get permission from him to tell you about all this.”

You pull your hand away from his reach and stare at Max in shock. He's a vampire. He drinks blood. He wants you to become a vampire. You feel sick and dizzy and have a thousand different emotions. Your vision goes fuzzy and your eyes roll into the back of your head as you collapse.

That had not been the response Max was expecting. His inhumane speed keeps you from hitting the ground and he scoops you up to move you towards the sofa. Serge tuts and shakes his head. “Does she do this often?” He asks, unsure of how well you would take transforming into a creature of the night if you fainted at the news. 

“No. She’s shocked.” Max huffs, caressing your cheek and looking down at you worriedly once he’s got you settled.

“Well she might be shocked but you have two options now. Either she’s changed or you kill her. You know the sacred rule…no human can know about us. It’s one or the other and if you can’t make a choice, I’ll have to kill her.” Serge declares.

“I’ll change her.” Max promises, knowing that he can’t kill you, not when he loves you like he does. “When she wakes up and accepts what I am, she’ll want to be changed.” 

Serge nods and turns to walk out of the room, bored with the scene. “See that she does, Maxwell.” He warns his vampiric offspring. “Or I will destroy her.” 

****

You wince when you come around, the bright light hurting your eyes and you hear Max shut the curtain as you open your eyes properly. “Max?” You croak and Max kneels beside you.

“I’m here baby.” He promises and you swallow, your throat dry. “Here.” Max says as he hands you a glass of water and you shift to sit up. 

You take a few gulps and hand the glass back to Max. “I had the weirdest dream. That you were a vampire and you -” You glance around the drawing room and back to Max. “Oh God. It’s true. You - oh my God.” You choke, trying to back away from him.

“It’s okay.” He soothes you, keeping his voice low. “Nothing has changed. I’ve been a vampire this entire time and nothing’s happened, right? I just can now offer you one hell of a health plan, eternal life.” He jokes, sending you a reassuring smile. “I love you baby, and I want to be with you forever.”

“I thought - I thought you were proposing.” You choke and Max chuckles, “I kinda am. This is the vampy way of proposing.” He winks at you and you shake your head, “that’s why- you don’t eat. You don’t sleep. You - oh God. How didn’t I see something was off?”

“Because I didn’t want you too, baby.” Max reaches for you, wanting to caress your face, but you rear back from him. Making him frown, upset that you think he would hurt you. He’s never wanted to hurt you and he never would. “It’s okay baby, I’m still me. The same man you love.”

"I - I need time to think." You murmur, head hurting from trying to process that Max is a fucking vampire, and you struggle to reconcile that the man you adore also kills people. "I - what would - if you were to change me...what happens?"

“Well….” It’s good that you are asking questions. “You would be a vampire. You’d be extremely thirsty for a few days, but I will make sure you have exactly what you need.” He promises. “You’d have better hearing, vision, and strength. You wouldn’t need any sleep. You would be the best version of yourself.”

You bite your lip as you process his words. "What about...what about having kids? Would we be able to have a family?" You ask him. You had never discussed kids. You've tried but Max has always distracted you and now you know why he did.

“Baby….” Max sighs, blowing out a sound even though he doesn’t need to breathe. “I can’t have kids. I could never have kids. Not since we met.” He won’t mention that it’s because he’s technically dead. “But we could have our own version of kids. Anyone we change.”

“Oh." You sound so defeated, almost devastated. You have been so focused on your career that you always put the children talk on the back burner but you wanted the choice. Now that's being taken away from you if you want to stay with Max. "What - what would happen if I wasn't changed?" You ask and Max closes his eyes for a second, "I have to change you...or kill you." He barely breathes out the second part but you hear it. "If I don't, then Serge will." He admits and you nod slowly. 

"I love you. I do. So much. I- I don't know." You confess and Max knows he made a mistake bringing you here. 

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'll take you home. I'll - I can sneak you out and hide you. Serge won't find you." He promises and you reach for his hand, reminded that this is Max. 

"What would happen to you?" You aren't stupid, you know there'd be consequences. 

“I'd be killed but I've had a good life. I - you made it better than I could've hoped." He reveals and you feel your eyes sting at the thought of him being killed. 

"Max. No. No. I - I'll do it. You can change me." You tell him and he shakes his head, "I can't. I know you don't want it. I can see it in your eyes. I can't change you and see you hate me in a decade when you realize how lonely this life can be." He admits and you squeeze his hand, "I want it." You try to convince yourself and him, "don't you want to spend forever with me?" You ask, wondering if he's changed his mind.

“I will have spent forever with you.” He’s grateful that Serge had disappeared to do whatever so he could talk to you. “My last days will be with you. That’s all I want.” He promises. He knows he can’t turn you against your will and you don’t love him enough to give up your humanity. “Quick. We need to leave now.” He tells you, standing up and pulling you up with him. “I’ll keep you safe.”

"No. No. Max- I won't - I can't let you die because of me. Please. Change me now." You beg, pushing on his chest as much as you can and tilting your head so you can display your neck to him. "I can't let you die baby. Just bite me, now. Please. Before I change my mind and freak out. Do it."

Max loves you even more for begging him to change you to save his life. He cups your cheek and smiles at you gently, ignoring the panic in your words and leaning in to kiss your lips. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.” He orders you, looking deep into your eyes and hypnotizing you with his powers or persuasion. “You will sleep now.”

You collapse into his arms, passed out as you unwillingly fall asleep. Max carries you through the house, abandoning your things to prioritize your safety and he is quick to get into the car and drive you to the airport. He needs to get you out of Romania before Serge realizes you are gone. His sire has always had such a strong conviction to vampiric law and Max knows he won't rest until order is restored. 

Max keeps you asleep until he's laying you down in your bed and he pulls out his phone to call that witch girl who he fucked a few years ago. He needs a protection spell on your apartment. When you wake up, you're extremely confused to find yourself back in your bed and Max nowhere to be found. "Max?" You call out, throat dry, and you start to sob when you realize what he's done. He's going to be killed and it's all your fault.

Max has been listening outside your apartment door, waiting for you to wake up. Since the witch has placed the spell on your dwelling, even he can’t cross your threshold. A horrible side effect, but he knows he will do whatever he needs to keep you safe. He can’t even touch the door to knock. “It’s okay, baby.” He closes his eyes and sighs, standing back a few feet from your door. “You’re safe.” He hears you rush out of your bedroom and fling the door open. “Don’t step outside!” He barks harshly. “You’re safe inside. Serge can’t reach you there.”

You don’t cross the threshold but you stare at him with tears running down your cheeks, “why? Why did you do this? I- I wanted you to change me. Now you’re going to be killed. I can’t lose you. I love you, Phillips and I - I’m so sorry. I should’ve said yes. I should’ve let you change me from the get go.”

Max shakes his head. “I love you too, sweet cheeks.” He promises you. “That's why I can’t change you.” He shrugs slightly. “You want kids, and to grow old, and I can’t do any of those things.” He swallows harshly. “I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure Serge doesn’t hurt you, even if it means that he has to kill me.” He wishes he could kiss you one last time, but the kiss he gave you while you were asleep will have to do. “Don’t be sorry, and don’t blame yourself.”

You shake your head, "don't do this. Please." You choke, clinging to the door frame as you stay in the apartment and Max blows you a kiss, "I love you, baby. Be good." He says and walks down the hall, letting you know he's going to sacrifice himself. You sob, falling to the floor and you can't let him do this. You rush out of your apartment down the hall towards where Max just disappeared down the stairwell when the elevator dings. 

"Silly girl. He was trying to protect you and you just ruined his plan. Nevermind, it makes my job easier." Serge chuckles, speeding towards you to grab your neck, making you cry out. "Max!"

Max hears Serge, growling and whipping around to race back down the hallway. Fear and anger when he sees his sire holding you by the neck makes Max snarl. His face shifting and transforming in the truly horrific visage of his true self, eyes yellow and bone structure heavy. “Let her go.” He growls, wishing you had never left the safety of the apartment.

“You can’t kill her, Max and she has to die. She knows the secret and she can’t be left alive. Either she dies or you do and I can’t lose you. You’re like a son to me. Just let me kill the silly girl. You’ll forget all about her in a few years and you’ll find another human.” Serge scoffs, squeezing your neck a little harder and you reach up to grab his forearms.

“No.” The growl is low, furious as Max speeds towards you and his sire. Reaching out and grabbing the older vampire’s arm, he twists it to make him drop you, lowering his shoulder to push the threat away from you as he hisses, his fangs descending, deadly sharp canines on display.

You gasp, backing up into the wall as Max grabs his maker and shoves him against the wall in your hallway. The drywall cracks and Max growls as he manages to wrap his hand around Serge’s throat. “You motherfucker.” He growls and squeezes as he fumbles to open his jacket. 

“She’s worth this, Max? If you kill me, you’ll die.” Serge reminds him.

“I don’t care.” Max snarls. “As long as she lives, I can die a happy man.” Instead of tearing Serge’s head off, Max lunges forward and sinks his teeth into the man’s throat, tearing it out and then pulls out the stake he had put in his jacket. Plunging it into his maker’s chest, fully prepared to die to keep you safe.

You scream as you watch Serge explode, blood covering the walls of your apartment hall and you shake your head. “Max no!” You cry, scared that he’s going to die because of you. “Why did you do that!” You shout, “You are going to - oh God. Max.” You fall to the floor when he turns around and you see him covered in blood.

He’s getting a few more seconds. Seconds he doesn’t want to waste. Grabbing you, Max hauls you close to him and presses his blood covered lips to yours. “I love you.” He promises, right before the pressure in his body builds to the point where he screams.

You cling to him, uncaring that he’s likely to explode in a spray of blood. You want to be close to him in his final moments, the life he sacrificed for yours. “I love you.” You cry as he screams until he slumps down beside you. He doesn’t explode, he collapses onto the floor unconscious and you sob, reaching for him to caress his cheek. His bone structure is still heavy, depicting his true nature until it starts to shift under your touch. “I’m so sorry, Max.” You sob, leaning down to press your face to his chest, mourning the man you love so dearly.

Long minutes pass. His body is still and unmoving. Changing back to the body of a normal man and not exploding into a bloody pile of goop like you had expected. You continue to sob against his chest until a strange sound captures your attention. One that you realize you had never heard before despite laying on his chest after sex. A tiny thud. Repeating again and again until it starts to resemble something you never thought you would hear. A heartbeat.

You pull back, looking down at Max in shock, and he inhales sharply after several seconds, spluttering as he chokes on a breath. "Max!" You cry, thinking something is wrong until he opens his eyes. "Max. Are you - are you okay?" You ask, hands covered in blood as you cup his cheeks.

Max grimaces, his head pounding in the first headache he’s had in…..since he was turned. “I- fuck-“ he gasps out, feeling his lungs start to burn from the lack of oxygen. “I’m- I’m human again.” He whispers, realizing what all of that must mean. 

You are in shock, your palm on his thumping heart and you look at him. “Max. You’re human.” You gasp, helping him to sit up and you know he has to be feeling everything all at once. “Are you okay?”

“I feel like shit.” Max admits and after he thinks about that for a moment, he starts to laugh. “Baby, I feel like shit!” He repeats, aware that he’s never felt like shit as a vampire. “Serge must have known that killing him wouldn’t kill me.” He realizes. “Motherfucker lied.”

You caress his cheek, “you’re human.” You are in shock and You surge forward to hug him. “You’re alive. Baby. Can I - you hungry?” You ask, wanting to look after him as much as possible.

Max wraps his arms around you and frowns slightly as his stomach growls. “I- yes?” It’s more of a question since he’s only experienced thirst since being changed. “I- oh my god, baby, I’m human. I-“ he chokes up and buries his face in your neck.

You caress his back, wondering if he’s happy or angry that he’s human. “Are you- are you upset that you don’t have - that you aren’t a vampire anymore?” You ask, unable to believe how warm he feels beneath your touch. You’ve never noticed that before.

“I don’t care about being a vampire.” That’s true, he realizes as Max pulls away to look into your eyes. “I want to be with you. Forever, for twenty years, it doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you.”

Your lower lip trembles as you stare at him with tears in your eyes. “I love you Max. I want to be with you. I would’ve spent forever with you but I’m happy to spend the rest of my life with you.” You promise, “I just - I hope you don’t regret this.” You sigh, leaning in to softly kiss him.

“I’d never regret you, sweet cheeks.” Max promises you. “But I’m starving.” He groans. “And I’m so fucking sore. And my head hurts.”

“Do you want to shower and I’ll make you something to eat?” You ask, running your fingers through his blood soaked hair. “And I’ll get you some Tylenol.” You promise, knowing that he’s going to have to adjust to human life again.

Max grins, leaning in and kissing you again. “I fucking love you.” He breathes out. “That sounds like heaven. And then I want it see what human sex is like with you.” He teases, happy that he didn’t become a Jackson Pollock painting and he gets a second chance at being human, with you. “See if those swimmers work now.”

You chuckle, “well I have an IUD. Didn’t realize it was a waste of time, but let’s go get you that shower.” You say, shifting to stand up. “I love you, Max Phillips.” You say when he’s standing up and you guide him into your apartment, leaving the blood in the hall to deal with later and you shut the door, guiding Max to your bathroom. You turn on the water and work on stripping off his blood soaked clothes. “I’m so happy you’re alive. I- I should’ve stayed inside. I nearly lost you.” You choke, cupping his cheeks once he’s bare before you.

“Baby, I would do anything for you.” Max reminds you, holding onto your waist. “Even die.” He chuckles. “But I’m glad that didn’t happen.” He admits, leaning in and sighing softly.

“Me too.” You murmur, working on removing your own clothes and you guide him into the shower. “Temperature okay?” You ask and he nods. You grab the body wash you’ve kept in your shower for him and you work on washing him, loving the way he groans when you rub his head. “My hero. Saving me. Sacrificing for me. You are incredible Max.” You whisper, wanting him to know how much you adore him.

Max hums, closing his eyes and enjoying the heat of the water and your hands on his skin. “You are worth it.” He murmurs quietly. “You’re worth everything, baby.”

You smile and kiss his chest, right above his now beating heart. You owe him your life and your humanity and you will love him until the day you die. You shift to rinse him off, working fast to clean yourself up. This isn’t sexual, purely comfort and you work fast until you are handing him a towel. “Get some sweats and I’ll make you some food. “Grilled cheese and tomato soup sound good?”

Groaning, his mouth practically waters at the idea of the simple meal. “That sounds amazing. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had that?” He asks. “I will eat anything that you want to fix happily.”

You smile, happy to look after him after he’s taken such good care of you. You quickly dress in your shorts and tank top and make your way into the kitchen to prepare dinner for you both. You are surprisingly hungry after nearly being killed and it doesn’t take long for you to have the meal on the kitchen table. “Max. It’s ready!” You shout as he comes out of your bedroom.

Max stumbles out of the bedroom, his headache still a dull throb and he’s actually used the bathroom for the first time in years. “It smells amazing.” He’s drooling as he sits down and looks at the deceptively simple meal. “Thank you, baby.”

You know it’s a big adjustment for him but you’ll be there every step of the way. You set the Tylenol down with the bottle of water and tell him to drink. “Drink, baby. Take some Tylenol. You have been through a lot.” You say and he follows your order, taking two pills and swallowing them before he digs into the meal.

It tastes so good that Max can’t help but moan and groan over the meal. “Oh my god.” He moans, chewing his bite of grilled cheese and taking a spoonful of the soup. “I could eat this everyday for the rest of my life.”

You chuckle, “you can if you want. Maybe we can go back to those restaurants and you can actually eat your steak. Or try something different.” You suggest, loving the way he’s enjoying the food. You’ve never seen him like this before. You finish your meal after he does, full and suddenly exhausted. “I’ll put this in the dishwasher. Go get ready for bed. I’ll be right in.”

It’s strange to be tired after years of not sleeping. Pretending to rest while he lays with you to make you think he had just woken up. Now, his entire body feels like it’s about to shut down and he still wants to touch you. He follows your orders and goes to get ready for bed, using the tooth brush that he leaves here.

You watch him come back into your bedroom and you pull the covers over, letting him get under them with you and you shift to pull him close, throwing your leg over his hip. “You have freckles.” You murmur, tracing his chest. “You didn’t have those before.”

He chuckles a little self consciously, wondering if the human version of Max Phillips will be exciting enough for you. “Yeah.” He hums. “I used to go to the beach a lot. Oh shit, I can be out in the sun for more than ten minutes again.” He realizes, eyes widening. “Can we go to the beach this weekend?” He asks excitedly.

You smile, “of course babe. We can go.” You promise and lean in to press your lips to his collarbone. “I’m so happy you’re alive. Vampire or human. I don’t think I could ever survive without you, Phillips. I love you so much.” You confess and lean in to kiss his jaw. “You saved me.” You murmur against his skin, “let me - I want to suck your cock.” You say, grinding yourself against him.

“Baby….” He whines, loving the idea. “Okay but you can't let me cum.” He tells you breathlessly. “I don’t know if I can stay hard. And I want you to cum too.

You nod, knowing that Max’s endless fucking isn’t possible now that’s he’s human but you don’t care. You love him more than anything else. You shift to pull the covers back, loving that he’s already half hard as you carefully pull down his sweats after he lifts his hips. You settle between his legs, spitting into your hand and you grip his cock, looking at those beautiful dark eyes as you lean in to wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

“Baby, I fucking love your mouth. It’s so good for so many things. Kissing me, sucking my cock, telling me that you love me.” He groans. “I want to tell you everyday how much I love your mouth.”

You moan around him, loving how he twitches inside of your mouth, and you work the base with your fingers, letting your saliva drip down to your digits. You groan when he grabs the back of your neck and you think he's going to push you further down his cock but he pulls you off. You whine, saliva dripping down your chin, "baby. Why?" You huff despite your cunt dripping for him.

“Want to be inside you.” He pants. “Want to feel you around my cock when I cum.” There’s enough time later on for him to let you swallow his cum. Right now he’s wanting to live every day like it’s his last and make sure you know how much he adores you.

You shift, pushing your shorts down and moving fast to straddle him, wanting to take care of him after his body has gone through so much. You reach down to grip his cock. "I love you." You murmur as you start to sink down onto his cock.

“Oh fuck baby, oh fuck.” Max groans, his toes curling up. “I love how you feel. It’s so, it’s so good. You're hotter. Wetter somehow.”

“You are hotter.” You tell him, “you feel - you feel so good Max.” You moan, caressing his bare chest to place your palm over his pounding heart as you start to move. You moan his name and he hisses when you clench around him as you start to bounce on his cock.

It’s crazy to feel lightheaded and out of breath. Feeling more now that he was human again. His fingers curl into the flesh at your hips and he moans your name. “Fuck baby, your so pretty.”

You preen at his praise, making you whimper his name and you rock a little faster. He is so soft beneath your touch and you never realized how cold he was until you feel his heated skin beneath your fingertips. “God, I love you Max. So much. Need - gonna make me -” You reach between you to rub your clit, so close to your orgasm.

He watches for a moment, obsessed with how you look. Then he’s slapping your hand away to rub your clit himself. He wants to be the one to make you cum. Loving the way you immediately buck when he takes over.

Your mouth falls open as you rock on his cock. “Yes baby. Oh shit. Yes. I’m gonna - fuck. You’re gonna make me cum.” You hiss, your thighs shaking as you grip his cock inside of you. Soaking him as you cum and you slump forward into his chest.

“Oh god, oh god, that feels so good.” He moans, wrapping his arms around you and sighing softly. He’s almost content to just stay like this but he wants to feel an orgasm as a human again so he starts to rock his hips up slowly. “I love you, baby. Nothing’s gonna keep us apart.”

You know there’s so much that could keep you apart but you’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure you spend the rest of your lives together. He rocks up into you and you get yourself together so you can rock down onto his cock, loving the way he hisses when your walls grip him. “Cum for me, baby. Wanna feel it.” You tell him, “wanna feel you cum inside of me.”

Max whimpers, eyes closed and he gasps out your name. Knowing that he should have died today, but he’s been given a new lease on life. “I love you.” He moans, thrusting up into you and painting your walls with his hot seed.

You moan, loving how it feels and you caress his chest as he twitches inside of you. “I love you.” You murmur, wanting to say it over and over now that you’re both safe. You aren’t sure how long you stay like that, just breathing each other in as he softens inside of you

Max’s eyes close almost immediately, his arms wrapped around you and he breathes you in. Smiling softly as he truly gets to inhale your scent. He might not have eternal life or everlasting youth anymore, but he has something much better, you.

[lichanicksstuff]

I just thought it would be hilarious if comic! Sandman characters would exist in the world where the show also exist. Imagine Hob inviting Dream for a movie marathon.

(There will be some comic spoilers, you've been warned).

In this universe, Dream met Neil Gaiman and inspired him to create a series like this, so nobody will ever know the truth about the Endless. It's pretty clever even for a Matthew's idea.

The thing is: Dream (Daniel; treat him like a second incarnation. Like with the Doctor, since Daniel has all of Dream's memories, powers, etc. But he is softer than Morpheus. It's simmilar to Doctor's incarnations - same person, a bit different personality) did not expect was his human friend to ask him to watch 6th episode together because it's an episode with both of them! Hob knows about the idea of "the sandman", since Dream visits him in his dreams once in a few months. When they first met in person it was very hard for Hob to explain to his girlfriend how his friend who was dead is now alive and well. That's how Daniel became a lost twin brother of "that friend" who Hob somehow knows because yes it makes perfect sense, and no, Hob isn't making this up (his girlfriend does NOT believe him, but she goes with it. She even gave Daniel a cup of tea, made in a kettle. Hob is so sensitive about it as a British guy). But today, his beautiful girlfriend was out with her friends so they could watch without her asking why is the character named just like him.

"It will be fun!" Hob said, sitting down on his couch and handing Dream over some popcorn. Dream knows, more or less, what he should be expecting because it was him who gave the ideas and was present (in the minds of the writers) during production. In the end, Dream agreed and they both started watching.

Hob was very suprised when he saw the actor who plays Morpheus. In some ways he does look very simmilar to the original incarnation but there's something more... human, about him. (Well, maybe because he's a human.) Dream's real face has some weird glow to it that makes him very memorable when he wants to be remembered but also easy to forget if he doesn't. And also his eyes are not normal. Two deep lakes reflecting a night sky. No pupils. Charming but also horrifying, if you ask Hob. Privately. In a dark room. When he's so wasted he would be dead if he could die.

But when he saw the guy who is him on the screen, he gasped.

"He's not ginger!" He yelled and Dream almost choked on his wine, "I'm telling you, mate, they have something to gingers in hollywood. Every bloody character who has red hair somewhere, doesn't have them in the show."

"Hob, you're a person, not a character." Dream corrected him like his friend wasn't just starting a monologue on the topic of red-haired people in movies and TV shows.

"He is pretty good-looking, though," Hob admitted after a longer minute of talking.

"Certainly looks better than you," Dream said and drunk his wine. Hob laughed and this ended the conversation for a moment.

They had been watching for like ten minutes, commenting the clothing, suited to a particular time when suddnely, at the 1789 scene Hob asked:

"Why are they eye-fucking each other the whole time?"

Dream looked at him with a sign of pure disbelief in his non-pupil eyes. Hob just shrugged asking a very impolite "what?" Which Dream decided to ignore.

But then at the 1889 scene, a situation that Hob still remembers and how scared he was he will be mortal from now on, Hob started yelling at the screen:

"Come on Hobbie, get your man!"

"Hob, this is supposed to be you."

"Well, I'm sorry I got invested." he said fussily.

In the end, Hob was very happy with the results of this episode, even if it wasn't really accurate. Dream, on the other hand, drank much more wine than he was planning to.

(And Matthew was laughing in crow the whole time.)

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 7

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: Explicit for violence Word Count: 11.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Canon typical violence. WARNINGS CONTAIN SPOILERS! Kidnapping, torture, burning victim with cigarettes, broken bones, a whole lot of gun pointing and talk about murder, medicine by injection. Summary: When the divide between you and Jack becomes big enough that a well-intended question causes an explosion of anger, you decide to get out of dodge for a while. Unfortunately, this decision has consequences that neither of you could ever have anticipated. Notes: I cried writing it, I cried editing it, I cried putting this post together. Consider yourselves warned.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

It's been a month and Jack Daniel's is a miserable fucking bastard. You've been told about the marks being detrimental to his job and refuse to get rid of the tattoo or the scars. Claiming that it wasn't your problem, and he considers that to be true, even if it pisses him off because he can't escape you. Stuck here at Statesman and being a firsthand witness to you dating. He swears he's seen half a dozen different men picking you up from your cabin and every goddamn time his stomach churns with jealousy until there's nothing left to do except get blindingly drunk.

There have been good days and bad ones, of course. You and Jack don’t ignore each other but you don’t ever do anything more intimate than having an occasional drink or taking a break from your day to have lunch together if he stops by the restaurant. Your staff has been hired and menu set, interior painted and linens picked out. Now that opening is just a few weeks away, it’s about finalizing and finesse, and your staff has been amazing.

The dating has been…touch and go. You had gone out with Ginger’s brother Lewis on almost every night of his visit, enjoying each other’s company much more than you had expected. Apparently he was just getting out of a relationship and had accepted Diana’s attempt to fix the two of you up gratefully. Without any kind of stress as to whether or not the relationship would be perfect – or even lasting – you and Lewis were able to have fun and relax on the nights you went out together.

With Jack not wanting to have anything romantic to do with anyone else especially and including you, you had no reason to say no to most of the invitations you got after that. A concert or a dinner or a movie or a special event - they were all nice things and the men were equally nice about half the time. Sometimes they stayed over and sometimes they didn’t, but none of them ever saw you more than twice. The guilt and the regret would creep in, reminding you that you have a soulmate and that he’s a good man, even if the two of you are at odds. The fact of the matter is, even with the casual and extremely platonic time that you spend with Jack, you do find yourself falling for him a little more every day. Whether that’s because you’re bound to him or because you just do love him, you really can’t be sure. And it wouldn’t do you any good to say anything anyway. So you do what Statesman employees do best and drink away the guilt.

******

Jack sighs, rolling his shoulders back before he opens the door to his house and steps outside to face the day. This time of year seems to weigh heavily on him and it doesn't help that he had watched you disappear into your cabin with some man last night while he sat on his porch. Not seeing either one of you emerge when he had finally gone to bed well after midnight.

Catching sight of Jack as you leave your house in the morning isn’t uncommon, but today when you do, guilt pools deep in your gut. Waking up with someone other than your soulmate is a special kind of self-torture, and the green-eyed, blonde-haired man curled around you this morning definitely was not Jack. This morning when you glance toward his house, you accidentally catch his eye and end up awkwardly waving as you leave your house alone. The blonde had been politely kicked out before breakfast.

Jack sends back that half-hearted wave and tries to keep the scowl off his face for your sake. Knowing that you will think that it's directed towards you instead of towards the man who had snuck out of your house this morning with a jaunt in his step that Jack certainly recognized.

A thought has been gnawing on you for a while now, and you hustle to catch up to Jack on the sidewalk that leads away from Statesman housing and heads toward the main area of the company’s campus. Trying to maintain a friendship with Jack has been agonizing for you, as you realize the actual depths of your feelings for him, but you’re also trying to respect his wishes. If he doesn’t want to be anything but a platonic pair, you aren’t going to forcibly change his mind. Either he wants to be with you or he doesn’t. End of story.

He hears your quick footsteps behind him, the effort for you to catch up to him and Jack sighs to himself. Not in any kind of mood to play nice, not when he's going to see that 'freshly fucked' glow that you seem to get when you bring someone home. Acid churns in his gut and he wonders if he's developing heartburn for how often he's eating antacids to keep it moderately tolerable.

He slows down only slightly, but you catch up to him by just the last few steps that land much harder like a schoolgirl trying to casually match the stride of her upperclassman crush. It’s a fairly apt comparison for how you feel about him sometimes, but that’s not a thought you want to have to nurse today. “In a hurry today?” You ask, knowing he isn’t late for his usual day. His 9-5 is the same as yours.

"Just wanting to get my heart pumping." Jack doesn't look over at you. "Not getting much exercise being stuck behind a desk." He tells you. "Champ still won't clear me for field work."

That’s your fault. You know it is. You’ve had full conversations about it. But as long as Jack insists on acting like you mean nothing to him, you’re going to maintain the same behavior. If he doesn’t want a soulmate, then he doesn’t get any of the benefits of you being that person. Including, but not limited to, an understanding heart.

“I had something I wanted to ask you,” you admit, shoving your hands in your pockets as you walk. Something that is very much above and beyond the call of a normal friend, but you’re telling yourself that that doesn’t mean anything. He’s not the only person you’ll be asking about this, so it’s fine.

"What do you need to know?" Jack rolls his eyes, noticing that you are avoiding him mentioning the fucking tattoo, but he didn't expect you to.

“I know it’s not really your thing…” He looks annoyed, and you wonder if he didn’t get enough sleep last night or if he skipped breakfast. The fleeting thought that he might be jealous of your date is flicked away with the reminder that he doesn’t want to be connected to you. He’s probably glad you’re finally leaving him alone. “But I’m asking my friends, which you did say you wanted to be,” the reminder comes with an awkward smile that you drop when he doesn’t respond. “Gabriella’s birthday is coming up, so it jogged my memory. I’m just asking my friends what they want their birthday cakes to be this year so I can plan ahead.”

"I don't celebrate my birthday." Jack manages to say the words without anger or devastation in the inflection in his voice. "Don't worry about it, sugar."

“I know you had said that, but I thought…sometimes it’s worth revisiting an old tradition. Who doesn’t like cake and presents, ya know?” Walking beside him, you feel like you ought to be clutching your textbooks and twirling your hair or something equally ridiculous. But all you want is to show him that you’re not the enemy.

Jaw clenched, Jack stops short and whirls towards you, obviously startling you from the way that you jump but he doesn't give a damn. You just push and you push and you push, not giving a damn what someone else might want. "I don't fucking celebrate the day my goddamn wife and baby boy died." He growls furiously. "Forget the goddamn day exists."

You feel knocked over even though all you've done is freeze on the sidewalk, wide eyes staring at him in shock while you're not sure if your jaw is trembling in shock or dropped fully open. "I—" The way your chest clenches, it feels like you might dissolve inwardly. "I didn't know. I'm so...I'm so sorry..."

"You didn't know because you didn't give a fuck." Jack sneers. "All you care about is yourself, what you want. What you think is best, damned what anyone else might think."

"Where do you get that from?" From bottomless sympathy, you bounce back to shock in a very different way. "I was trying to do something nice for you!"

"I told you I don't celebrate and you couldn't let it go." He shouts. "You won't get rid of the fuckin' tattoo so I can do my goddamn job. Maybe if you did, you wouldn't hafta worry about a fuckin' soulmate because I would be dead like I deserve to be!"

"This is the first and only time I've asked since the day we met." This time you know for certain that your lip is trembling, and that it's from oncoming tears. Being screamed at is never something you've been able to take, and this is...it's Jack. Someone you want to make happy so desperately that you're doing things you actively hate in order to do it. "You didn't want a soulmate. You wanted to be friends. So that's all I've done."

“I do want a soulmate. I want my soulmate.” Jack fumes, eyes flashing angrily. “I want the woman who fucking died on my birthday because she was going to get the fuckin’ candles she had forgot to buy for my cake. For me. She died because of me! That’s the soulmate I want!” His own agony makes him blind to the fact that he is crying, tears rolling down his face and his heart about to fucking bust apart, but not because of Abigail, it’s from hearing you say that all you’re trying to do is be friends.

With both of you crying it's almost an exercise in futility to make sense of anything, or to try to hold a reasonable conversation, and you can feel yourself shutting down faster than lightning. The words are there, ringing in your ears, never ever to leave again. I want my soulmate. Not you. Never you. He wants his wife back and you're just standing in the way and insulting her memory purely by existing. "Right." You barely croak out the one syllable, nodding vaguely and already backing away from him while you try not to shake where you stand. "Th—that's...you..." Whatever sentence you were trying to form isn't happening, to the point where all you can think about clearly is how badly you don't want him to be upset with you anymore. And the only way to do that is to walk away. "I'm sorry." Are the only coherent words you manage to murmur, fleeing in the opposite direction as soon as you get them out.

Jack stands there for a few minutes, only moving to wipe away the tears when his breathing is relaxed. Dread curling in his stomach as he replays the cruel things he had said to you in his anger and sorrow. “Shit.” He hisses quietly, wondering if you would talk to him now, but he doubts it.

You have to get yourself under control before you make it to the restaurant, you know that. But the tears rolling down your cheeks are thick and angry and making it hard for you to think, and when you pull out your phone to send a text you can barely read the screen. Hopefully, even if it doesn't make sense, your brother will understand enough to call you later. It's Friday and you need to be anywhere but here this weekend. Hopefully his guest room is free.

******

Jack pauses outside the restaurant, knowing that he needs to talk to you again, but he can’t make himself go inside. He’s fucked this all up. He’s hurt you and his heart aches from that. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials a number that oftentimes he avoids like the plague. “Hey doc.” He greets the Statesman therapist when the call is picked up. “Do you have some free time? I need to talk.”

A two-hour flight to New York is nothing, but by the time you land it’s late and the sight of your brother standing at the gate waiting for you nearly brings you to relieved tears.

******

It’s not unusual that he doesn’t see you at night. His therapy session opening his eyes and making him see that he’s been very wrong, very cruel to you. Sighing, Jack pushes off the swing with his foot, the tall glass of Statesman in his hand as he watches your dark cabin. He knows you’re in there, the pinging on his phone showing that you are.

There’s no sign of you all the next day, or even the one after that. No movements from your house, no lights turning on or off, no television flickering or even anyone else’s car in the driveway. It’s like you’ve shut yourself inside and locked out the rest of the world.

Jack tries to go about his weekend, but his eyes still wander over to your place. Hoping to see you, not having enough courage to go over and knock. He knows you won’t answer the door and it’s not like he’s given you any reason to. So he waits for an opportunity to bump into you.

But when Monday morning comes, you aren’t there. The bracelet he gave you - the one that was presented as an apology for an argument but actually contained a tracker so he can keep an eye on you - hasn’t moved. According to that tracker you’re still in your house, but it’s 8:40 on Monday morning and you are never late. You should be closing your front door behind you right now to walk to work, but there isn’t any trace of you in sight.

“Fuck this.” Jack slaps his thigh and stalks across the small courtyard to march up your step and - it’s probably a little more forceful than necessary - he starts beating on your door. “Come on, sugar! Open the door!”

There’s no answer. No movement from within at all. A peak through the garage door shows your car sitting there as usual so it’s not like you’ve decided to break your walking tradition and drive to work.

“Damnit.” Jack shakes his head and presses the button on his watch. “Ginger, unlock cabin 6.” He orders, worry starting to curl in his gut though your marks are still on his skin.

“Roger.” Ginger’s voice comes through his com loud and clear and the locks on your front door click open obediently to allow him entry.

His search is quick, getting more and more hurried as he rushes through the space until he’s convinced you’re not here. “Shit.” Jack hisses, sweeping his hat off his head in a panic. “Shit!”

“Agent Whiskey. Report.” Ginger had left the com open when she unlocked your house, knowing Jack would never want her to do something like that for anything less than an emergency.

“Where the fuck is she, Ginger?” There’s an undercurrent of panic in his voice and the bracelet firmly in his fist. “‘Cause she ain’t here.”

"Come into the office," she urges him, knowing that tone in his voice after years of working together. "I'll see if I can track her down in the couple of minutes it takes you to get here."

“Find her now, Ginger.” Jack flies out of the cabin and his boots thump on the walkway as he makes for Statesman at a dead sprint.

The door to the lab slams open with a violent rattle five minutes later but Ginger barely moves in her seat. The control panel in front of her gives her domain across the myriad of screens mounted on the wall, most of which are showing traffic cam footage, sidewalk security footage, or even in-building security footage of you over the last two days. A flight itinerary is pulled up in one corner and the far-left monitor shows a string of text messages. "She went to New York City," Ginger tells Jack, her hands flying across her keyboard. "It looks like she went to see her brother after your last fight."

“How did— you know about that?” Jack huffs, slightly deflated as he catches sight of the texts that you had sent your brother and winces at the stark harshness of his words written out. “Shit. Can you track her phone? Where is she now?”

"I tracked her phone to a hotel in Times Square." That fact makes Ginger cringe, but she glances up at Jack cautiously. "She didn't get on her flight last night and she didn't change her ticket, either. When I called the kitchen with the pretense of wanting to invite her to lunch today, her sous-chef said she hadn't heard from her either."

“Fuck.” Jack shakes his head, pointing at her as he starts rushing for the door. “Get Pony Express fueled up and on the tarmac when I get there!” He orders as he dashes out of the room. In his gut he knows something is very wrong.

Jack dashes out of Ginger’s office right before she gets another ping on your information - something more than cell phone records between your family members like she’s seen this morning. This is a missing person’s report, filed by your brother with NYPD just a minute or two ago. “Shit.” Ginger mutters, furiously clicking at her control panel to notify the hangar to have the Pony Express ready so she can call Champ immediately.

Jack has never run so fast in his life. Breathlessly changing into his flight suit and bolting for the fighter jet. He knows something’s wrong. You would never let your kitchen be kept in the dark, no matter how upset you were with him. No, this is dangerous and it’s all his fault.

******

There are some things television is very informative about: interior decorating, cooking, fashion, even nature or manufacturing. But in no way, shape, or form does it prepare the unsuspecting person for what kidnapping might really be like.

The men who approached you after you left your self-indulgent solo dinner had been overbearing and pushy, asking for your number and where you were going, trying to get you to go with them willingly to their next destination - a bar you had never heard of. When you had politely refused so many times that you had to go from polite to insistent, the one standing directly in back of you had pushed the muzzle of a gun into your back while the leader ordered you to do as you were told so you wouldn’t have your spinal cord severed. In terror, you had obeyed.

The duct tape, zip ties, and blindfold were not enough, apparently. You had been gagged and starved, left tied to a chair in a room you could only describe as drafty and damp, and generally ignored excepted to be threatened periodically or violently interrogated whenever one of them got frustrated. You’re fairly certain that you now know what waterboarding actually is, but you’re grateful they haven’t done worse. The thing is — what they want? Is Jack. And there is no way you’re going to give them that. Even as angry as you can be with each other, if you didn’t realize that you loved him before now, this would have proved it. Literally willing to die for his safety, you haven’t said one coherent word to these mongrels since they shoved you into the back of an SUV in Times Square.

“Come on sweetheart…” The slow, condescending roll of the words come from your left where a man of middle-aged years is watching you, leaning back in his chair as your head swivels towards him. “All you gotta do is make a phone call. One thirty second call. You can be as damsel in distress as you’d like.”

With a gag in your mouth, you shake your head once to signal ‘no’ and raise your head again, determined not to cry this time. You have no idea how long you’ve been with these degenerates, but it feels like days - and you’ve definitely cried a lot during that time. So much that you’re starting to finally feel numb.

“Fuckin’ ridiculous,” mutters someone on your other side. The voice sounds younger. Angrier. And familiar. “She’s fuckin’ useless.”

“No, she ain’t.” There is a low, evil chuckle from the other man. “You said she’s his soulmate.” He hums, pleased with himself. “If she doesn’t want to cooperate, we’ll start shippin’ pieces of her back to him.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. You blink back the fear, cut between the fear that that kind of stunt either wouldn’t work at all because Jack hates you so much, or that it would bring him straight into danger on Champ’s orders. Whoever that man is, he can’t know what Statesman really is - or is that exactly why they came for you? If you could fucking place his voice, that would be a huge goddamn help.

“Aw, look.” One of the other men snickers nastily. “Bitch is gonna cry again.”

There’s a round of chuckling, generally enjoying your fear and upset, “I bet it’s gonna eat him alive.” The older man snorts. “Buryin’ a second soulmate. Another one he couldn’t save.” There’s another round of amusement, harsh and cold. All of them in on a secret you don’t know.

“Go get some dinner.” The first man tells another. “I’m hungry. I’ll watch her, see if she’ll give in.”

There is a general sound of chairs scraping and boots on concrete, the sound of heels clicking so similar to the now-familiar sound of cowboy boots on the sidewalk. They keep you from responding with the gag, and the blindfold keeps their faces hidden, but they always want you to hear. It keeps you afraid, and fear is what they’re banking on. That fear will make you cave. What they don’t know is that your fear has more to do with not knowing whether or not Jack will even care that you’re gone.

“Has he fallen for you yet?” The question comes with a hint of irony in his voice. The need for information that would twist the knife deeper. “Or is he runnin’ from it to keep from gettin’ hurt?”

You can’t help that that brings a fresh set of tears. It seems to be the part of your body you have the least control over. Fucking tear ducts. But this guy’s seemingly endless need to talk and talk and make you as miserable as humanly possible has made you pay more attention to his voice over however long you’ve been here. Some of the others have slightly different accents - but this one is a cowboy.

“Mhm, running.” The deeply satisfied tone settles back slightly as he sits back in his chair and watches you, “just so you know it’s not personal.” He tells you conversationally. “I just want to see the poor bastard’s face as he holds another dead soulmate.”

Without this fucking gag in your mouth, you might have said something that would give you away. That would hurt Jack somehow or prove that you actually are useless to them. They don’t know that you’ve fallen for him despite your very best efforts, and they don’t know that he despises you simply for existing. He’s not running from anything – but you’re not Abigail, so you’re an insult to her memory.

“Oh hell, I’ll tell you since you aren’t leavin’ this room.” Alive is left off the end of the sentence, but the threat is clearly there. “I was the one who arranged for good ol’ Jack Daniels to lose his first soulmate. Her and the kid she was carryin’. Cherry on top of you ask me.”

Your eyes open wide against the blindfold, head snapping in the direction of the voice as he chuckles. The evil bastard is so goddamn pleased with himself. You could scream if you had breath, but the best you can do is fight against bindings that will never break.

“Bastard never even knew it, either. Dumb son of a bitch.” He huffs. “Bought the story of it being meth heads, robbing the store. Can you believe that? But it allowed me to attend the funeral. Watch his grief firsthand.”

Why? Is all you can wonder, as your mind races to try to figure out what the hell Jack could have done to warrant such a vast conspiracy before he was ever even a spy. Diana said Jack hadn’t joined Statesman until after his wife and son had died, so why the hell would anyone want to ruin his life when he was just a normal man?

“Jack Daniels is gonna fuckin’ pay,” the chair scrapes back and the sound of boots slowly comes towards you, ominous in how measured the steps are. “Maybe I’ll stage it for him. Write a note sayin’ how you couldn’t take being his soulmate.” He chuckles and his hand caresses the side of your face. “Pretty neck of yours will look good stretched out on a rope for him to find.”

You grunt, jerking your face away from his touch and wishing you could just scream at him. The muffled noises of frustration that do make it past your lips seem only to amuse him and you twist in your chair in a vain desire to lash out.

“Oh don’t be that way…” he tuts and bends down, smirking directly in your face even though you can’t see it. “You’d even be my type if you weren’t tied to that bastard. Maybe we could have some fun before your usefulness is done.”

That’s a line too far, and you instinctively start screaming, not like you’re trying to call for help but like you would call him every horrible name in the book if you could speak. There’s no way you can move but you take a chance, even knowing it’s a long shot. Reeling back as quickly as possible, you hit your head forward and manage to connect – head butting the bastard and making him stumble and fall backward into some nearby furniture, from the sound of it. Bastard.

“Bitch!” he growls, rushing forward and raising his hand. Bringing it down against the side of your face and slapping you hard enough to nearly knock your chair over. “Fuck with me and I start chopping you into pieces now!” He bellows.

Muffled and muted, the "Fuck you!" you scream as loud as you can is just clear enough to understand. You've gone from terrified to pissed, and it feels like a light switch has turned on inside you. These fuckers aren't getting shit from you. Not even another tear.

******

Honestly, Jack doesn’t remember a time when he’s pushed the Pony Express so hard. Finally setting down on the runway, he ignores the curious and awed looks of the grounds crews of the airport and starts looking around. “Where are my wheels, Ginger?”

"Rye is in the black SUV on the edge of the runway." Ginger fires back immediately. Champ had authorized the rescue mission immediately and sent one of the senior agents from the New York office to be at Jack's disposal.

“Goddamnit this is all my fault,” Jack spots the car and starts running, not bothering to change out of his flight suit. “She should be in her kitchen!”

"I've combed the security footage from Times Square." In his ear, Ginger is clicking through countless screens with images of you from all angles - a large number of them featuring a group of seven men and a large SUV that you appear to get into willingly. "She got into a slate gray SUV with a group of seven men on West 51st between 8th and Broadway."

“Who the fuck are they?” Jack demands, ripping the door open and jumping inside the car. He spares Rye a nod as he waits for his answer. “And did you track the SUV?”

“I’m working on the car. It drops off the traffic cameras after the Williamsburg Bridge.” A few clicks can be heard in the background and Ginger hums. “I have records on four of the seven men. Domestic, drug charges, firearms, breaking and entering, the usual gamut of ‘goon’ crimes. But…” she muffles a groaning sound. “Jack. Some of these guys are from your hometown…”

“What?” Jack slams his fist on the dashboard, sick that his suspicions are right. This is all his fault. “Give me their names.”

"Hank Rollins, Ben Jeffrey, Andrew Kelly, and Sean Perring. All from Lloyd, Montana." Ginger bites her lip, sighing at her screen. "On the sidewalk footage she appears to be going with them willingly, but from your reaction I'm guessing that isn't the case."

“Rollins.” Jack growls out, pissed off to hear the name after so long, thinking that he’d escaped the fucking family feud unscathed. “Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Hoped to never hear it again.”

“They’ve had her for nineteen hours now.” Ginger swallows, not liking how high that number is. “And we haven’t had a ransom note or a phone call of any kind.”

“Shit.” Jack shakes his head. “Take me to where she was taken. Now.”

Rye doesn’t hesitate, throwing the car into gear and heading for the road at a full tilt. Getting close to Broadway at any time of day is a task, but if they have to, he can pull any number of public safety tricks to be able to block off part of the area. Being a Statesman agent in New York City means having a few tricks up his sleeve. “What can we be expecting?” He asks Jack, wondering if the other agent might have an idea now that he knows some of what is going on.

“Anything.” Jack’s teeth grind together. “This is personal. A family feud over land disputes dating back to the fuckin’ 1800s.” Jack hisses, shaking his head. “I left the goddamn valley for a reason.”

“They grabbed her over a two-hundred-year-old land dispute?” Nothing should surprise him at this point, with what he’s seen as a Statesman agent, but Rye still huffs. “What the hell do they want you to do? Time travel?” It’s the absence of a ransom demand that makes him nervous. They took an agent’s soulmate and it’s not money they’re after.

“When my daddy died, I put the land in the hands of the ranch board.” Jack tells him. “I didn’t wanna fucking ranch, not after Abigail died. Rollins wants me to sell to him, but I can’t. It has to be passed down to blood.”

"So what's the idea?" Speeding through the streets as fast as possible without causing an accident, Rye keeps his eyes on the road but frowns. "Make sure she's out of the picture so there's no blood to pass it down to?"

“Did I mention that the entire Rollins family is as crazy as a fuckin’ loon?” Jack huffs, shaking his head and even more worried about you now that he knows that bastard is behind your disappearance. “Who the hell knows? Tried to claim I’d stolen his soulmate at one point.”

“Jesus.” The other agent huffs, continuing to weave their way through the thick New York traffic. “It’s up to you how you want to approach this,” he tells Jack honestly. “She’s your soulmate.”

“She doesn’t get hurt.” His answer is immediate, almost growled out. “Not a fuckin’ hair on her head.”

“Copy that.” His tone says everything, and Rye doesn’t ask any more questions. “We’ll get her back.”

Finally, the SUV comes to a screeching stop at the spot where you were forced into a vehicle. Jack throws open the doors and bolts out, eyes scanning the ground for something – anything. It's a long shot, but there's got to be something here that would show that you were here. Some marker. Anything.

Any street in New York City has trash and debris to a certain extent, and there are traces of people having been through the area just because of how much car and foot traffic moves through Broadway every single day. Broken bottles, cigarette butts, tissues, all the normal bits of peoples' lives that go by the wayside are littered about on steps and in sidewalk cracks. Candy wrappers or coffee cups by the curb. Rye combs the area for specialized clues – a name on a cup or a wrapper from a list of the favourite snacks listed in your file, but frustratingly finds nothing.

“Come on, there’s gotta be something here!” Jack huffs, kicking a trash can and there is the tiny clink of something metal being launched against it. “Fuck, what’s this?”

Rye bends over, swiping up the item as it glints in the sun. "Looks like a bracelet." He inspects it carefully, not finding a serial number or any indication of a designer, except for a small engraving in the tip that looks like a maker's mark. "Maybe Ginger can track down the manufacturer? It's a long shot that it will help, but it's something."

“It’s hers.” Jack stares at the inscription on the inside of the bracelet. “Beautiful girl, you can do hard things.” He reads aloud. “She—she showed me this. It’s a quote her grandmother would tell her.” His mouth is dry and he takes it from Rye to put in his pocket, determined to put it back on your wrist himself. “Let’s hope she can hang on. Just hold on, sugar. I’m comin’.”

"Whiskey. Rye." Ginger's voice in their ears makes both men's heads perk up, listening for a report from their eyes and ears. "The car registration belongs to a shell corporation owned by the Rollins family. They also own a shipping company with containers in the Brooklyn Navy Yard." She clears her throat pointedly. "Right off of the Williamsburg Bridge where we lost the car."

“Get us there now.” Jack points at Rye and starts running back to the Statesman SUV like his heels are being nipped by the hounds of hell. “Ginger, I need you to get me the specs of that building.”

"Sending them now." Her voice is accompanied by the sound of keyboard clacking as Rye and Whiskey jump back into the car, peeling back out onto Broadway to head toward Williamsburg. The heavy traffic doesn't part for them easily but Rye was chosen for this assignment specifically for his abilities as a driver.

“Ginger, is there any indication on how they know that I have another soulmate?” Jack demands, tensing the closer that he gets with every mile to the shipyard. He knows he will kill them; he’ll kill every last one of them to protect you. “They don’t seem to know I’m a fuckin’ spy.”

"I'm working on it." It isn't something that has been advertised, obviously, and Jack has kept his marks from you hidden since they first appeared on his skin. There are few people who know, most of whom have priority clearance. She's gone through all the background checks on the new Statesman employees and the places you frequent, all the men you've dated, even all the way back through the staff at The Whitney months ago who might have seen your marks on your first soulmate before the accident. Not a single red flag had risen, but Ginger hesitates for just a split second as she tries to think through more connections. There was one - just one – the newest line cook for The Rabbit Hole that makes her hesitate. "Have you ever heard her mention a man named Tripp Tanner?" Ginger asks, pulling up the file on the man once more. It's too pristine. Too squeaky clean. Too pitch-perfect. Like it's been manufactured.

Jack is ashamed to say that you’ve not been doin’ a whole lot of talkin’ around him. It’s not like he’s really encouraged close conversations. Keeping things as surface level as he could to not make it more difficult. Even though every day he aches and he hates that he aches. “No.” Though he recognizes the name, he can’t place it. “She hasn’t mentioned him. Why? Is he one of the ones she’s been…uh, seein’?” His ears burn slightly, noticing the way Rye’s eyes cut from the road to look over at him but he tries to ignore it.

"No, he—" Ginger hates that it makes her stammer, feeling like your dating is partially her fault because it started with her brother. "He's on her staff. The background check is clean and his resume is spotless. But it's too clean, so it's the best lead I have. I'm running him through Statesman facial recognition now." The Statesman database is far more complex and complete than any government or criminal database. If her gut feeling is right, it might kick up a result.

“Send me a picture of the boy.” Jack grunts, having already looked at the blueprints of the building where you might be. It’s better than you being in a random shipping container. They might never find you if that’s the case.

"His employee ID photo is coming through now." More taps come from Ginger's end of the conversation before a muffled shriek of dismay. "Shit. Jack— Tanner is from Lloyd, too. He changed his name from Rollins two years ago. Stephen Stuart Rollins the third - nickname Tripp - has a rap sheet a mile long."

“Son of a bitch.” Jack hisses, his grip on the dashboard nearly about to put an indentation in it. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t been avoidin’ her, I woulda recognized the bastard.”

"We'll fix it on this end, Jack." She promises him. "Just go bring her home."

“She hates me.” Jack murmurs quietly. “I was— I wasn’t very nice to her.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll forgive you after you save her life.” Ginger sighs, watching the dot on her on-screen map that represents her two agents speed toward the warehouse where she’s figured out you’re being held. “Stop these assholes first, apologize second. She— she thinks you hate her. That’s what she told Gabriella, anyway.”

“I don’t hate her.” Jack grumbles, feeling guilty as hell because he knows that’s what it looked like.

“I would suggest telling her that.” Even though Ginger’s voice goes soft, she’s following their movements and watching the Navy Yard security cameras. “There’s movement at the building. I don’t see her, but I’m counting…six men outside the building.”

“Good.” Jack’s voice is grim and his brows are knitted together. “Every single one of them is going in the ground, Ging. This feud ends today.”

******

There is a group of men milling about around a large brick building with the number 31 painted above the bay doors. Cars parked haphazardly nearby with doors flung open present as frustratingly casual, but the large, dark gray van from the sidewalk cam footage is nowhere in sight.

“So what are we doin’ here, Whiskey?” Rye demands, slowing the vehicle down so it doesn’t look like they are barreling into the place. “Are we run in guns blazing or using some stealth?”

Every instinct inside him is screaming to run in guns blazing, but he can’t risk another man inside hurting you. “Shit.” He hisses. “Turn down the service road and park the fucking car.” He grunts. “We’re sneakin’ up on the bastards.”

The service road runs behind the old abattoir buildings and Rye tucks the car out of sight so he and Whiskey can arm themselves out of the trunk before coming up on the group of abductors. “Three doors on the blueprint.” Rye murmurs, tucking a Bowie knife into the sheath on his belt. “Those buildings are big, we gotta be methodical.”

Jack finally shucks the flight suit, changing into his standard jeans and a button up with a sports coat. His double six shooters tucked into their holsters and his electric whip and lasso tucked into his belt. “They are going to keep her somewhere small, like an office. Probably have her tied to a chair, the bastards.”

“I’m followin’ your lead.” Tucking a few throwing knives into the hidden pockets of his jacket for good measure, Rye nods for Jack to step out first. This is his operation and Rye will do what he needs to keep him covered.

He moves silently, deciding that he will pull his weapons later to get as close as possible without seeming suspicious. Crouching low enough that his knees protest, Jack skirts the edge of the loading docks and edges towards the northeast door. The one farthest away from the group out front.

There is no guard at the northeast door. The bastards obviously are either overconfident or underprepared, and Rye picks the padlock in record time to let Jack get inside with minimal noise. No alarm sounds, no person is alerted. It looks to be a storage room, and the two men pass through it easily to find a claustrophobic hallway waiting for them beyond the interior door.

There’s a muffled sound, Jack tensing and hisses under his breath when he recognizes the sound of screaming through a gag. “Fuck.” He murmurs, imagining all sorts of horrible things. “That way.”

The room where the noises are coming from is non-descript now, empty except for some card tables and chairs, and the remains of a meal spread out with some discarded firearms and a bag of who-knows-what open on the ground. Two large men are hunched in the center of the room. Deep, rumbling laughter rolls from them and cigarette smoke is pungent in the air as the muffled shrieks get slightly more panicked. Still blindfolded and gagged, the front legs of the chair that you've been zip-tied to almost constantly your arrival in this place have been broken, leaving you kneeling on the cement floor between the two of them. One who has decided to turn your shoulder into his ashtray, and the other who is deciding which fingernail to pull off with the pliers in his hand. Presumably to send to Jack.

“Shit, shit.” Jack hisses under his breath, the urge to rush in there nearly overwhelming but he doesn’t want to give them a chance to anticipate. Stealth is needed and he slowly starts to pull his pistols out but decides against it. He wants this to be more personal, so he reaches for the whip and lasso.

“I know, I know.” Rollins drawls, holding onto your left hand to inspect your fingernails. “Jack likes his girls done up, so not being able to have all your nails painted is gonna disappoint him.” He tuts, finally deciding that your pointer finger mail is long enough to get a good grip on with the pliers. You’re screaming and crying again after a few hours of putting on a brave face and he’s enjoying it. “If ya like I could just cut off the whole finger? That might be more fun for everybody.”

“More fun if you get the fuck away from her and face me like a man, Rollins.” Jack bursts through the door and squares up, his eyes not even looking at you as he focuses on the man responsible. “Always knew you were a chickenshit, but this is low even for you.”

Jack? You would know his voice anywhere, even as often as you’re at odds you’ve still memorized the tone and tenor. He came. He actually came. As fast as your heart was beating before, the pace doubles now and the tears soaking your blindfold are relief. He came for you. It might not say ‘love’, but it doesn’t say ‘hate’.

The deep, rolling, evil laugh that bubbles out of the man beside you is so pleased that it makes you physically ill just to hear. Rollins, as Jack calls him, drops your hand but stomps on the back leg of the chair you’re tied to for good measure - breaking it and sending you crashing to the ground with another scream. There is no way you can see what’s going to happen with the blindfold, but at least the two men have lost interest in torturing you for the moment.

“Daniels.” The game is up and if Rollins is surprised that Jack has found out that it’s him, he doesn’t show it. Too deep into his madness and he sneers at the man in front of him. “You came with a whip?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “Always knew you were a fucking idiot.”

The man who had been standing in the other side of you drops his cigarette beside you - probably hoping to burn your clothes in the process - and squares his shoulders like he’s planning to make a run at Jack but isn’t sure he’ll win.

“I’m begging you too.” Jack growls out, wanting nothing more than to have them strike first. Give him a reason to cut them into pieces with his tech. Rye moves past the door behind him, intent on taking out the others while he saves you. “Do it.”

“Begging.” Rollins laughs again, taking a step forward. “Tripp, don’t fuckin’ move. Keep a gun on the bitch until I say otherwise.” The sound of the safety of a gun clicking is now intimately familiar to you and you squirm on the ground, trying to push your chair away from it even a little, but a pressure on your ribcage stops you. It’s unmistakably a foot. And you’ve only heard the name Tripp once in your entire life - meaning the jackass you hired to your kitchen to bolster numbers now has his goddamn boot in your side. You knew you recognized that fucking voice.

“It’ll be the last fucking thing you do, Tripp.” Jack hisses, keeping his eyes on the older, more unhinged brother. “Finally gone off the deep end, huh? What’s this all about?” He doesn’t know why the Rollins boys are after you to get to him. Doesn’t understand it. He’s not run the ranch since he was in high school.

"You're a hard man to get through to, Daniels." Hank tells him, smug smirk still painted across his crooked face. "Last time I had to talk real loud to make you listen. Figured I'd have to do it again."

His head tilts, eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to figure out what he means by that. “Well, I’m here now. Whadya gotta say?”

"Y'all got something I want." And even after fifteen years, he hasn't figured out a way other than this to get it. Something that isn't criminal. "Now, the last time I made myself heard, you went off and skipped town with your tail between your legs like a spurned schoolgirl on prom night." Hank Rollins takes out his own gun, the pistol pointed directly at your head when he stretches out his arm. "But I'm sick and tired of a whole world that thinks the sun shines outta Jack Daniels' ass crack."

Jack’s entire world narrows and focuses on his words, taking them and twisting them in his mind. “The last time…” He growls. “My wife died in a fuckin’ robbery.” He hisses, fingers twitching on the whip and hovering over the button that would turn it deadly.

The way Hank Rollins laughs - the wicked, pleased, loathsome way he chortles at Jack's pain - almost makes you physically sick. "I love that you bought that," he gloats, taking another step toward the senior Statesman agent, ignoring his backup altogether if he's even taken a long enough look to see Rye in the room. "Hook. Line. And sinker. Goddamn beautiful."

“What did you do, you bastard?” His knuckles are practically white and he curls his lips back in disgust. “A pregnant woman? Why? What evil did I do to you?”

"You took what was mine." His free hand moves to his sleeve even as Jack watches him more carefully than a hawk. When Rollins rolls up his shirt sleeve, there is a scar there that is burned into Jack's memory as clear as day - Abigail was bitten by the neighbor's dog as a little girl and wore the scar for her entire life. "You brainwashed her against me. And you paraded my soulmate around town like your fucking prize, Daniels. That boy should've been mine, too."

“I wore her marks.” Jack hisses. “Every goddamn one of them and you know it! They would be gone if she was your soulmate.” He always thought Hank was insane, and this just proves it. The marks would have disappeared. They wouldn’t be there, just like they disappeared from Jack when she died. “But you mean to tell me that you murdered her because I had her and you wanted her?”

"I saved her!" Rollins snaps back, waving his gun in your direction as the rage builds in him. "The wife of some city-slicker pretty boy without the sense to keep a single fuckin' eye on the most important woman in the world. She would have been miserable bearing your heathen children and picking up the pieces of everything you ever broke."

Jack scoffs, knowing it won’t make any use to point out that he grew up in the same small damn valley Hank did. That they both worked and lived on ranches. The Daniels spread was more lucrative thanks to his Grandaddy being a smart man and the Rollins have always been a little unhinged. Hank and his younger brother being the worst of them all. “Point the gun at me, not her.” As devastating as it is to hear him talk about Abigail that way, you are the one in danger right now. His heart bursting with the need to see you safe.

"Now, c'mon." Rollins drawls, throwing his brother a smirk from a few feet away. "Don't start pretendin' you like her now. She already knows why you can't look her in the eye. Lyin' piece of shit."

Jack wishes he could see your eyes, but they are covered. All he can hear is the panicked breathing and sobs from your poor body. “Your issue is with me. She ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”

"Cryin' over a man who can't ever love her." Tutting as he shakes his head, Rollins moves his gun temporarily from pointing at your head to Jack, but goes back again. He's having too much fun watching the man he despises twist. "You been treatin' this one even worse than my Abigail."

It’s in his chest to scream out that Abigail was his, but she’s dead and you’re here, alive and depending on him. His heart clenches and he rocks his jaw. “If you know how I’ve been treatin’ her, why take her? Why not let her go? I’m here now. You’ve got my attention.”

“You want me to let her go?” Hank Rollins scoffs to his brother and seems to weigh his options. As far as he’s concerned there’s no reason this can’t be as much fun as he likes. “I could see my way to lettin’ that happen,” he concedes with another contemptuous chuckle. “You got two options, Daniels. One is I shoot her in the head right now and you walk free knowin’ you’re the reason two innocent women are dead. But two? Two is you take her place. Right here and now. I’ll let her walk right out on outta here. Yer friend there can even get her home safe. Either way, yer signing over that ranch land and the whole business operatin’ on it over to me first.”

“Done.” The word is out of his mouth so fast he’s not even sure if he actually said them out loud. Maybe he just thought it. But then Rollins’ face cracks into a wide grin and he looks like he’s struck gold. “Let her go, and I’ll take her place.”

It may not be discernable words, but the hoarse screams coming from you now are crystal clear - pleading with him not to take your place. As much as this is the very last circumstance you would ever want to be in, as much as you cannot fathom how this absolute basket case Rollins thinks his 'plan' could ever succeed, Jack is worth far more to the world at large – and to you. So if either one of you is walking out of here, it should be him. Thrashing as much as your binding will allow, trying to toss off the foot of the man standing on you or else wiggle away from the pressure, probably a move that will end in broken bones, but you couldn't care less. Just as long as Jack stays far away from this chair.

“Let her go.” That’s all that matters to Jack right now. Getting you far away, keeping you safe. “Now.” Hank huffs and rolls his eyes, pointing the weapon at your head once more for the sheer pleasure of watching Jack’s face drain of all life. “Fine.” He grumbles, motioning to Tripp. “Get her up and hand her over to whatever city boy he has with him.” He doesn’t get to watch you die, which is disappointing, but he gets Jack Daniels and the land his family stole. It might even be better this way.

Tripp grumbles, on the verge of protesting, but he does as he's told...mostly. All he really does is kick you - still attached to the chair - over to the man a few feet away. Rye immediately drops to his knees, murmuring to you quietly who he is and that he's going to untie you, Bowie knife out of its sheath and slicing away at the ties and tape that bind you to the chair that has been your prison for the last God only knows how many hours. As soon as your ankles are free you kick your legs, trusting that this other Statesman agent is here to help but wanting desperately to get to Jack to stop him from giving your literal kidnapper what he wants. As soon as your wrists are free you shove the blindfold off your eyes and drag the gag out of your mouth, shrinking away from the light in the same breath that you scream for Jack not to give in with everything you have left in you. Which, after countless hours screaming, crying, and very nearly choking on a ball of knotted cloth, is hoarse at best.

Finally looking over at you, Jack is furious by how swollen your eyes are, how raw your voice is. He doesn’t say anything about it though. Knowing it would give Hank a thrill to know how much he pissed Jack off. “Get out of here, sugar.” There’s a lot that Jack wants to say, but there’s no time. He needs you away from this room. “You’ve got a restaurant to open, remember? Go with Rye.”

Like the nail in the top of the coffin, you reel back at being ordered away. Not a moment of gentleness or sensitivity after being fucking kidnapped by the man who is still as obsessed with his wife as Jack is. After being convinced he wouldn't come for you only to feel such soaring hope at hearing his voice, the desolation of realizing that he only came because you're a complication and that he never felt any kind of tenderness or care for you at all. It's almost reassuring, in a way. To know that you at least had the right level of expectation in the beginning is something, at least.

It isn't hard to bundle you up into his arms when you deflate, but Rye doesn't say anything about it. Only tucks you against him and helps you shuffle toward the door on weak legs. "Come on, darlin'," he murmurs, glancing back at Jack. "We'll get you fixed up right. Let Jack handle it from here."

"Sure." Even one word makes you cough, but you don't put up a fight or try to get back to him. To your fucking soulmate. After all - you have a restaurant to open. God forbid you get behind on your commitment to Statesman for any reason.

He wants to call you back, to talk to you. His heart aching with every step you take away from him, but it’s safer. He sees the glint in Hank’s eyes, he knows he’s looking for another reason to strike out. Possibly waiting until Jack talks to you to shoot you. He can’t risk that. He can’t risk you. No matter what, his soulmate – you – needs to survive.

After about four steps, Rye stops your shuffling and scoops you up, not wanting you to walk on any injuries or aggravate anything. He nods to Jack and carries you out the back door, planning on bundling you into the backseat of the SUV and then taking out the stragglers out in front of the abattoir. But you need to be safe, first.

It feels like you’ve cried every tear in your body, and this bitter disappointment is met with stony silence and efficiency of movement. It doesn’t take long to get you out of there but Rye does it carefully, promising you in low tones that everything is going to be okay from here. That you’re safe. That Jack’s going to take care of you. The last part just makes you feel hollow as you nod.

“Now you stay right here,” Rye croons, buckling you into the backseat and tapping a few times on his watch. “Ginger, I need your eyes in the car. Our girl is safe but I gotta take care of somethin’ before we clear out of here.”

“Copy.” Ginger acknowledges the request and as soon as Rye closes the doors, the entire vehicle locks and a red light above the rear-view mirror flashes on. The built-in screens in the headrests come on and you can barely see Ginger’s concerned face. “Honey, I need you to listen to me.” She urges. “It’s Astrid. The Statesman cars come equip with medical facilities for injuries. I’m going to scan you now.”

Talking hurts, with how hoarse you are, but you nod at Astrid’s face on screen and only shrink away from the bright lights - What are those? Lasers? - for a second before you remember she has never done anything to hurt you. “Everything hurts.” It’s just a whisper, but it’s there.

“I know, I’m going to make sure that you feel better, okay?” Sorrow and rage fill the Statesman tech as the images comes back to her. Multiple contusions, burns - obviously from cigarettes - two broken ribs and a fractured ankle. All of them evidence of the horrific torture you endured at the hands of those madmen. “I can have a shot administered.” She tells you through the screen, trying not to show her emotions. “Just a tiny prick and then you will feel so much better. Can I do that?” It’s important right now for you to feel like you have control. That nothing is being done to you anymore and she wants you to be comfortable.

“Sure.” You murmur, hoping it’s something like morphine or stronger so you don’t have to think or feel anything. “A-Astrid?” Right before whatever happens happens, you look up to find her eyes watching you on screen. “How…how long have I been gone? Does my family know?”

Pausing for a moment, Ginger nods. “Your brother filed a police report, this morning. After Jack went to your house when you didn’t leave for work this morning—”

“Jack came to my house?” You practically whisper it, but Ginger hears you loud and clear. “He did. You’d been missing for seventeen hours when Jack jumped into the jet to come to New York.” She confirms softly.

“Will you just…let them know I’m okay?” Whatever lie Statesman tells people, you’ll go with it. It’s just that right now you can’t wrap your head around the idea of Jack giving two shits about you enough to check on you at home - let alone rescue you. It’s too much.

“As soon as I get you feeling better, I will have the local police contact them to tell them that you are safe.” She promises, knowing that you wouldn’t want them to worry. “We’re going to bring you back to Statesman to put you in our hyperbaric healing station. Six hours in it and you will be completely healed.”

“Okay.” As long as they tell your family you’re okay, you could care less what else happens. Everything hurts, there are no more tears to cry, and it’s possible that you feel even more hopeless about Jack ever sparing you a second glance ever again. Soulmates. Fucking laughable. Whoever Abigail was, she was clearly more important and more wonderful to multiple people than you’ll ever be. “Astrid?” When you look up again she’s still watching you intentely. “Can…can you get rid of my tattoo while I’m in there?”

“Are you sure you want that?” She asks quietly, her eyes searching your face through the screen to try to get an inkling of what you are thinking. “You don’t have to make any big decisions now.”

“The scars, too. You said you could erase scars.” Let him be free. Is all you can think. Obviously nobody was exaggerating about the danger you were in, but it’s more than that. It’s how, when Jack barely spared you a single glance, it hurt more than anything the Rollins brothers ever could have dreamt up.

The silence lingers in the air, suspended between the two of you for a long moment. Ginger sighs softly. “Of course.” She murmurs, hating how broken you appear. “We will get rid of them all.”

Gunshots, unmistakable now that you’ve heard them up close and personal, ring out from multiple directions and you sink down in the back of the car you know for a fact is bulletproof - all Statesman vehicles are - out of instinct. “And Astrid?” You watch the automated needle release from the door handle of the SUV and make sure your arm is in line for the injection. “Remind me to fire Tripp.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that.” Ginger promises you softly. On another screen in her lab, she can see the feeds from both Rye and Jack, and the justice that is being delivered is swift and brutal. They messed with a Statesman’s soulmate, and Jack grunts in pleasure as he retracts the whip on the left screen, pieces of Hank and Tripp Rollins scattered around the room.

A clean up team will be deployed from the New York Statesman building to scrub the site. Body removal is a necessary evil of the job and Statesman has some of the best. By the time footsteps can be heard running back toward you in the car, Ginger’s injection is starting to take hold and you’re finally feeling drowsy. Adrenaline and fear have had you on high alert since you were taken, but having Astrid’s face and voice to reassure you is soothing.

Shouting your name, Jack rushes towards the SUV. The only thing in his mind has been to get to you. To make sure you are okay. He knows Rye will be alright and he needs to see you. He manages to get to the rear door before Ginger deactivates the locks and security, yanking on the handle. “Let me in! Let me in!” He yells frantically.

“She’s out, Jack.” Ginger’s voice in his earpiece comes with a sigh as she deactivates the locks and lets him into the car. “She’s hurt pretty badly so I gave her a sedative. When you get back to Statesman, get her in a medical chopper and bring her to my lab asap.”

“Oh my god.” Jack rips open the door and climbs into the back seat, finding you slumped against the other door. “What— what did they do to her?” He demands, panicked because he’s never seen you like this. Angry at himself that he let this happen. Gathering you against him, he runs his hands over your body as he pulls you into his lap.

“Nothing I can’t fix,” she promises him, not wanting to give him the full rundown of your injuries when he’s still visibly upset enough to lash out. “She’ll be okay, Jack. But I don’t want her to go into shock or accidentally aggravate an injury, and she said she was in pain. That’s why I needed to medicate her.”

“Tell me what they did to her, Ginger Ale.” Jack demands again, turning towards the screen even as he is cradling you and stroking your face.

Ginger sighs, softly again, and looks down at her diagnostic pad. Avoiding Jack’s eyes while she reads this off will probably be better. “Two broken ribs, fractured ankle, superficial burns clearly from cigarettes. Bruising, contusions, and internal injuries consistent with being beaten, waterboarded, and kicked multiple times.”

“Motherfuckers.” Jack hisses, tightening his grip on you to where you whimper in your unconscious state. Immediately relaxing his hold on you and petting your face to soothe both of you. “I should have made it take more time. I should have beat him to death with my fists.” He growls. “I’m gonna burn their fucking legacy to the ground and piss on the ashes.”

“Jack.” This time Ginger’s tone is a warning. It’s not frequently that she hears this kind of rage from him – usually only in relation to his late wife. “She’ll be okay,” she repeats. “But she’s going to need support. Mentally. Emotionally.”

“It’s my fault, Ginger!” He hisses, his own emotions beyond rage finally surfacing from the compact box he had shoved them in to be the agent he needed to be in order for both of you to get out of that building alive. “She would have been at home— it’s my fault. She asked…she asked me about my birthday and I lashed out at her.” He chokes back a sob and looks down at your face. “I didn’t protect her.”

“Then you’ll apologize. And you’ll make sure it never happens again.” Jack isn’t a man who breaks down unless the stress is truly unbearable, and as his friend Ginger has seen only a bare handful of these moments. “She wants me to remove her marks when she gets here,” she tells him carefully. “Just so you know.”

Jack closes his eyes, absorbing the meaning behind it. “She wants to be rid of me.” He whispers, knowing it’s his fault when he had pushed you away and kept you at arm’s length. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry sugar. I should have been keepin’ you close. Keepin’ you safe.”

“You can talk to her when she’s awake,” Ginger murmurs, watching Rye finish with the last of the goons on the video feed from his glasses. “I’m deploying Delta Team to sweep up. You and Rye get back to the New York building and you get her in a chopper first thing. If she wakes up before you get back, you can talk then. If not?” Ginger watches Rye running back to the SUV, so much more composed than Jack for having no personal stake in this mission. “If not, then it might be tomorrow morning. After she’s done at the lab.”

He’s not happy, but he nods. Holding you and refusing to let you out of his arms as Rye comes climbing back into the SUV. “Where’s the chopper, Ginger?” Jack demands, knowing he needs to get you home and mended.

“There’s a helipad on the other side of the Navy Yard. Five minutes from where you are. I can have them meet you there.”

“Copy that, Ginger.” Rye takes the suggestion as absolute, seeing the condition you’re in, and the car comes roaring to life a second later.

“Goddamnit, sugar.” Jack huffs, his hand smoothing over your hair as he tries to look past the damage inflicted on you to see the woman who had intrigued him from the start. “You gotta hang on. You gotta get better.” He murmurs. “I gotta lotta grovelin’ to do when you’re up for it.”

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My Masterlist!

[thecollectivefixation]

A deep dive into the MK1 cinematics (PT1?)

Hi, I'm a nerd and I like breaking apart scenes for small details and hidden meanings that adds to the overall story. For my first official post on The Collective Fixation blog, Mortal Kombat 1 is going to be topic subject today. I’ll be talking about random scenes in the game and trailer that I found really cool and some of the relationships between characters. (I actually blame my family for introducing me to MK1 the other month and I’ve literally not stopped thinking about it so lets get into it hehehe.)

!WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

Ok MK1 is definitely in my top three list of best looking cinematics in video games.

This scene from the trailer was my favourite because it uses the lighting in the building as a medium for foreshadowing. Scorpion (Kuai Liang) being in the warm, bright lighting while Sub-Zero (Bi-Han) being in the cool, dark lighting. The light side referring to Liu Kang as he is first seen with light around him as he ascends down and Shang Tsung representing the dark side as he steps out of dark shadows revealing himself in the trailer. Foreshadowing the betrayal and the two sides of the story that occurs further on in the story.

When Smoke first gets introduced he is seen under red light which can indicate danger or a sense of evil, paired with the dramatic shift in music from calming to almost a startling shift into a intense music. This convinces the audience to think that he is the antagonist in that current moment. The extreme close up on his face shows off his emotions, which is difficult to do since he has the mask on, so actors have to get creative with their facial expressions. We see this with the intense look Smoke has when surveying the area, indicated with his eyebrows and eyes. Also the camera pans left to show off more red light on his face. The camera is below his face making a low camera angle, low camera angles most commonly indicate a sense of power, strength and intimidation to the subject in frame.

(Side note: Live Laugh Love low camera angles, you see them so much in this game and I love itttttt)

The film codes (technical and symbolic) in the scenes between Johnny Cage and Kenshi Takahashi play an important part in the growth of their relationship. When Kenshi is revealed to the audience, the camera pans up from his feet to his sword to his face leaving in at a low camera angle. This increases dramatic tension by slowly revealing to the audience what Johnny sees. When taking in account of the music changing to a upbeat fighting kind of soundtrack the audience makes the conclusion of you guessed it danger, antagonist.

(Ofc cause he isn't the actual villain in the game but as the time he is lol)

(Side note: i love the way the game developers made it so the cameras seems hand held or on a dolly and not fixed in place, seems like we are in the game/story experiencing everything with the characters.)

Not that important but I love how the light from the pool reflects off both Johnny and Kenshi, its all about the details.

Now lets talk about THE SLOW MO BETWEEN JOHNNY AND KENSHI. Gotta admit, it caught me off guard a little, because normally a slow mo is used to focus on a character’s emotional reaction to a person, place or event in that current moment. And after thinking long and hard, I have come up with a conclusion on why the directors made this decision.

To show the tension between Johnny and Kenshi. Kenshi at the beginning of the story does not like Johnny or his ideals, its shown between dialogue when talking about their reasons to becoming Earthrealm defenders and Kenshi disapproval. And is the base of why they interact in the first place, because Kenshi wants Sento and Johnny wont give it over. The slow mo focuses on kenshi’s facial expression of aggravation and intensity about his fight with Raiden and about Johnny’s bad sport man ship in the previous scene with Johnny vs Raiden when Johnny’s ego was talking was basically he talked down Raiden’s abilities. This contrasts Kenshi’s ideals of honour.

(side note again, I haven't done a full deep dive on their characters nor have I done a deep dive on a character so I may have gotten some stuff wrong but I haven't fully played the entire game yet I'm like halfway rn so yea)

Ok that’s all for now, I’ll maybe talk about more scenes once I fully play through the game. Feel free to share your options because I love talking about these kind of things.

-Bookworm

[pedropascalsx]

The Wrong Screen.

Summary: Pero goes to the movies and accidentally stumbles into the wrong screen.

Warnings: None? I mean he swears a few times but that’s it. No relationship etc. It’s just Pero treating himself to trip to the movies. A brief spoiler from the trailer of the upcoming Barbie movie.

Word count: 1068.

A/N: I don’t know what this is lol. I just feel like this is Peros kind of luck. Lol

Also shoutout to the incredible @frannyzooey for glancing over this and giving me the most helpful suggestions and edits. You are awesome! Thank you!

The second the trailer pops up on TV, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand. As a history teacher and unashamedly a lifelong history fanatic he was excited by the movie and after thinking to himself that it has been far too long since he had gone to the movies, he decides that he deserves a treat.

Pero searches his local movie theater and having a rare day off work the next day happily books himself into the almost empty 10am showing.

He had been looking forward to seeing it, having seen the first trailer months before, but as usual life and work got in the way and he had forgotten it was due for release.

*

For a workday, the movie theater was surprisingly busy. it had immediately impacted his mood, hoping for a quiet screening with no potential distractions from fellow movie goers.

Showing his mobile ticket to the man working the booth, he strolls across to the concessions stand and orders himself a large popcorn, some nachos and a coke.

“Oppenheimer.” He grunts at the usher in front of him, again getting out his phone and showing his mobile ticket.

“Screen six sir.” The man says happily. “Enjoy the movie.”

Grunting an unenthusiastic ‘thank you’ at the man before making his way towards the screen, he growls under his breath when a bunch of kids leave one of the theatres almost trip him up; clearly hyperactive and on a sugar high.

“Brats.” He scowls before pulling open the nearest door and skulking into the theatre, clutching his snacks and drink.

He had selected a seat right at the back in the left hand corner, because at the time of booking it was the most secluded and he was least likely to be bothered by movie whisperers and pretentious phone screens.

The previews yet to start, he sits in his seat, and placing his nachos and popcorn in the vacant chair beside him, digs into his pocket for his cell phone. While he wasn’t at work he figured he’d read the daily email blast to keep up with everything while waiting for the previews to start.

Humming contentedly as he reads through the email, it recounts a disastrous start to the morning at the college he teaches history at. Happy that his classes had been cancelled due to multiple field trips that he refused to chaperone and two of the buses hadn’t turned up which left a bunch of kids who were due to visit the Smithsonian stranded. He chuckled at the thought of his pain in the ass faculty advisor having one of her many meltdowns over this.

So distracted by his phone he doesn’t pay any attention to the herd of excited patrons making their way into the theatre.

Men and women dressed in bright pink and purple patterns, some in formal attire and some not so formal dress enter the room excitedly. Giggling and gabbling about the movie they’re about to see.

Pero slightly raises his eyebrows at the excitement he can hear around him but doesn’t look up from his phone. Oppenheimer was a fascinating man and it would make sense that people would be excited to see a biopic about him Pero simply thinks to himself.

Eventually the lights dim and the previews start to flash up for a few movies including a few horrors, the next instalment to some shitty franchise and a romcom; nothing that really grabs his attention and makes him want to plan any upcoming trips back to the movies.

The previews end and just as Pero starts to grin with excitement the title card appears on screen and it’s like he’s been punched in the throat.

BARBIE [2023].

Dir. By GRETA GERWIG.

“Fuck.” Pero growls before peering around the room. Finally spotting the elaborate and bright outfits, people dressed as their favourite dolls throughout the decades. ‘Wrong fucking screen.’ He mumbles under his breath.

Unsure whether to run out now or wait for a bit to avoid too much embarrassment Pero just sinks into his chair. Rolling his eyes as the movie begins. Bright pink sets, insane outfits and the most attractive cast he had ever seen. "Just make it through the first fifteen minutes and I can sneak out of here,” he reasons with himself, before shovelling a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

“Do you guys ever think about dying?” The gorgeous blonde on screen says in the middle of an elaborate dance routine, making everyone around her and the music come to an abrupt stop.

‘You could leave now’ Pero thinks to himself but stays firmly seated, more intrigued by the movie than he had imagined possible. Surprised by the increasingly dark theme that seemed to be hiding in plain sight underneath the multiple shades of vomit inducing pink.

With every scene that passes including one that involves her having to pick between a pair of heels and some birkenstocks Pero finds himself enjoying it more and more and by the time her and Ken are out of ‘Barbie Land’ and navigating their way through ‘The Real World’ the movie he had originally come to see had been long forgotten about.

Every heartfelt piece of dialogue surprisingly resonates with him and as Barbie begins to cry for the first time ever he finds himself completely moved by it. Touched by the message of the movie he can’t help but feel a little disappointed when the credits begin to roll and the movie has ended.

“Wow,” he murmurs out loud, “That was… really fucking good.” He remains seated until everyone else has hurried out, letting himself enjoy looking around at the outfits and their smiling faces. Listening to them chatter happily and discuss their favourite scenes as they skip towards the exit.

Once he’s alone he picks up the popcorn box, nacho tray and empty cup and makes his way towards the exit. Dropping the garbage into the bin and pulling out his phone and checking the time.

It was still early in the day and he had nothing planned for the rest of it, so he strolls back towards the ticket stand in the front of the movie theatre.

The next showing of Oppenheimer a few hours away, he shrugs his shoulders and walks towards the man at the stand.

“Just one ticket for the Barbie Movie please.” He says with a smirk.

[dazaiandhislovelybandages]

𝙆𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙨 {𝙃𝙞𝙙𝙚}

A/n: I haven't seen many Hide works here, so I decided to write a small something about my very first anime crush

Pairings: Hide x reader

Genre: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, a bit suggestive

Warnings: spoilers for the manga for sure, graphic mentions of Hide's injuries, mentions of death, mentions of sex

Three months.

It had been three entire months ever since Hide returned. Like everyone else you thought he had been long dead after what had happened between him and Kaneki. You had done your best to continue your life as if you had never known the man and even though it had been extremely difficult in the beginning you had grown used to it. So when someone had knocked on your apartment's door in the middle of the night you couldn't help but get anxious. But when you opened the door to the sight of your supposedly dead boyfriend, you almost fainted.

Things almost went back to how they used to be before Hide's disappearance after that night. Of course you never pressured him for answers, mostly because you weren't sure you wanted to know. At least for now.

But somehow your and Hide's relationship continued as if he had always been there: movie nights, dates at bookstores (mostly on your request), laate night walks... everything was going great. And sex was also great, for the most part at least.

"So..." You closed the bathroom door behind you and walked over to your bed. Hide had tilted his head to the side, leaning against the wall while scrolling on his phone. But of course as soon as you walked in, his attentions shifted. "What's with the... bandana."

You weren't stupid and Hide knew that. Of course you had noticed the change in his voice as if he was speaking through a machine and he was more than aware that you had acknowledged the presence of the bandana he never seemed to remove from his face. He also knew you deserved answers.

"Uh well..." He lifted his hand to scratch the back of his head. He was smiling and you could tell because of his eye smile. "It's a wild story."

You felt your heart clenching at the sound of those words and the truth was a part of you decided it wasn't the right time to listen or see whatever was hiding under the piece of clothing around his neck and face.

"I have time... if you're willing to tell me I am willing to listen."

And Hide was fine with it. He told you the entire story behind the bandana and what happened that night at Anteiku between him and Kaneki. He described everything in detail hoping that just his words would be enough and you wouldn't want to see those injuries up close.

But when his story ended and the only weight left on him was the weight of the bandana he kind of wanted to show you. He didn't know why. He hadn't received any kind of reaction from you other than a few nods here and there just to assure him that you were listening. He only noticed the way your fists were clenched the moment his eyes travelled from your emotionless face to the rest of your body.

You, on the other hand, were trying very very hard not to take him into your arms and hug him as tight as possible.

"Do you want to see?" You nodded and watched as his hands travelled to his face and gently pulled down the bandana. The injury began from just above his upper lip, extending down to his left clavicle. The flesh has been almost completely stripped from his lower face. His teeth and the majority of his bone structure were completely exposed. A hole had found its place on his left cheek were the zigomaticus muscle used to be. But the damage didn't stop there, it continued down his throat. A vocal prosthesis had been surgically implanted into his neck making his voice sound a bit metalic. "Not so beautiful now huh?"

"I disagree." You carefully moved to his lap. "Well I can't deny the fact that this is a bit impractical when it comes to kissing." You let out a completely forced chuckle in a desperate attempt to make the atmosphere lighter.

"I am sure you'll find a way." Hide said. He looked composed but his mind was a mess and filled with questions. How on earth did you still like him even after seeing what his face had become.

"Oh I will. You'll get your kisses one way or another."

A/n: This suckedddddddd

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (iii)

synopsis: time flies on north island, and at an unofficial dagger movie night, nora and jake call a truce. sort of.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, alcohol consumption, existential dread, belligerent sexual tension, pop culture references, eventual smut in later chapters. set after the movie, so spoilers! (wc: 6K)

note: so... i drafted this back in november and then, accidentally spent three months rewriting it. my bad, y'all!

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tagging // @theharddeck @bradshawsbitch @emorychase @hangmanbrainrot @its-mara-darling @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @frenchyjuju @chicomonks @lostinwonderland314 @cursedtobe @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp

Time flies on North Island, and after almost three weeks, Nora is starting to find her footing here. She has a routine now – and even better, a new favorite coffee shop to frequent on her way to the base. 

After seeing Nora choke down the Ready Room coffee during the first week, Natasha sent over the recommendation. They don’t charge any extra for oat milk, and Nora doesn’t have to drink lukewarm battery acid.

Morning is clear and blue outside, bright and beautiful, and Nora is in a good mood. She walks across the North Island base with a smile on her face, cheeks pink from the sunshine, sipping an iced coffee.

Caffeine doesn’t do much to ease the sudden lurch of surprise when Nora checks the calendar and sees the name Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin on the interview schedule, slotted in under Thursday AM.

Not 30 minutes from now. 

“Shit,” Nora mutters under her breath – or at least, means to mutter under her breath.

She must’ve been a little too loud because Technician Chris sends her a questioning glance, lowering the clipboard to make sure that Nora hasn’t knocked over a camera or something dire. 

He is one of the two technicians that arrived at the end of the first week. Both are mild-mannered and easy to work with. Nora couldn’t have managed the interviews without them.

Even if Captain Mitchell had asked her to limit the number of interviews per week and schedule them out in advance, not allowing her to do more than one or two a week in the name of, quote, minimizing unnecessary disruptions and distractions.

“Something wrong, Nora?” Technician Chris asks.

He sets the clipboard aside and crouches, clicking a leg lock into place on the light stand. And noticing the conversation, Technician Ethan pauses mid-way through the usual audio checks and pulls the headset down, a line between his bushy brows.

Nora is quick to reassure them, giving them a nod and a tight smile. “Everything is fine. Looks like Lieutenant Seresin will be the next interview. He’s the…” What is a more professional description than obnoxious, yet somehow charming pretty boy? Handsome pain in the ass? “You’ll recognize him. Hangman.” 

And since Chris and Ethan are not the ones who’ve been half-heartedly avoiding Jake Seresin for the past two weeks and change, neither is fazed. Technician Ethan absorbs the information with a nod and slips the headphones back on, and Technician Chris goes back to the clipboard, switching the lights off and on. 

Meanwhile, Nora mouths a curse and drains the rest of the coffee. 

Interviews are par for the course in her line of work, and after years of experience, Nora could probably do a good interview in her sleep and wake up with a dozen viable sound bites. She is prepared, armed with the same set of questions for all the Daggers to answer, along with three or four that are more personalized, drawn from their service record. 

All of the questions are light and open, crafted to encourage the Naval aviators to give longer answers and more importantly, tell the personal stories that elevate a film. And as a bonus, Nora gets to learn things that Naval Aviation wouldn’t include in a cut-and-dried file. 

Like Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia has passionate opinions on the new Star Trek films. He loved the first two, liked the third fine, and flat-out refused to watch the fourth if Chris Pine isn’t confirmed to return as Captain Kirk. He was persuaded to bump up the rating of Star Trek Beyond from aggressively mediocre to good-ish when Technician Chris reminded him about the ‘Sabotage’ scene in an off-camera aside. 

And Reuben ‘Payback’ Fitch earned his call sign from an inescapable and self-proclaimed ‘dark time’ during P’cola Flight School when the Southern man had adopted an action hero-like catchphrase. And when Nora, of course, couldn’t let that go without a follow up question, Reuben repeated it for the camera, “It’s payback time, y’all,” with a charismatically self-effacing grin. 

Interviews aren’t always second nature, not even to a Naval aviator who flies a multimillion dollar plane. It is a different kind of hot seat, framed in the lights and camera, and Nora makes a point to run through the basics with them, wanting them to be comfortable. 

She isn’t really surprised that Jake gives a damn good interview. 

Unlike Mickey, who’d been a little nervous in front of the camera, fidgeting with the cap of the water bottle out of frame, Jake is perfectly at ease. And if Nora thought the Naval aviator looked like a movie star at the Hard Deck, twinkling lights and sunset dancing in his eyes, the Old Hollywood image is even stronger here. 

He is a splash of olive green and blonde, a handsome contrast against the obscenely large American flag and the colossal F/A-18AF Super Hornet in the background. Bathed in the fluorescents and the natural light that pours in through the open shutters of the hangar.

Couldn’t have asked for a better interview space, Nora thinks for the umpteenth time, admiring the frame. It really is perfect. 

Jake is carefully attentive when Nora goes through the basics. 

“Work the questions into your answers because I won’t be in the final cut.” 

“Don’t look at the camera. You can look at me, or like, right to the side of the camera, up to you.” 

 He is a model student, and Nora kind of hates him for it. 

“We’re up there every day, training alongside the best of the best…”

Jake is in the middle of an answer, a perfectly crafted answer garnished with an aw shucks smile when Technician Ethan waves a hand to get her attention, tapping the side of his own headphones to indicate an audio issue. 

She'd been distracted, scribbling a follow-up question in her notebook, and hadn't noticed when Jake started fiddling with the lav mic, coming loose from the stiff collar of the flight suit.

“Ah damn,” Nora curses, closing the notebook. She sets it aside, tucking it next to the iced coffee from earlier, now mostly watered-down oat milk and half-melted ice, and stands. She calmly raises her voice. “Can you hold on for a second, Jake? What’s going on with your mic?” 

“Tape’s comin’ loose,” Jake explains, catching the thin cord before the microphone – small, not that much larger than a zipper – can nosedive down his front. “Can you fix it?” 

Can Nora fix it? Yes.

Does Nora want to get that close to him? Debatable. 

She could ask Ethan to fix it. He is the resident sound expert after all, but Nora would feel like kind of an asshole, asking him to do something that even the most untrained assistant could do, all under the guise of expertise. 

And for what, so Nora doesn’t have to be in close proximity to a hot man? This is so stupid.

She heaves an internal sigh and grabs the nearest roll of gaff tape. 

“Lean forward,” Nora instructs, tapping him on the shoulder twice and grabbing the cord from him, and Jake does so without question, turning that stone jaw to watch her snake the cord out of view. 

“Should I take off my shirt?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend it.” 

A distinct cough. She looks over her shoulder in time to see Technician Ethan tug the headset back down around his neck, looking entirely too casual to not have overheard the comment. Goddammit. 

Since Jake is seated, Nora needs to bend down slightly to get a good look at the microphone placement, pinning down the edge of the collar with a perfunctory touch. Hair falls around her chin, blocking her vision, and impatiently, she brushes the loose strands back over her ears. 

Green burns into the side of her face, and this close, Nora can feel herself growing warm.

“You have a bit of a staring problem,” Nora murmurs, clipping the mic back into place and holding it there. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

A muscle thrums in his cheek. “Am I making you nervous, sweetheart?” 

“You wish.” 

Jake chuckles, low and warm, and doesn’t say anything else. He smells like cologne – hints of citrus, patchouli, musk – and his morning coffee, and she can feel the residual heat of the morning on his golden skin.

Holding the mic down, Nora rips the tape with her teeth, an old habit from film school. Smooths the last piece into place. Secures the small microphone in a less conspicuous location and returns to the other side of the camera. 

It is suddenly too warm in here for a button-down, even the paper thin one around her shoulders, thrown over the blue jeans that Nora had started wearing when Bradley reached across her at lunch and got engine grease on her favorite trousers. She drops it onto the nearest stool, leaving her in a ribbed tank, as Technician Ethan does a quick sound check.

He flashes her a raised thumb, sliding the headset back into place. 

“Now,” Nora starts, all business. She crosses one leg over the other, bringing the notebook to rest on her knee. “Let’s start over on that last question.” 

Settling into the seat, Jake shakes out his shoulders, clasping his hands in his lap, and rolls his bottom lip into his mouth. “Roger that, Hollywood.” 

And Technician Chris arches a curious eyebrow at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it. Everything continues without a hitch.

Right after the interview, Nora gets the exciting news. 

Admiral Simpson had finally reviewed the schedule and approved the capture of the in-air footage. Weeks after Nora made the request, probably hoping that Team Documentary would get distracted and forget it altogether. It would be a waste of time and resources to do without a good reason, is probably what the Admiral would reason. 

Unfortunately for him, the Daggers would never let her forget. 

After lunch, Nora heads out to the tarmac and waits during the camera installation. It is a bit of a production, requiring a Naval mechanic to come over and supervise, making sure that Technician Ethan doesn’t accidentally block a control or create a dangerous blind spot. 

Sunglasses set over her eyes, Nora looks around at the clear blue skies, soon to be captured in incredible definition. She doesn’t really have anything to contribute, mostly there to observe and answer any questions that the Naval aviators might have. 

In ever attentive WSO fashion, Mickey and Bob interrogate them about the safety of the camera, wanting to make sure the G’s wouldn’t make any equipment break off and hit them or their pilots. 

From the rest of them, Nora ends up with some variation of “How come Phoenix is the first one to fly with the camera and not me?” or “You should’ve put the camera in my plane, Rogers. Don’t you want your film to have some sex appeal?” 

To which Nora responds, “Sure do, Bradshaw. That’s why I put it in Natasha’s plane,” and Bradley shuts up for a while after that while the Naval mechanic tries to stifle their laughter in the cockpit.

She is busy all day. Afternoon slips away in the white contrails, cut across the cooling horizon. 

When Nora shows up to Natasha’s that night, a reusable bag over her shoulder holding a chilled bottle of white wine and an emotional support water bottle, Bradley and Reuben have already cracked open a few beers and are in the middle of a heated debate in the kitchen.

Nora slips out of her shoes, setting them down next to the Welcome Home, Cheater door mat that Natasha had gotten in a White Elephant exchange a few years back, and wordlessly puts the wine bottle on the coffee table with a dull clink. It has barely made contact when Natasha swipes it from the surface.

“Remind me why I invited everyone,” Natasha says, setting the screw-top aside and filling a wine glass almost to the brim. 

Her dark hair is in two damp braids down her front, leaving wet patches on an oversized Golden State Warriors shirt. Bike shorts peek out from underneath the hem.

Natasha must’ve showered and changed after work. Same as Nora, who traded the stiff denim for loose sweatpants. 

“Us and Bob….” Natasha continues, wistful. “It was the dream team. Now I have to deal with these idiots and their zero volume control.”  

As if on cue, Bradley gets loud enough that Nora can pick up snippets of the conversation. Something about Heath Ledger in the performance of a lifetime, while Reuben cuts in with a Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson related rebuttal. Huh.

“Are they arguing about whether 10 Things I Hate About You or How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days is the better rom-com?” Nora asks slowly, hardly even believing the words that are coming out of her mouth.

Do elite Naval aviators even have the time to watch rom-coms and from the sound of it, memorize the crucial turning point monologues?

“Mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,” Bradley emphasizes, pounding a fist on the counter. “Have a goddamn heart!”

“What do you not get, Rooster?” Reuben fires back, clapping his hands together with every word. “You can’t lose something you never had!” 

“For 20 minutes now.” Natasha shakes her head, exasperated, at Nora’s disbelieving expression. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know. All I know is I wish I had told Bob that Fanboy couldn’t come. We could’ve lived in peace.” 

Ever since Nora had given her her phone number the first week, Natasha had been inviting Nora and Bob over to the apartment every Thursday to eat some pizza, drink some cheap wine, and watch a documentary or two. It was a nice break – and gave Nora a chance to get to know them off the base. 

Natasha had an older sister who still lived in Northern California, where the Naval aviator had grown up, right outside San Francisco, and Bob was a former Eagle Scout and hardcore animal lover. He was from Montana and could ride a horse, as easily as Nora could ride a bike. 

He liked nature documentaries, suggesting March of the Penguins on the first Thursday, and Natasha liked the multi-part series more. It was a Netflix Original that Nora worked on that made Natasha find her on Instagram last June.

Word got around. 

Earlier in the week, Bob had asked if Mickey could come to the movie night, wanting an after-work alternative to the Hard Deck, and after that, Bradley texted and asked if Natasha’s open invitation – from forever ago, Natasha pointed out – was still open. 

“He probably would’ve shown up,” Nora says, distracted, watching the screen as Natasha clicks through the Netflix suggestions. They’d decided to put the documentaries on hold tonight and watch a movie instead, rather than listen to complaints the whole time. “I need a wine glass. Should I risk it?” 

A derisive glance at the kitchen. “I’d drink from the bottle.” 

Nora is still laughing when Reuben pokes his head out of the kitchen at the sound and spots her on the couch. “Nora Nora Nora. Can you settle a debate between me and Rooster?” 

“I don’t know. Can you get me a wine glass?” 

“I’m all over it,” Reuben says, giving her finger guns and disappearing into the kitchen. He returns with a wine glass, waiting until Nora had poured a healthy amount and leaning back into the cushions, gestured for him to continue. “Isn’t How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days better than 10 Things I Hate About You as a rom-com?

“Well, I…” 

“Objection! Leading question,” Bradley calls out, poking his head out from the archway, pointing an accusatory finger in their direction. He is a little ruddy in the face, either from shouting or alcohol. “Asking Nora is cheating too. She’ll call it a ‘film’ and give you some pretentious bullshit about the cinematopography.” 

“Cinematography,” Nora corrects with a frown. She isn’t pretentious.

“See,” Bradley says, even though Nora definitely does not see, and disappears from view. 

She has an opinion, one that has nothing to do with the cinematography and far more to do with the fact that Matthew McConaughey was a certified early-2000s dreamboat. He’s had a few moments here and there since, but Interstellar McConaughey has nothing on Rom-Com McConaughey, strutting around New York City on a motorcycle, pressing a fluttering hand to his heart at the sight of Kate Hudson. Swoon. 

Nora says drily, “I think Judge Bradshaw disqualified me. Sorry.” 

Reuben lets out a loud groan, like Nora was his last hope, and turns to Natasha instead. “Back me up here, Phoenix?” 

“You’re both idiots,” Natasha says, not even looking at him.

The Great Rom-Com debate continues until finally, Jake strolls into the apartment and agrees to settle the argument, taking it all in with slightly raised brows as Reuben walks him through the choices. 

“You’ve got 2003 gem, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, starring the rom-com pairing that defined a generation.” A dramatic pause that makes Natasha rolls her eyes. “And that 90’s one with Heath Ledger and the Bourne Identity girl in it. Which is better?” 

It would be impossible to describe the look on Jake’s face as anything less than deeply offended. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days starring the one and the only Texan legend, Matthew McConaughey?” Jake asks slowly, accent growing thicker with each word. “How could you even ask me that question?” 

“Objection,” Bradley cuts in again. “Nothing to do with the movie.” 

“Shut up, Rooster,” Natasha and Reuben yell at the same time, and Reuben looks at Jake, expression grave. His palms are pressed together, praying for a miracle. “Final answer?” 

“McConaughey,” Jake emphasizes. “No contest. Comedic gold, man.”  

An ear-splitting whooping sound. And as only another six-foot-something aviator could, Reuben locks an arm around Bradley’s wide shoulders and drags him down into a headlock. “How you like me now, Cock-a-Doodle-Douche?” 

Laughter bounces around the apartment, and even as Bradley throws elbows and grumbles under his breath, Nora can spot the amused grin on his face, peeking out from underneath the mustache. 

Wine catches in her throat, snagged on a laugh, and Nora coughs for a good 30 seconds. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye as Jake moves in her direction, already extending a hand to pat her on the back. 

Nora waves him off, getting out a hoarse, “I’m cool. I’m good. Thank you,” and coughing into her elbow a final time. Heat burns in her cheeks, hopefully not as noticeable in the blue light from the screen. 

Eyes still crinkled from laughter, Jake takes it in stride.

He stops short, instead sitting on the next couch cushion over to unload four bags of chips and a six-pack onto the table. He is as casual as Nora has ever seen him with socked feet and sweatpants, wearing a gray Dallas Cowboys shirt.

Fabric pulls tight across his back when Jake bends forward, accidentally bumping the side of her knee. She scoots back into the cherry red cushions, folding her legs underneath a blanket. His lips twitch. 

A lone bottle is perched on the table, directly in front of Nora.

Her brows scrunch. “Is that for me?” 

“Sure is,” Jake drawls, looking enormously self-satisfied. “Reminded me of you.” 

Without another word, Jake curls two fingers through the plastic rings of the six-pack and carries the beers into the kitchen. Nora tilts her head, watching the bottle like an explosive, and then plucks it from the table, smoothing her fingers over the chilled glass.

And when Nora lifts her gaze, Jake is watching her from the kitchen, already nursing one of the beers from the six-pack. Reminded me of you. 

She reads the label one more time, unable to hide the amused smile that pulls at one side of her mouth. It is a California beer brand, one that Nora has never heard of before. 

Hollywood Blonde.

“Asshole,” Nora mouths, and Jake winks. 

Glass warms under her palms as Nora accidentally holds onto it for too long, running the pad of her index finger over the curling label absentmindedly, and ever perceptive, Natasha notices.

“You drink beer? Since when?” 

“I don’t actually,” Nora says simply.   

Carefully, Nora sets it back down on the coffee table and pretends not to notice Natasha watching, clearly wanting to make a comment. And in a moment of divine intervention, Bob and Mickey return with the pizza, stacked high enough that Natasha leaps from the arm chair to help them. 

She uses the distraction to slip the bottle into the reusable bag at her feet, hiding it from view, and wraps the blanket together around her shoulders. Saved from having to explain that Nora and Jake might have something of an inside joke. 

Everyone grabs a drink and a slice. Settles in the living room.

Natasha abandons the armchair, coming over to share the checkered blanket with Nora at the end of the couch, and after Bradley claims the spot on the other side of Nora, elbowing her to scoot over and ignoring her sour expression, Bob grabs an unoccupied section of carpet in front of the couch. He leans back, nursing a homemade Shirley Temple, and smiles when Natasha passes him a throw pillow. 

Reuben and Mickey grab the spots next to him, and across the room, Jake sprawls into the armchair, tapping idle fingers against the upholstery. He doesn’t seem bothered to be the only one sitting alone, or maybe Nora reasons, Jake just didn’t want to sit on the carpet. 

“Give me some blanket,” Bradley complains, pulling at the edge of the blanket.

Nora elbows him. “Get your own.” 

Bradley makes exactly one more attempt to steal the blanket, and then Natasha reaches across the back of the couch and smacks his shoulder. He releases it with a curse, a wounded look on his face. 

Natasha ignores him. “Movie suggestions? Anyone?” 

Natasha couldn’t have asked a more divisive question. Reuben suggests the entire John Wick series while Mickey makes an argument for an older Star Trek movie or the latest Marvel movie. Nora observes in silence until Bradley wades in with suggestions, making her remember the pretentious comment.

“What about How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?” 

Natasha cackles. And then puts it on. 

It is a good choice in the end. 

Mickey and Reuben talk through the first 15 minutes, asking the room what other movies this familiar actress and that familiar actress had been in before, until Bob quietly pulls up the IMDB page on his phone and hands it to them, but Nora has seen it too many times to get annoyed. 

Across the room, Jake is mostly silent, making an assorted comment here and there. He does, however, launch an impassioned speech about how Benjamin Barry could never ever be from Staten Island with that unmistakable Texas drawl. 

“Listen to him,” Jake cuts in during the iconic 'Bullshit' scene, gesturing to the screen with his beer bottle. “You’re tellin’ me I’m supposed to believe that man is a Knicks fan from Staten Island? He’s a Cowboys fan through and through. You could stick a Stetson on that voice.” 

Eventually, Natasha shushes him and threatens, “Hangman, I am not afraid to kick you out. Shut up about Texas!” He opens his mouth, ready to make another comment. “Not one more word…” 

Jake folds his arms over his own Cowboys shirt, muttering something like Staten Island, my ass under his breath, and watches in sullen silence for the rest of the movie.

After the end credits, Reuben is the first one to leave, saying something about an early morning run on the beach tomorrow. He is signed up to run a half-marathon soon – a celebration when Coyote gets back to Lemoore from a last-minute deployment, which should be any day now, according to Natasha.

“How is a 13 mile run in the middle of June a celebration?” Nora asks while Reuben is otherwise occupied, slipping on his sneakers with a slice of pizza pinned between his teeth, cheese precariously close from sliding down and splattering on the carpet. 

“Here I was planning to buy him a couple shots and call it even,” Natasha remarks, putting on a New Girl re-run, and Nora politely declines the invitation to run a casual seven miles at 5:30 AM tomorrow. 

Seven. Miles. 

During an on-screen True American game, Natasha gets a FaceTime call from her older sister and, with an apologetic smile, ducks into the bedroom to say hello to her nieces and nephews. 

And Nora is the last one left awake.

In the quiet, Nora can hear the soft snores and even breaths, rising and falling from the living room, and the constant hum of the overhead light as she tidies up the cluttered kitchen. 

 Emptying the open beer bottles into the sink and rinsing them for the recycling bin. Gathering the untouched ones to one side of the counter, in case Natasha wants them. 

Marinara is sticky on her fingers as Nora rinses a stack of plates in the sink, running a soapy sponge over them with care, back and forth. It is pitch black outside, and Nora can’t make out anything but her own reflection in the small window above the sink.

She looks tired. Normal tired that can be fixed with a solid eight hours and a sleep-in day on the coming weekend. Not the bottomless weariness that drained her to the core, feeling like a chain looped around her ankle with an anchor hidden at the end. 

She feels good. 

She can breathe a little easier here. 

Maybe Charlie was right. 

Maybe all Nora ever needed was a break, not to burn it all down and start again. Maybe.

She feels an uncomfortable twisting in her stomach, one that has nothing to do with the tomato and cheese and wine, and decides to leave the thought alone for now. 

There’ll be time. Later.

She washes the thought down the sink with the rest of the bubbles. 

“Hollywood.” 

Nora startles. 

“Christ on a…” Nora blows out a breath, setting the plate down in the sink. She presses a damp hand over her racing heart and sends him a wide-eyed look. “Could you walk a little louder or like, announce your presence? Holy shit.” 

“Sorry,” Jake says, not sounding it at all. Amusement is clear in his voice, in the subtle smile that dimples his cheeks. “Probably couldn’t hear me over the chainsaw in there.” 

Fighting a smile, Nora peeks around him. 

Mickey is still passed out cold, shaved head resting on a sleeping Bob Floyd’s left shoulder, mouths yawned wide open. And on the couch, Bradley Bradshaw is slumped under a plush blanket – a silent apology from Nora, pushing him from her shoulder to get free. One of Natasha’s colorful throw pillows has fallen victim to a chokehold, cuddled in the crook of his elbow. 

Bradley is exposed as the culprit, letting out an aggressively loud snore that sounds not unlike a broken garbage disposal, and Nora holds back a laugh, pressing her lips together. 

“Probably.” 

Jake yawns, opening his mouth wide, wiping the sleep from his eyes with a knuckle. He stretches out his tired muscles, folding his arms over his head, dragging the hem of the shirt upwards. She catches a flash of tan abdomen, rippling muscles, and looks away.

His next words are so quiet that Nora almost misses them.

“Need an extra pair of hands?” 

Dishes sit to the left of the sink, a low stack of plates with silverware and glasses, leftover wine and pizza grease, and to the right, Nora has started a clean stack next to the overflowing dish rack. Water is already soaking through the dish towel underneath them.

She repeats, “Probably,” and nods. 

An unused dish towel hangs over the oven handle – another bright and funky pattern, slightly retro, which is Natasha’s apartment in a nutshell. It is a similar layout to the apartment Nora is staying in, except for the wall between the kitchen and living room, curving into an arch. 

Natasha has made it her own, decorating with vibrant oranges and reds and yellows, making it look like some Urban Outfitters stage room in the best way possible. Warm accents are everywhere, and drowsily blinking against the overhead yellow, Jake seems more subdued, edges softened. 

He grabs the dish towel, tossing it in the air and then catching it and slinging it over his shoulder in one smooth motion. “You wash, and I’ll dry?”  

She passes him a plate, and Jake wipes it down in three efficient motions and creates a new stack on the speckled counter. Holds out a hand for the next one, palm flat and upturned. 

Quiet feels unfamiliar between them. New. It hums like a strummed guitar string, and even when Jake is looking down, focused and methodical, Nora feels so aware of him. It should probably alarm her more. 

She breaks the silence with a question.

“How did you feel this morning? About the interview, I mean.” 

A dimple springs up in his cheek. “Is this a trick question? ‘Cause I felt good about it, but now I’m not so sure.” 

“It was a making conversation question. Don’t fish for compliments,” Nora lightly chides, almost teasing in a certain light. She rinses the sponge, squeezing out the bubbles. “You’re a natural. Have you ever been on camera before?” 

Jake clears his throat. “I did one a few years back, a feel good piece about some Halloween air show.” He sends her a sidelong glance, pulling another plate from the stack. “It was with some retired Navy officer who took a break every 10 minutes to go smoke a Marlboro Red.” 

“Today was probably a much better experience then,” Nora observes, absently remembering her own first interview, “Or at least, I would hope so. I bet I smelled better, at least.” 

He chuckles. “You’re much prettier too.” 

Nora snorts, and Jake looks pleased.

Water runs down her forearm and dribbles onto the material of her sleeveless tank, and Nora is looking down, rubbing at it with a slight frown, when Jake asks the next question.

“Why did you become a filmmaker?” 

It isn’t a loaded question, but Nora hesitates. 

“Uh…” She blows out a breath. “It sounded cool, I guess.” 

Jake hums. “Bullshit.” 

Damn. She glares at his reflection.

“Asshole,” Nora mutters, and in the dark window, the edge of Jake’s mouth kicks up into a smile. She returns fire. “Easy there, McConaughey. Why did you become a bad ass fighter pilot? Nepotism?” 

His jaw clenches. 

She must’ve hit a nerve, but Jake doesn’t bite. 

He makes a soft tsk sound. “My interview is over, sweetheart. It’s your turn now.” 

Nora lets out an incredulous laugh, then checks over her shoulder to make sure the sound didn’t wake the other room. She can’t come up with a reason not to tell him, not a real one.

“All right,” Nora starts. “Mom was a journalist. She got me an old secondhand DSLR when I was like, twelve. She probably wanted me to follow in her footsteps and become a news photographer or something, but instead, I fell in love with films.” She smiles at the memories. “She shouldn’t have let me drag her to all those Saturday matinees when I was a kid. Maybe I would’ve been something else.” 

“Did you ever want to make movie movies?” And learning from his mistakes, Jake finds a different example. “Like When Harry Met Sally?” 

That… is a loaded question. 

“He does know who Nora Ephron is. Look at you, Texas,” Nora comments, enjoying the uncharacteristic flush that warms the back of Jake’s neck. It is surprising enough that Nora almost forgets the question. “Not for a long time now, no.” 

And Nora holds her breath and doesn't know whether to be disappointed when Jake doesn't call bullshit. 

Out of the blue, Jake says, “I grew up with a Blue Angels poster on my wall,” and after a confused second, Nora recognizes it as an olive branch, an answer to the half-hearted question from before. “Grandpa Seresin was a World War II veteran, and Aviation seemed like a good fit for me. I could be a fraction of a fraction, up there with the best of the best.” 

“You liked a challenge,” Nora observes.

She looks at him, and Jake meets her eyes.

He grins wide, all teeth. “Still do.” 

She scrubs the metal spoon harder than is strictly needed and sets it aside, ignoring the warmth curling in her stomach. She blames the wine.

“We’re back to you now, Hollywood,” Jake continues. He takes the last of the plates and sets them in the cabinet. Crosses his arms over the Cowboys shirt and settles against the edge of the counter. “Didn’t you do a Netflix documentary or something?” 

“Did you Google me?” 

Jake doesn’t look embarrassed, not in the slightest. “You’re kind of a big deal. What’re you doing here?”

Another loaded question, even more so than the last. 

Nora submerges the last wine glass, rinsing the stubborn suds that cling to the glass down the drain, and sets it on the last available space on the drying rack, nestled against a ceramic mug that looks handmade. She shakes her hands over the sink, flicking water onto her shirt, and Jake offers the dish towel. 

She takes it, rubbing the moisture from her pruned fingers, and thinks about the question. What is Nora doing here?

She has an answer. Several even. 

Nora is passing time between projects or paying back a long overdue favor or making some extra cash during a lull or missed her home state or…

“I don’t know,” Nora admits, soft and truthful, an answer for the yellow warmth of the kitchen light and the blue darkness outside and somehow, the cocky Naval aviator who is looking at her with soft green eyes. “Ask me again in like five weeks?”

His gaze softens. “I will.”

Her answering smile is genuine.

A golden tendril comes loose and falls onto his forehead, and Jake pushes it back, running his fingers through his hair. He lets out another yawn, louder this time, and stretches his arms again. 

She shouldn’t watch him. She does anyway, and Jake notices. 

A smirk spreads across his face. “You know what I think, Hollywood?”

Nora leans back against the nearest section of counter, slinging the dish towel over her own shoulder. “This oughta be good.” 

 “You kind of like me.” 

She gapes at him.

“You are…”

 Unbelievable? Presumptuous? Charming? 

“…so full of shit.” 

“Nope,” Jake says, shaking his head. He doesn’t have to move all that much to be in her space, not in a kitchen this size. Drowsiness makes his accent thicker, each word syrupy slow. “You like that I can keep up with you. Don’t’cha, sweetheart?” 

“Can you?” Nora parries, chin raised, “Can you keep up with me?” 

Men like Jake Seresin are a dime a dozen, arrogant and handsome, carrying around egos that could sink a freighter, and Nora has met many of them, so many of them. Every damn one of them would’ve hated that answer. 

Not Jake. He fucking loves it.

His smirk deepens. “Want to find out?” 

Jake holds out a hand. Both dare and truce. 

She stares him down, and maybe later, Nora will blame alcohol and exhaustion and the unwelcome realization that Jake bears a certain resemblance to an early 2000’s Matthew McConaughey in that shirt, in this lighting. 

That is later. This is now.

And now, Nora slips her hand into his and shakes it once. 

end note: likes are appreciated, but comments and reblogs are amazing. i love love love hearing your thoughts!

read the next chapter!

[confusedmuggle]

Your Mistake

Peter Parker {Tom Holland} x f!reader {kinda, more angsty}, Peter Parker {Andrew Garfield} x f!reader

NWH spoilers -> it’s been a long time since I’ve seen this movie so it won’t be super movie accurate and stuff sorry guys

summary - Peter Parker and you used to be best friends, until he left you for a girlfriend. But what happened when another Peter Parker is thrown into the mix?

Warnings: swearing

A/N PLEASE READ : you are in Hollands Spider-Man universe to begin, and Garfield is the other main spider man in this story 😏. also, MJ is a jerk in this series. I love her in the films, but in this series she’s an asshole so just so you know. Reader is not a minor, and Andrew Garfield’s Peter is aged down a bit

“Listen y/n, MJ just isn’t comfortable with you being my friend. She says it’s like you like me or something.” The two of you were at your house playing board games, but he had been getting texts and calls from MJ the entire time. He had been constantly canceling plans with you or just full on ditching you for her for the entire two months they had been dating, but it had been getting extra bad recently.

he was constantly using his secret life as Spider-Man as an excuse to ditch you too, he had told you about him being Spider man soon after it happened because you two trusted each other so much. He would tell you he had patrol duty, but then you would find him with MJ at an ice cream shop, and plenty of other times similar things had happened. “What do you mean? MJ just can’t handle you having a girl best friend. You wouldn’t actually stop being friends with me for her right? We’ve been friends for over 10 years, Peter” you said, almost teasingly, because you knew Peter and you would never stop being friends. You two had been through everything together, you had grown up together, nothing could tear you two apart, right?

wrong.

“Listen y/n, I’m sorry but MJ is my girlfriend and I really don’t want to mess this up. Plus, you have been kind of clingy around me lately.” He said, not meeting your eyes.

“You’re kidding right?” You said, voice shaking slightly and your expression in disbelief

“I wish things could be different, but this is how it has to be right now. you understand, right?” he said to you shit. That really hurt. your best friend of over 10 years, truly the only friend you had ever let get this close to you, was leaving you without hesitation for his girlfriend of two months.

“What the fuck Peter!” You yelled, “no I don’t fucking understand, we’ve been friends for over a decade and you are just throwing that away for some girl you’ve known for two months?” “I really like her y/n! I’m not going to fuck this up just because you like me or some shit!” He yelled at you. “Get the fuck out of my house Peter.” You said, your tone dropping. Rage was dripping from your voice, and Peter had never seen you this angry. “Go be with MJ, I know that’s where you wanted to be today anyways”

“y/n-“ he started, but you cut him off

“I’m done hearing excuses. You’re the one that just ended this friendship, so get out of my house.” You expected more of a fight from him, but he just stood up and walked away. He left, and didn’t even turn back. You went up to your room and watched through the window until you saw his car pulling away. You collapsed against the wall, sobbing. How could he do that to you? You thought that the two of you were going to be best friends forever, and you had even had a crush on him since elementary school, but after he started dating MJ you did everything in your power to suppress it for his happiness. You felt utterly betrayed.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

It had been a two weeks since the incident. He was avoiding you everywhere. In the classes you two had together, you tried to be sat as far away as possible, not talking to you unless absolutely necessary. Anytime you saw him in the halls he was always with MJ and ignored you. This was awful. Peter had always been there for you whenever you needed him, but this time he was the root cause of your overwhelming emotions. You had finally arrived home, exhausted from the mental strain of school. You plopped down on your bed and pulled out the book you had been reading. It was a thriller.

‘She crept towards the corner prepared to fight the creatures at any turn. She fully turned the corner to see-‘

SLAM

Your head snapped up, looking towards the direction the sound came from. It came from the small fire escape balcony just outside your bedroom window. You slowly stood up to get closer, not seeing anything in the window. You slowly approached the window, when suddenly a head popped up and looked at you through it. “AH!!” You screamed. Peter? You were looking at spiderman through the glass. You noticed something off, this couldn’t be Peter. The suit was different. Then who was this person? You were pulled from your thoughts by a knock on the window remembering that the imposter spider man was still there. You carefully opened up the window just wide enough to talk through. “Who are you?” You demanded

“I’m Spider Man, but this isn’t- I’m not from here. Something weird happened.” He tried explaining. His voice was deeper than peters too. “What do you mean you’re not from here? I know you’re not spider man. I know spider man, and you are not him” you said.

“Please you have to help I don’t know what’s going on- I’m Peter Parker-“ you didn’t give him a chance to finish. “You’re Peter- your name is Peter Parker? Prove it.” You said, slightly panicking at this weird parallel. He reached into his spider suit and pulled out a wallet, showing you his id which clearly stated ‘Peter Parker’. “well shit. Come in I guess . . “ you said hesitantly as you opened the window. Not-Peter Peter climbed in awkwardly. “I’m y/n.” You said to break the silence.

“y/n?” He said, gazing up at you. “That was the name of my childhood best friend. She moved away in 3rd grade though.”

“So you’re . . Peter Parker. We have a Peter Parker here too. He is- was my best friend” you corrected yourself quickly. “what happened? Did you move away?” He asked.

“No, he- it doesn’t matter actually.” You said, looking away. “You can tell me” he stated, but your weren’t going to tell him anything. You tried to change the subject

“Now that we are inside, you can take off the mask.” You said, curious if he looked like your Peter. He hesitantly reached up and removed his mask, revealing his face to you.

He only looked to be a year or two older than you, with beautiful brown eyes that left you stunned. His brown hair was slightly disheveled from the mask, but it still looked perfect. You blushed, not looking at his eyes again.

“You should probably change out of that.” You stated, happy to turn away from the attractive man to grab some clothes for him. Peter - Peter had left some of his clothes at your house from sleepovers and game nights. After your falling out he never came back for them. You grabbed a pair of underwear, a shirt, and shorts and handed them to not peter - peter. ”Here, these should work, they were Peter - peters clothes.” You told him

He laughed, “Peter -Peter?” Your face flushed at his comment, slightly embarrassed you had said that out loud. “You can call me . . . I don’t know. We’ll think of something.” “Tel me when I can turn around.” You said, facing the wall. Just a few seconds later he gave you the clear, and you turned around to find him completely shirtless. Your first instinct was to cover your eyes, but then you saw sparks in the corner of your eyes. It was a portal opening, facing directly at Peter. You quickly ran over and pushed the boy out of the portals way, onto your bed. The portal fully opened and you were looking at none other than Ned and MJ. “y/n! You’re not Peter.” Ned said.

“Why would it show us you if we were looking for Peter?” MJ questioned you aggressively. “What even is this?” You said, confused as to what the hell was going on. MJ walker over to the portal, probably looking for her boyfriend. You tried to stop her, telling her he wasn’t here but she looked through anyways only to see Peter. But not her Peter. She saw a man laying half naked on your bed with disheveled hair, looking between her and you.

“Who the fuck is that?”

[grapefacegrfa]

Warning: Angst and MAJOR spoilers for the ROTTMNT movie!!

"Restless"

The room was pitch black. Nothing could be heard other than heavy breathing. Another nightmare. Leo often struggled with not being able to rest, but his sleep related problems only got worse ever since the Kraang came to earth several months ago. It still felt like yesterday. How could he not think about it? It was his fault the Foot Clan got that key. It was his arrogance that almost cost everyone their lives. Cold sweat ran down his forehead and hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Leo would do anything for his family and wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice himself again if he had to, but wow, was he thankful to not be trapped in that prison dimension. A part of him still felt it's almost what he deserved. After all, it was his fault the Kraang came to New York. It was his fault Raph was taken by the Kraang. His fault Raph has a hole in his shell and could've lost an eye. His fault Mikey has those burns on his arms from opening that portal to save his sorry ass. His fault everyone could've- A hushed sob escaped from his lips and his hands darted up to cover his face. Leo knew everyone was okay. That, against all odds, he was okay. Yet he also knew that he'd been a burden to his family. Even after they all saved the world, he was still nothing but a problem to everyone. Even after giving himself up to save everyone else from the Kraang, he still ended up being an issue when his brothers saved him from the prison dimension. Leo would be dead if it wasn't for his brothers, but being stuck in bed for so long due to his injuries wasn't exactly helping anyone. Hell, it was still a struggle to even walk on his own, but he wasn't going to bother any of his brothers this time. He needed to try to get out of his head. Grabbing onto the nightstand, Leo slowly got out of his bed and propped his body up before taking slow steps out of his room. Pushing the curtain aside, he wobbled into the kitchen, grabbing onto the counter to keep himself steady. He hated feeling so helpless and not being able to do simple things without struggling. Leaning over the counter, Leo's hands we're pressed firmly against his forehead. His body trembled a bit as more tears streamed down his face. Why did he have to be such a burden? Why did he have to be so arrogant? How did anyone put up with him? Why was he- Soft footsteps brought Leo out of his thoughts and his head darted towards the direction of the noises, revealing Raph standing in the kitchen doorway. His head turned down towards the counter. Leo could barely even look at Raph anymore without thinking about what his big brother went through because of his mistakes. He really wasn't in the mood to hear another lecture from one of his brothers, yet what happened shortly after the thought popped into his head caught him off guard. Instead of telling him some bullshit about how he needed to stay in his room, Raph had moved closer to Leo and placed a hand on his shoulder before speaking up in a soft tone of voice. "We're all proud of you, little brother, and we're all glad that you're still here. Hope ya know that." Leo couldn't even look up at his older brother because he knew he would've broken down entirely if he did, yet he didn't need to look at Raph to start sobbing. Not out of sadness or fear, but out of shock and pure joy. Being gently pulled into a soft embrace by his older brother, Leo knew this wasn't some sick figment of imagination. Everyone was okay. Raph was okay. He was okay. Leo was beyond lucky that everyone was still alive. He was beyond lucky that he was alive. Maybe he felt like a burden deep down sometimes, what mattered most was that his family was okay. And as long as his family was here, Leo knew he would be too, even if it took a while to truly be okay.

This was originally just written for a character rp audition, but I didn't get accepted lmao

I don't want this writing to just go to waste, so I decided to upload it :]

[venus-saturn-and-mars]

SPOILERS FOR ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE

Okay so, amongst all the theories l've seen for what's going to happen in btsv, the vast majority seem to agree that Miguel is definitely wrong about cannon events and there's gonna be some big dramatic reveal and all the spiders are gonna have to deal with his wrong-ness. I'm definitely not the first person to say/think that.

However, there's this piece of evidence that I haven't seen anyone talk about that I think supports this theory really well. So let's discuss.

This whole theory surrounds everything that happens in Gwen's universe, so if you've been ignoring my spoiler warning this is where you should leave.

Okay so, in the first fight in the art museum, Gwen is almost arrested, and Miguel and Jess save the day. Gwen leaves for a couple months (I think? I'm too lazy to check, the time isn't really that important to this theory,) and we see at the very end of the movie that her Dad has quit, and is no longer the police captain. But... that's a big problem, right? According to Miguel's logic, it should be.

In the bit where Miguel is doing the information explainy thing. Miles is looking around at all his Spider-friends and asking them how they're okay with these cannon events happening.

When Miguel's 3D PowerPoint ends and Miles realizes his dad is going to die, he says this to Gwen:

And she says:

Now that's a face that says *I've accepted the fact that my dad has to die so that my universe can continue to exist, but that definitely makes me sad :( “

Okay cool, got it. Super sad, but cool. Unless.. wait a minute! He isn't gonna die! How do we know he's not gonna die? Well by the end of the movie, he quits. Captain Stacy is not Captain Stacy anymore.

So what does this mean?? By Miguel's logic, since Mr. Stacy isn't captain anymore, even if he does die the universe still is going to collapse, because he quit, and he did because Gwen left. Mr. Stacy quitting would not be written in the Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse, because his quitting was a result of Gwen leaving, and that was caused by an outside influence, Miguel and Jess, coming and taking her outside the universe. The butterfly effect of their presence is going to change the way a cannon event is supposed to go.

What does this mean?? Well personally, I think this specific incident is what's going to make Gwen realize that Miguel is wrong. She's going to be there when her Dad is supposed to die, he's not gonna die because he isn't captain anymore, her universe isn't going to fall apart and she's gonna be like "Ohmygodnowayyyyy" and do... something.

I think this is going to connect to another theory I've seen, that Miguel's universe and all the other universes that have collapsed weren't caused by breaking cannon events, they were caused by the Spot. I'll link a really good TikTok I saw that explains this further. I think Gwen's universe is not going to collapse because Spot won't be present during her dad/captain killing cannon event, which will not go according to "plan"

Personally, I think that Gwen will connect these dots and go to Miguel and try to warn him. Either that, or he's already kinda figured it out and she's going to confirm this for him. After this, dramatic sad and enraged Miguel ensues as he realizes that he never actually caused his daughter death. A little angst here, a little angst there, I expect to feel lots of sadness.

So thank you for coming to my TedTalk, I'm 99% sure I just said something original but if I didn't please point me in the right direction, I'd love to hear more viewpoints and theories. 💙❤️

[fancysasquatch]

Just saw the new Hunger Games movie after obsessively consuming the book over the course of the past few days. 900+ word review below the cut. Spoiler warning for Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, obviously, but spoiler warning for William Friedkin's Bug (2006) too.

The short version of this is going to be that the movie works fine enough on it's own, but is very disappointing as an adaptation to a book I really enjoyed.

Before I start getting into negatives, I'll start with what I liked. The acting was overall fine. Jason Schwartzman was no Stanley Tucci as the tv host but he was still pretty good. Viola Davis knocked it out of the park as the mad scientist Dr. Gaul. Peter Dinklage didn't have much to do outside of one monologue at the end which was ruined by poor direction.

I also really liked the art design of the movie. The brutalist architecture was reminiscent of post-war Europe, particularly the Soviet Union. The military uniforms were sufficiently Nazi-esque without being tasteless. I saw a social realist-style poster in the background in District 12. The technology in the Capitol had a postwar Mid-century Modern aesthetic while in the poorer districts it looked like older technology from the 30s and 40s (including a video chatting device that looked like a candlestick telephone). Altogether it conveyed the idea that this happened decades ago, in relation to the original trilogy, and took place not too long after a major war. Very well done.

Now to get into the parts I didn't like too much. I'm still too much of a philistine to pay much attention to the directing/editing/cinematography side of things during my first viewing of a movie, but there were a few things that stood out to me. As I mentioned, Peter Dinklage has a monologue at the end which could have been very good it it wasn't filmed in flat shot-reverse shot with uninteresting framing, blocking, set design, and lighting. There was also a moment in the middle of the film which where the main characters have their last conversation the night before one will be fighting and possibly dying in the Hunger Games, but most of it is filmed in a profile shot of their faces leaning into towards the bars of her cage. The visual metaphor was a bit too on-the-nose, and the shot itself was framed in an awkwardly claustrophobic way.

That was all preamble though, and the bulk of this review is about the writing, specifically how they condensed a 500 page book into a 150 page screenplay. Obviously a lot had to be cut or shortened, and sometimes they did it well. For instance, the first minute or two covers several different page-long flashbacks which tell you all you really need to know. But some changes really hurt the pacing and even quality of the story.

The first part of the book covers the month leading up to the Hunger Games, but the movie condenses that down into a few days, so everything seems rushed because you have a week's worth of plot development happening in a single busy afternoon. The two main characters fall in love after meeting 5(?) times for a total of about 30 minutes. There was also a scene rewritten for no reason which was completely ruined, where a girl willingly sticks her hand into a cage of snakes she nows will attack her rather than admit to lying about helping on an essay (in the book she's tricked into it as part of a cruel test).

Almost the entirety of the Hunger Games itself was rewritten, although that's something I was fine with because it was different but not worse. The games as written would have been boring, and the version they had was a solid ~30 minute substitute.

The last section of the movie might have been butchered even worse than the beginning. A lot of that section of the book is Snow experiencing a simpler life in District 12, so when he gets a chance to go back to the capital there's a question of whether he chooses that life or his new life, which plays into the books themes of control and freedom. The movie barely shows his new life, so it's more of a question of whether he gets everything he wants in life or some girl he met two weeks ago he sorta likes.

The climax is also heavily bungled. Instead of his paranoia getting the better of him during one of his downward spirals, causing him to turn on Lucy Gray when he thinks she turns on him, she actually just turns on him. It's possible for a movie to capture losing your grip on reality like that, like the climax of Bug where the main duo feed into one another's mania until they burn themselves alive (that movie rules btw), but this movie didn't use any of the moviemaking techniques that . She also pretty unambiguously survives which is worse than the book, where her fate is left up to interpretation like the Wordsworth poem she's named after.

Just in general this movie suffers because it lacks the insight that came from the book being from Snow's point of view. We lose all of his internality, good and bad, so he's much flatter and less consistent. That theme of control vs freedom I mentioned runs throughout the book, but mostly in his internal dialogue, so in the movie we just get a few disjointed "this is what I believe" monologues from various characters that don't work as well.

To end on a positive note, I'll say there was one more change I liked. At the end of the movie, Snow's cousin Tigris very visibly sees Snow for what he is and is reasonably scared of him, which is better than in the book where they're all one big happy family.