#not my best work but certainly still like it!!!

[bloodibambiidoll]

Buy Me Presents ⟡˖ Boyfriends!Dad!Rafe x reader ⟡˖

𐙚 Your boyfriend sucks. But his dad? Well, he’s not so bad…𐙚

(Heavily inspired by the book “Birthday girl” by Penelope Douglas and the song “Buy Me Presents” by Sabrina Carpenter. It’s my lil bday gift to myself. Shout out my luv @cameronwillow for beta reading for me.)

Age gap(Rafe is early 40s Reader is mid 20s), Rafe is your Bf’s dad (duh! It’s the whole plot), Reader has a tramp stanp and nipple piercings, Male masterbation, Mutual pining(so so much pining), Thoughts of cheating, Actual cheating (not by Rafe or R), Jealousy/possessiveness Spanking, Pussy eating, Unprotected sex, Biting, Choking, Size kink, She’s a looong one, buckle up!! 18+MDNI!!

You love your boyfriend, you really do. And he isn��t a bad boyfriend. He just isn’t necessarily a good boyfriend either. The easiest way to put it is that he’s neglectful. In every sense of the word. It’s not out of character for him to forget to pick you up from your late night shifts at the bar you work at. He is constantly forgetting your plans, or just flat out ditching them in favor of hanging out with his friends. He never cleans up after himself unless you ask, and even then the chances are slim that he will actually do it. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t even know how to turn on the dryer. Why would he need to? He knows if he leaves the piles of dirty laundry long enough you’ll get sick of it and wash them yourself. And last but certainly not least, he is the least financially responsible person you’ve ever met. He misses work to the point where he gets fired from every job he’s ever had. He spends all his money on partying and eating out. And now? He’s screwed you out of your apartment that he hardly even pays for since he’s always late on bills.

He decided that having a fucking rager on a Tuesday night in your small apartment complex instead of picking you up from your double shift was a bright idea. You ended up having to get an uber home, which you absolutely couldn’t afford and by the time you made it home your place was trashed and your boyfriend was out front being hauled into a cop car. Apparently when your landlord asked him to shut the party down he got all agro and started screaming and arguing that it was his house and he can be as loud as he wants. And when your landlord didn’t agree? He punched him in the face. So he called the cops and they took him down to the station to cool off. This wasn’t the first time he was asked to break up a party like this, but it was the last. Your landlord evicted him and even though he hardly paid you still couldn’t afford it without even that small amount of help.

He ended up calling his dad from the police station to come bail him out and of course he did. He always does. That’s why Caleb Cameron can’t account for a single goddamn thing in his life, he always has daddy’s money to bail him out. That’s why you are where you are now, staying with his dad, for the foreseeable future. After Mr. Cameron bailed Caleb out, he offered you both a place to stay at his house. His nice house that he built. Which you of course tried to decline.

But after much convincing from both Cameron men, you agreed to move in while you save money to get another place on your own. His dad doesn’t need help with any of the bills but he asked that you and Caleb keep up on the chores and take turns making dinner every night. You’ve been here for a few weeks now and so far you’ve been doing everything. Caleb hasn’t even picked up a single sock off the ground.

Mr. Cameron or “Rafe” as he’s asked you to call him several times now, isn’t bad. He’s been very kind and generous to you since the moment you met him. Which wasn’t until the other day. Caleb never wanted to introduce you to him. You’ve seen him around and of course you know of Rafe Cameron, this island isn’t very big. But from what you can tell their relationship isn’t the best so you’ve never actually had a conversation with him up until now.

He’s been easy to coexist with though. He’s surprisingly low maintenance. Rafe spends most of his day working with the guys on his construction team and then he comes home and showers. If you aren’t working a late shift you always have dinner ready. He comes downstairs in fresh sweats and pops open a beer. Then you, him, and Caleb all eat together. At least you’re supposed to, Caleb was only here the first night you moved in, he’s spent every other night out. Leaving you and his dad to eat dinner together alone.

Tonight is one of those nights. Caleb went out to the bar with his friends, even after you told him you were making his favorite dinner for him. He left before it was even done. Rafe will be home anytime now though. You’ve noticed he’s usually home around five thirty so you have dinner ready and kept warm by five. You made chicken parmesan from scratch and it’s in the oven set to warm while you sit at the shiny marble kitchen island, doom scrolling on your phone. You hear a key in the lock and you hate that ears perk up. The door opens and you hear keys being dropped in a glass bowl before footsteps sound toward the kitchen. It takes him a few seconds to come into view because you also hear him unlacing his work boots, but when he does? You can’t stand that your stomach swoops at the sight of him.

Not only is Rafe generous, successful, cleans up after himself without being asked, he’s always on time and he always asks how your day is. He’s fucking gorgeous. His piercing blue eyes make your skin heat each time they’re on you. His messy mullet seems like he’s been cutting it for years, which there’s just something charming about. Like he could have someone do it for him but he’d rather just do it himself because it’s cheaper and easier. Not that he’s hurting for money. His dad might have cut him off and left him with nothing but once he found out he was having Caleb he refused to be like him. He built his own construction company from the ground up and worked odd jobs to get to that point so his son would never want for anything. His personality just makes him even more frustratingly sexy. It doesn’t help that his thick arms that always seem like they’re going to burst out of his t-shirts are covered in tattoos and his smile, god his smile, it gives you butterflies from your stomach down to your pussy. He always looks particularly edible when he gets off work though.

“Hey, Caleb here?” Rafe walks into the kitchen wearing dirty work jeans and a carhartt coat, his face has a few smudges on it and he really tests your strength when he pulls the jacket off. He’s only wearing a tight white tee that’s just as dirty as the rest of him, his broad chest and thick arms on display. You feel like you’re going to go insane when he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair and it causes his shirt to ride up and show a sliver of waist. You finally pull your eyes away from his body to meet his own and he has a brow raised in your direction. God, how long have you been ogling him? Hopefully he didn’t notice. Fuck.

“Oh, uh- no, he went out.” You let out a small sigh and shrug your shoulders trying to play it off like you don’t care. Like you didn’t make his favorite meal because you’ve hardly had any time together recently. Like you didn’t hope you could eat together then snuggle up and watch a movie together, maybe fuck. But apparently whatever party he went to tonight held priority over his own girlfriend.

“Mmm, he seems to go out a lot, huh?” Rafe chuckles and his lips quirk into a small smile but you can see the sadness in his eyes. Caleb is avoiding him and you both know that. But it’s not like him ditching you to go out is a new occurrence. “Well, I’m gonna go shower.”

“Kay, dinner is ready whenever you’re done. I waited to eat.” You don’t respond to his question about Caleb, you both know the answer, it doesn’t need to be said. His eyes linger on you for a moment and you don’t miss the way they flash to your thighs in your little sleep shorts momentarily before he turns and exits the room. You hate that just the smallest attention from him has your skin tingling. You’re just lonely, that’s all it is. He’s your boyfriend’s dad, you can’t have a crush on him. It’s just a fleeting attraction. You’re not blind, the man is walking sex. And it’s been almost two weeks since you’ve been fucked.

Around twenty minutes later Rafe comes downstairs and grabs his beer like he always does. Then he wanders into the dining room where you have the table set with dinner dished up. There’s an empty plate in front of the chair beside you in case Caleb decides to come home. But you know he won’t. Which makes it all the more hard to not drool over the way his dad is wearing grey sweatpants and a tight black tank top like it isn’t the sluttiest outfit a man could possibly wear.

Rafe could say the same about you though, sitting there in your little pajama shorts and a cropped tank top with a tiny zip up hoodie that you have unzipped halfway so it’s hanging off one of your shoulders. Smiling up at him from his dining room table that has never been set a day in its life up until you moved in with a warm meal prepared for him after a long day. It’s something he’s always wanted, someone to come home to, someone that cooks him meals that aren’t take-out or from the microwave. And he hates how sweet and full of life you are. He hates it because he loves it. You blast music and dance around while you clean. You bring the kind of noise to this house that was otherwise so quiet sometimes he felt like any sound he made bounced off the walls. And you’re so fucking pretty it almost hurts.

Especially because he can never have you. Not only is he old enough to be your father, you’re his son’s girlfriend for fucks sake. But that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy your presence. Especially if Caleb isn’t going to. He loves his son with all his heart but just in the short time you’ve been here he’s noticed he isn’t very attentive with you. He wishes that didn’t disappoint him and also fill him with something that is tinged with jealousy that he pushes away immediately. He just doesn’t like to see his son taking a woman like you for granted. If he had someone like you? He’d worship at her feet and do anything he could to make her happy. He really needs to find a way to control these thoughts he’s been having about you because it seems like they intensify the more time he spends around you and he can’t let a small attraction that he can tuck away in the back of his mind become anything bigger than that. Not with you. He’s just getting older and more lonely every year and you’re beautiful, easy to talk to, and living in his house, wearing those little tank tops and tight yoga pants. It’s just some minor lust, that’s all.

“I made chicken parm and there’s uh - mashed potatoes and sauteed veggies.” You gesture to the food on his plate as he sits down in the chair across from you.

“Thanks, looks good.” Rafe clears his throat and cuts a piece of chicken from his plate, bringing it between his lips with a groan that has you clenching your thighs. “Damn, that’s delicious. This is Caleb’s favorite, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’m sorry he’s not here.” You sigh and look down at your plate, pushing some food around with your fork. Mentioning the lack of your boyfriend’s presence has another wave of disappointment washing over you. You’re starting to wonder why you even get your hopes up anymore.

“You don’t need to apologize for him, he’s a grown man.” Rafe’s expression hardens slightly, he can’t help it. You made Caleb his favorite dinner and he flaked on you? Not only is he disappointed as his father but he also can’t believe any man would take your sweet gestures for granted. He’d die to have someone be this attentive with him. “I’m sorry he isn’t here.”

“Ha! He’s a grown man, you don’t need to apologize for him.” You throw his words back at him with a smirk and it makes him chuckle, the tension in the air starting to dissipate.

“Well, you got me there.” Rafe runs his hand over his head turning sideways under the guise of having to stretch but really he’s hiding the little smile that you keep seeming to bring to his face. Rafe thinks it might be a little too giddy to be coming from your boyfriend’s dad.”For what it’s worth, this is really good, thank you. I appreciate you cooking.”

“Yeah, no problem, just paying my dues.” It’s your turn to pretend to stretch. The words he said were so simple, but to you, they held so much meaning. To be appreciated for something you do, isn’t something you get very often. “I’m - um- I’m glad you like it.”

“Yeah it’s really good.” He pokes the veggies on his plate with his fork and gives them a look of disdain that has you hiding a chuckle behind your hand. You’ve noticed he tends to eat around the healthy stuff you serve him. “But I could do without these veggies though.”

“I’ll make a healthy eater out of you, you’ll see.” You give him a playful glare that he returns with a smile he doesn’t bother to hide this time. “It’ll be good for your heart, old man.”

“Wow! I am not that old.” Rafe brings his hand to his chest in mock offense and it sends you both into a fit of laughter.

“Mhm, whatever you say old man. Let me know if you need help getting up the stairs after dinner!” You lean forward on your elbows and laugh and it takes every bit of willpower Rafe has to not linger on the way your tits bounce at your motions.

“You’re funny, I like talking to you.” You hate that the way he says that makes your body heat because you know he doesn’t mean it like that. And you shouldn’t want him to.

You really need to stop relying on Caleb for rides. This is the third time now that he’s forgotten to pick you up from your two AM shifts and you don’t really have many other options. Your coworkers already left you to lock up for the night, your sister isn’t answering her phone and you’ve never been able to rely on your dad for a single thing in your life. You wish you had friends to call. Or money to get your own car. You groan and throw your head back in frustration when your boyfriend’s phone goes to voicemail for the fifth time. You could call an uber but you’re really trying to save money to get out of Rafe’s hair sooner rather than later. Rafe, he would pick you up. But do you even want to call him? He’s definitely asleep, since he gets up at the crack of dawn everyday for work and do you really want to open that door?

The two of you have been getting along really well the last few weeks, settling into coexisting with one another. You honestly spend more time with him than you do your boyfriend at this point but he’s already done so much for you and you aren’t sure if you want to push it. You could sleep here, on the couch in the office and hopefully Caleb will get back to you by morning. But you really want to take a shower. And if you uber it’s really just setting you back on saving so in the long run it’s going to put Rafe out even more anyway. Fuck it. You click on his contact and it only rings twice before he answers.

“Hello?” Rafe’s sleepy voice says your name and you can’t help but wonder if that’s how he’d sound moaning in your ear while he pounds his - you’ve gotta stop. “Everything okay?”

“Hi, Rafe.” You take in a shaky breath, god you hate asking people for help. “Um, everything is okay, it’s just - is Caleb home?”

“Is he not with you? I thought he was picking you up tonight.” You hear rustling, like he’s getting up out of bed. “He’s not here. He hasn’t been home since this morning unless he came home when I was at work. Are you okay?”

“No, uh - he’s not with me.” You clear your throat and let out a dry, half hearted, chuckle. “He was supposed to pick me up, he must’ve just gotten caught up, maybe his phone died or something. I can’t get ahold of him could you -”

“I’m coming to get you. Stay inside, keep the doors locked.” You hear his belt clanking as he hurriedly gets dressed on the other side of the line. “I’ll be there in ten.”

Seven minutes later you hear Rafe’s pick-up idling outside and your phone is dinging with a text that he’s here. You aren’t sure how it's possible that he got here so fast, considering his house is in a nice suburb outside figure eight and the bar you work at is on the cut, but you don’t question it. You lock up the bar, walk over to the curb, and hop in Rafe’s truck.

“Hey, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have anyone else to call and -” Rafe chuckles but it’s not one of those charming ones you’ve come to know, he seems irritated and now you really wish you would’ve just slept in the bar.

“Don’t, be sorry.” Rafe shakes his head as he puts the truck into gear and pulls off toward his house. “I’m sorry that my son left you hanging like that.”

“Oh, it’s okay.” You wave your hand and try to brush it off with a smile, maybe ease some of the tension. But Rafe’s hands just tighten on the steering wheel causing his knuckles to whiten and he breathes out hard through his nose. Maybe you really fucked up by calling him.

“No. It’s not. It’s unacceptable.” Rafe grits out. He’s trying to not be unreasonably angry but the way he’s watched his son basically neglect you has been grinding his gears more and more everyday. And now he forgets you at one of the sketchiest bars in town in the middle of the night? You were alone, it seems like your coworkers already left. Anyone could have decided to try and break in, what would you have done if he didn’t come?

He hates that it makes him feel animosity toward Caleb, that jealous feeling that’s tinged with possession growing more and more the longer he’s around you. He would never forget you. If it was up to him you wouldn’t work in that bar at all and he’d take care of all your needs and desires. Rafe is old school, he wants a pretty woman to come home to, to cook for him and let him eat her pussy every night before bed. Someone who will keep him in check and make him laugh when it counts. The way the two of you have been living together kind of feels like that, excluding the sex parts. Lines are starting to blur for him and maybe he just really needs to get laid. It’s been over a year now.

“If you ever need a ride, call me. I’ll be there.” You don’t argue, there’s no point. This man is as stubborn as you and if you try and disagree you’ll just go back and forth till one of you caves. And you have a feeling it would be you. His voice holds a finality that just has you nodding in agreement before the two of you fall into comfortable silence for the rest of the drive.

Okay, Rafe seriously needs to get laid. He feels like he’s living in a never ending intro to a porno. He isn’t sure if he’s ever been more thankful or if he regrets ever putting that in the ground hot tub out back but he feels like he’s being tortured. It’s mid November so the pool is covered but the hot tub is free game and you’ve definitely been taking advantage of that. He should be glad, it’s the first time it’s getting real use since he built it but the fact that you go in it nearly every day means you’re in a bikini nearly everyday.

You have a few different ones but the one you’re wearing right now while you walk through the kitchen. You have a pink towel that you definitely brought with you from home thrown over your shoulder and the little platform slides you’re wearing are the only other thing on your body. The baby pink straps of the bikini hug your curves perfectly. The little triangles barely cover more than your nipples and he can see that they’re pierced through the thin material. The bottoms are practically a thong, showing off that little angel wing tramp stamp tattooed on your lower back. Hardly something you think that a girl would wear around her boyfriend’s dad, but he’s starting to think you’re doing it on purpose.

Things have been different between the two of you this last week. Caleb went on a ski trip with his friends and didn’t even bother to invite you. It’s not like they’re your friends, anyway. So it’s just been you and Rafe for the last five days. There was a night that the two of you ordered chinese food and you showed him what a “christmas horror movie” is. Which he really enjoyed. He’s not huge on movies but he can’t deny that he loves a good horror movie.

You laughed and joked together. Playfully teased each other over your food orders and ended up just ordering twice as much food. You both sat maybe just a little too close and your arms brushed every once in a while. It was almost like you both got more brave after that, letting glances linger a little longer than necessary. His hand on the small of your back when he passes the kitchen. Flirty banter. And your outfits somehow seem to be getting smaller and smaller by the day.

His cock pulses as he watches you bend over in your little swimsuit to grab a water bottle out of the fridge and he doesn’t advert his gaze fast enough because when you stand up straight and look over your shoulder at him there’s this mischievous little glint in your eyes and a smug smirk painted on your lips. You turn his way and rest your palms on the marble countertop he built himself and it almost makes your tits spill out of what little material is covering them. He’s going to lose it.

“You gonna get in with me yet, old man? Or are you still too boring?” You tilt your head to the side with a bright smile and your voice is so saccharine he feels like he’s gonna get a goddamn toothache. He can’t go in the hot tub with you though, his control is slipping more and more everyday and being that close to you, wet, in that bikini, seems like a recipe for disaster.

“Guess I’m still too boring, little girl.” Your little ongoing inside joke of teasing each other about your ages makes him chuckle because he’s not really old, he’s only forty two. And you’re certainly not a little girl, you’re a sexy young woman. Too sexy. And too sweet and thoughtful. And you’re fucking funny and quirky. And he hates how bad he wants you.

It’s getting harder to chalk it up to lust the more time he spends alone with you. But he still has hope that he’s just lonely and horny because he can’t like you, you’re his son’s girlfriend for god's sake. Even if Caleb doesn’t treat you like you’re even his girlfriend at all. He’s barely seen him the entire time you’ve lived here. He’ll hit up one of his old booty calls tomorrow, it’s saturday and every woman on this island is just dying for a chance with Rafe Cameron. The only problem is he doesn’t like any of them. He doesn’t have to like them as people to get this pent up energy out though.

“Suit yourself, have fun being old and boring.” You shrug and send him a wink. You let your eyes travel from his face down his body before turning on your heel toward the door. He holds in a groan at the sight of your hips swinging, your ass jiggling in that tiny material. He was already half hard but that sent him over the edge. He needs to take a cold fucking shower.

Rafe runs his hands through his hair, letting the cool water cascade down his back. He lets out an exasperated sigh because truly this isn’t doing shit. He’s fucking cold, still hard, and he can’t stop thinking about what would happen if he did go in the hot tub with you. Was it just a friendly invitation because he built it and you think he needs to relax more? You definitely think that, but the look you gave him said there was more to it than that. The look in your eyes always does. Like you’re saying something to him without saying it and he’s pretty sure he looks at you the same way. It can never be more than just teasing, more than walking that line. You’re off limits and he knows that. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting you and what nobody but him knows can’t hurt, right?

Rafe lets his mind wander. He imagines what it would be like if he took you up on your offer. He’d get in with you and sit as far away from you as you could. You’d probably talk because even though Rafe isn’t a big talker, it seems to come easy with you. He thinks about the way the water would make your tits float in that little top and how little tendrils of your hair would fall free from that clip you have in and stick to your skin. He can see that little cheshire smirk you always give him and that mischievous look in your eyes is just straight up naughty now as his mind has you inching closer to him by the second.

You’d press yourself against him, your beautiful tits that he knows are probably so soft pressed up against his arm as you look at him with pouty lips and tell him how bad you want him. He’d grab your hips and pull you into his lap to straddle him and wandering hands would turn into heated kisses while you grind down on his cock. He would finally take that top off and get to see your tits, grab them, suck them.

Rafe grabs his throbbing cock and squeezes the base before pumping it in his hand. He groans in his chest as his head falls and his fantasy continues. In his mind his hand travels between your legs and pushes your bikini bottoms to the side, rubbing your clit a few times before thrusting two fingers knuckle deep in your wet pussy. You’d let out the prettiest moans while he pushes you to the edge with his fingers. And then you’d beg for his cock and he’d fuckig give it to you. The pace of his hand on his cock picks up and his breaths grow shallow as he imagines his hand is you, sliding his dick into your wet heat while you moan his name. You start to ride him and Rafe feels his stomach tighten. The imaginary you’s tits bounce beautifully in his face and it has his cock throbbing in his hand as he spills cum down his wrist.

He pants, the you filled haze he was in starting to fade as he comes down from his high. He turns and washes himself while he tries to shake the regret setting in. He really needs to get you out of his system.

You sigh as you use a damp towel to wipe down the bar, going through the motions of your closing duties. Caleb got home from his ski trip today and you wish you were more excited. You haven’t seen him yet since he got back while you were at work but he’s supposed to pick you up tonight. You told your sister you might need a ride, just in case. You hate that you feel like you can’t rely on him anymore. It wasn’t always like this, he used to be attentive and loving toward you, you used to be best friends. As time went on though, he got comfortable and lazy until it got to this point. You used to get butterflies and count down the seconds until you saw your boyfriend again and right now your stomach just feels like it’s filled with a pit of snakes.

He left you for an entire week, without even so much as an invitation because “he figured you wouldn’t want to go”. He left you the entire week alone in the house with his dad and if you and Rafe didn’t get along so well that would’ve been incredibly awkward. God, Rafe. You hate that the snakes in your stomach start to morph into butterflies at the thought of him. But the instant guilt that washes over you has another round of snakes swallowing the fluttering bugs whole.

These thoughts and feelings you’ve been having toward Rafe have only increased more and more over the last week. You’ve had fun with him. He’s easy to be around and surprisingly funny. You’ve grown comfortable around him and adjusted easily to living in the same space as him. Maybe a little too comfortable. You made yourself cum to the thought of him twice in a row last night. It was the first time you gave in and let your mind wander there but you haven’t cum as hard as you did in a long time. He’s just so fucking sexy and there for you. You’re just lonely, that’s all. At least that’s what you keep trying to tell yourself.

Despite your lack of faith in him, Caleb did end up picking you up from work and he even stopped at your favorite dinner for late night fries and milkshakes like you used to. You laughed together and you remembered how hot he was. His wavy blonde hair, his soft green eyes and charming, boyish smile. It’s almost like you forgot what he looks like from how little you’ve been around him lately. Everything felt better than it has in a while. Not great, but good. You had hope that maybe you and him could get back to normal up until he had you on your back with your legs spread.

Caleb isn’t bad in bed, he’s not the best ever but he’s always satisfied you. He doesn’t go down on you as much as you’d like and no matter how much you ask he won’t be rough with you but the sex isn’t bad. Tonight though? No matter what you did you couldn’t get out of your head. You usually love the way Caleb shoves his face in your neck and moans in your ear but something about it just felt like he was trying to avoid looking at you and the weight of his body as he thrusted deep into you almost felt suffocating. You were wet, you wanted to cum, but your brain wouldn’t let you. That was until Rafe’s face flashed into your mind and no matter how hard you tried to push him out it was like he barricaded himself there. You imagined it was him on top of you instead and it’s embarrassing how fast you came after that. Caleb wasn’t far behind you, spilling into the condom before pulling out of you and rolling over on his back. That was another thing, you were on birth control and no matter how much you begged him to cum inside you he wouldn’t. He said “it wasn’t worth the risk.” He fell asleep shortly after that and even though it was almost four in the morning you couldn’t shut your mind off. So you get out of bed and wander downstairs to the kitchen for a midnight snack.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you round the kitchen corner to see Rafe sitting at the island. Your hands fly up to cover your chest on instinct because all you’re wearing is a tiny silk nightie. You didn’t expect him to be up. God, did he hear you?

“Rafe! Hi! You scared the shit out of me.” You let out a breathy laugh and try to act normal. Your hands find the hem of your nightgown and tug, willing it to cover more of your ass. But that only pulls it further down your tits and the way Rafe is looking at you right now is making you want to melt into the ground. He’s never looked at you so hungrily but he also looks kind of pissed off. “I didn’t expect you to be up, sorry!”

“Huh, well, I couldn’t sleep.” Any hope that he didn’t hear you diminishes in that moment. “If you’re going to get railed under my roof at three in the morning the least you can do is try and be quiet.”

“I-” Your entire body warms and your words get caught in your throat. He really just went right out with it, didn’t he? He couldn’t just pretend it didn’t happen like a normal person? “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Rafe chuckles almost condescendingly. “I have to be up for work in an hour and I’ve spent the last forty five minutes listening to your fake moans until you finally came.”

“Mr. Cameron.” You gasp at the brashness of his words. Why does he sound like a jealous boyfriend and not someone who’s angry at a loss of sleep? “I don’t think that’s really appropriate… I’m sorry if we woke you up but-”

“No.” Rafe’s tone makes your body tingle with anxiety and something else you try not to dwell on as you watch him push himself up from his seat and round the kitchen island in a few strides. He stops only inches in front of you, his large frame looming over you. It’s only now you realize he’s in nothing but a pair of black, low to the hips sweatpants and it’s blindingly apparent that he isn’t wearing any underwear. “You know what’s inappropriate? Moaning so loud your boyfriend’s dad can hear you from down the hall… Or is that what you wanted?”

He drops his voice to a low whisper at the last part and you’re completely stunned by his words. Especially because he’s not wrong. A small part of you hoped he’d hear you. You didn’t expect this reaction though. Your words are caught in your throat for a minute too long and you know the way you’re looking up at him with your thighs clenched and your eyes blown wide gives you away. And when he smirks down at you, you know you’re caught.

“It is, isn’t it?” Rafe leans down further into your personal space, his plush lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear. “Naughty girl.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest and you’re at a complete loss for words. You’re starting to think you fell asleep and you’re dreaming. Rafe pulls back, his eyes feel like they’re setting your skin on fire as he looks down at you like he wants to bend you over this counter right now. But, he doesn’t. His large hand grazes your shoulder as he reaches out to push your hair back and after giving you a final once over from head to toe he takes a few backwards steps before turning on his heel and going up the stairs. What the fuck just happened?

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You can’t believe Rafe is here and with Hollis Robinson, of all people. Her being here isn’t irregular, she comes in here every week to hang all over the different blue collar men. You guess she’s just trying to go for something the opposite of her last husband, midlife crisis and all that. But why does she have to be here with him. There’s no way he didn’t agree to come here just to piss you off. At first you weren’t sure if he just had a naturally flirty nature and maybe you were just thinking too much into it because like you’ve been beating into your own head you’re just lonely. But after last night in the kitchen? And now this? You’re starting to think there’s more to it.

Especially since you want to walk over there and claw Hollis’ eyes out of her skull for how she’s looking at him. And the way he keeps looking over at you over her shoulder with a smug fucking grin painted on his face says a lot. This is payback for last night and if he wants to play that game? You’ll bite. You pull your tiny black tank top even further down, revealing the top of your red bra and you pull up your low rise jeans up slightly more on your hips so they hug your ass. You make sure your tattoo is still on display though, you’ve noticed him looking at it.

“Can I get you guys a refill?” You lean down and rest your palms on the table with a wide smile on your face and you can’t help but press your elbows together to show off your tits even more. The charming smile Rafe was throwing Hollis’ way falls the minute he lays eyes on you. He came here in hopes of riling you up and gauging your reaction to see if this was all in his head but now he’s the one feeling like clawing someone’s eyes out.

He’s picked you up a few times but he’s never come inside the bar and he can’t believe that this is where you work. It’s not particularly dirty but it’s definitely a dive bar, the kind of place guys like him and bikers on the road stop for a beer. If he was the kind of guy that went to bars, that is. But what’s really getting to him is how every set of male eyes in the building follow you wherever you go. They’re like bees to honey to the way you walk around with that sweet smile, swinging your hips. He wants to wrap his coat around you and haul you out over his shoulder so no other man can see you. But you aren’t his, so he needs to play it cool.

“Sure, honey. Another martini, dry.” Hollis barely spares you a glance and wave of her fingers before going back to drooling over Rafe.

She’s sitting in the chair next to him but she has it pulled so close she might as well be in his fucking lap. Her heel clad foot swings back and forth, hitting his calf every few passes and you want to break it off. She rests her chin on her folded hands as she gazes over at him with the biggest fuck me eyes you think you’ve ever seen.

“And a Coors Light for you, right? In the can.” You let your eyes flash from Rafe’s to his lips for just a split moment before locking eyes with him again. You wet your bottom lip with your tongue and then pull it between your teeth and Rafe has to literally stop himself from groaning at the sight. Hollis hasn’t solicited a single reaction out of his body the entire night, but every time he looks at you his cock gets just a little bit harder. His plan is completely backfiring on him.

“Yeah, thanks, angel.” The nickname catches you both off guard. It makes his eyes blow wide as he takes in a deep breath through his nose. He’s been holding that back for some time now but it’s true, you are an angel. Your bright eyes, the way you care for him and that little tattoo. A naughty little angel with horns, that is. And even though your insides are melting, you paint on a smug smirk, not backing down from this fight.

“You got it, babe.” You throw him a wink, just catching the way his eyes widen slightly before flicking your hair over your shoulder and turning on your heel toward the bar. You make sure to swing your hips extra because you can feel Rafe’s eyes on you. You love knowing you’re getting to him, maybe not as much as he does to you. But you’re getting a reaction and that fills you with pride you shouldn’t feel.

You make Hollis’ martini without hardly even looking, most drinks have become second nature to you after working here for three years. You peak over at Rafe after grabbing his beer and you immediately see red. Hollis has her leg thrown over his lap while she presses her tits against his big arm that you want to latch onto with your teeth and never let go. Rafe looks half interested in what she’s saying, at least. Especially when he looks over at you and fucking smirks. Yeah, you’re gonna ruin his fucking night. What if he plans on bringing her home? You don’t think you can stand to hear him fucking her from down the hall. Even the thought makes you want to puke and you wonder if that’s how he felt the other night.

That might be wishful thinking though. You paint on your sweetest smile and walk back over to their table, placing their drinks on the table. You make sure to lean over Rafe close enough that your tits graze his other arm. A silent display of possession that nobody but Rafe notices.

“Here’s your drinks, enjoy!” You turn like you’re going to walk away before quickly turning back around. “Actually, I meant to ask, how long will you be here? I kind of need a ride home.”

“He’s busy, I’m sure you can find someone else to take you ho-” Hollis tries to shoo you away but Rafe cuts her off, pushing his chair back enough that her leg falls from his lap.

“When are you off?” Hollis scoffs and detaches herself from him, sitting back in her seat. Thank god. You can’t help the small smirk you send her way.

“In an hour, I’m not closing tonight.” Your eyes lock with Rafe’s crystal blue ones and you can tell he knows what you’re doing. Yet you don’t care. And he’s still letting you do it, so. “If you don’t mind hanging around until then.”

“Actually, I was thinking about heading out soon.” Hollis shoots you a look before resting her red manicured hand on Rafe’s bicep as she looks over at him almost desperately. Pathetic. “You wanna come to my place? Have a glass of wine, get cozy?”

“I would, but I think it’s best I make sure she gets home safe.” Rafe barely spares her a glance while he shuts her down and she visibly deflates. You would feel bad if you didn’t want to rip each one of her thickly mascara lined eyelashes out of her head.

“Aww, really?” Hollis pouts as she tips her head to the side to try and get Rafe to look at her but he doesn’t. His eyes stay on you. “I think we will have a good time, I’m sure she can find another ride, can’t you?” She looks at you like you’re going to be her wingman and take one for the team or something. Too bad you don’t feel like sharing. Even if he isn’t yours and probably never will be. He’s not going to rub it in your face at your place of work.

“Actually, my ride fell through.” You cross your arms to push your tits up and set your lips into a pout. Rafe feels like he’s going to fucking lose it any second. You never ask him for help, so he knows you're jealous and it’s making his cock uncomfortably hard. “I can probably swing an uber if you’re busy though.”

“No. I’m taking you home with me.” With him. You like the sound of that. “Go do your stuff. I’ll wait.”

“I know what you were doing in there, I’ve been around the block a few times, little girl.” Rafe grits at you as pulls out of the bar parking lot. He waited for you to get off. Hollis left before he did, not without asking him to go home with her again, of course.

“And I know what you were doing in there, old man. Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I’m oblivious.” You roll your eyes and put your doc’s up on his dash. It makes him groan as he reaches over to knock them back down. “Umm, rude.”

“I’m rude? And ruining my date isn’t?” Rafe scoffs.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. You didn’t want to be on that date and we both fucking know it, Rafe.” You roll your eyes and shake your head and Rafe really wishes he wasn’t driving right now so he could finally spank that attitude out of you. He has half a mind to pull over but he has to keep reminding himself you’re not his. “You would have never gone there if I didn’t work there, don’t act like that wasn’t why. Don’t pretend you didn’t want to see my reaction.”

“She asked to go there, you’re just overthinking it.” Rafe shakes his head as he turns onto the main road toward his neighborhood.

“No. If I was overthinking it, you would’ve left with her and not me. Don’t try to make me feel like I’m making shit up in my head, you were blindingly obvious about it.” His big hands tighten on the steering wheel causing the veins to pop out. You want to slobber all over them and feel them inside you. “You were trying to make me jealous and it worked, so what now?”

“Now? Nothing.” Rafe chuckles dryly and you can see his jaw tense. “We go home, you go to bed and I’ll do the same. Nothing can happen and you know that.”

“But you aren’t saying you don’t want it to.” You press the issue, you aren’t letting it go that easily.

“God damn it.” Rafe breathes out through his nose and says your name sternly. “Stop. Just stop. This can’t be a thing. No more of this shit that happened tonight. We go back to coexisting the way we should and if I want to go on dates you’re just going to have to get over that because you are my son’s fucking girlfriend, jesus.”

“Yeah, whatever, tell yourself that all you want.” You lean back in your seat with your arms crossed, turning away from him to look out the window. “You know it’s more than that but go ahead and keep lying to yourself.”

“It’s what I have to do, okay?!” Rafe snaps and slams his hand on the steering wheel before regaining his control. He runs his hand through his hair as he takes a deep breath. He isn’t the guy that loses his temper at the drop of a hat anymore but you’re so god damn frustrating it makes him feel like he’s going insane. “Now please, just let it go.”

“Fine. But I know you feel this thing between us.” You laugh dryly, your throat feeling tight from rejection even if you know you’re right. “But I’ll drop it and let you live in your little land of denial.”

“Thank you.” Rafe sighs and you both fall silent for the remainder of the drive, only the sound of the local rock station playing quietly in the background.

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You curse under your breath as you toss your keys down on the table by the door and rip your coat from your body. All the other times Caleb has forgotten to pick you up were just mildly annoying in comparison to this. Considering it’s your fucking birthday. You don’t think he even remembers. He didn’t say anything to you this morning before you left for your day shift and he hasn’t texted you all day. He did say he would pick you when you managed to momentarily wake him up though. You hoped maybe he had a surprise planned for you when you got off but you aren’t even sure why you let the thought cross your mind. It feels like he doesn’t even care about you anymore.

As much as Rafe wants to deny that there’s something between you, he gives you more attention than your own boyfriend. Caleb was out all night, so, was he passed out hungover this morning. But when you went downstairs there were doughnuts and coffee from your favorite bakery sitting on the kitchen counter. There was a pink balloon tied to the coffee and a little note in front of it that read “Happy Birthday, angel. -R.C.”

Rafe was already gone for work when you woke up so you haven’t had a chance to thank him yet. You hate that you’re more excited for him to be home than you are to see Caleb. You know he’s here somewhere because his car is out front, you assume he’s upstairs gaming with his headset on and his phone on silent. Or he’s asleep. You sigh deeply as you walk over to the box of doughnuts still sitting on the counter and pull one from the box. You take a bite before looking out the kitchen window and when you do you nearly choke.

Caleb isn’t gaming, and he’s not asleep. But he is out back in the hot tub with his “friend” Jessica. Ass naked. Fucking her from behind with her top half bent over the ledge. You feel like you’re going to be sick as you watch her mouth fall open in pleasure. Caleb pulls her hair, yanking her head back before you watch him land a smack on her ass as he fucks her roughly from behind. He’s never fucked you like that. It was always so vanilla and lackluster. Watching him fuck her like you’ve asked him to fuck you a thousand times is like a knife to your heart. Tears prickle the rims of your eyes But you don’t want to cry because you’re sad, no, you’re fucking pissed. You slam your hand down on the counter in frustration, crushing the glazed treat you’re still holding against the marble. You take a deep breath, readying yourself, and then you walk out the back door.

“Well, isn’t this just fucking rich.” You chuckle dryly as you walk across the back patio to the hot tub and Caleb and Jessica’s eyes flash toward you, their movements halting. “You know, you’ve gotten me some pretty shit presents over the years, Caleb. But being so balls deep in some other bitch that you forget my birthday entirely really takes the fucking cake.”

“Babe!” Caleb backs away from Jessica with his eyes blown wide, pulling out of her and leaving her to stand there trying to cover herself. “It’s not -”

“It’s not what it looks like, really Caleb?” You scoff and you can’t even help but laugh. “You’re a fucking idiot. There’s no talking your way out of being a cheating fucking whore when I saw it with my own two eyes.”

“Hey! Listen, I’m really sorry I didn’t -” Jessica’s voice is strained and nervous as she pulls herself from the hot tub and reaches for her clothes that are discarded on the ground.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch. You know exactly what you did. Everyone in your little friend group knows me and Caleb are together. Don’t disrespect me by lying to my face.”

You take a few hurried steps towards her and she flinches, making a smirk spread across your lips. Good. She should be scared. She’s lucky Caleb isn’t worth an assault charge. You send your pathetic excuse for a boyfriend a glare. “How long?”

“Since the ski trip…” His head hangs low between his shoulders and you can’t believe he has the audacity to be pouting right now. But he’s always been selfish.

“Oh? So this has been going on for weeks? And I bet all your little friends knew, huh?” Caleb opens his mouth to answer but you cut him off. “Were you all just sitting around laughing, knowing I was oblivious? You disgust me.”

“Babe -”

“I’m not your fucking babe! Shut up! I’m tired of hearing your god damn voice, Caleb!” You shriek and stomp your foot in frustration.

“Whoa, what the hell is going on out here?” The sound of Rafe’s voice sends an icy hot chill all through your body. God, how much of that did he see?

“Dad, don’t worry about it. Just go inside, this is none of your business.” Rafe loves his son with all his heart and even if Caleb doesn’t realize it, everything he’s done in his life has been for him. But right now? He has never been more disappointed in his entire life.

Rafe didn’t see everything but he got home around the time you were calling Caleb a cheating whore. That combined with the fact that there was a random girl scrambling to put her clothes on while his son stands naked in the hot tub doesn’t make it hard to tell what is happening.

“There’s yelling going on in my house, I think that’s my business.” Rafe is almost at a loss for words. He feels frozen. He would never abandon Caleb but the fact that he did this to you fills him with rage. The fact that he took you for granted was one thing, but cheating on you? It makes his blood boil. If it were anyone else they’d be getting their ass beat right now.

“I think I’m just going to go.” All three of their heads whip towards you at your words. Rafe looks distressed, Jessica looks guilty as hell and Caleb has a mixture of both painted on his face.

“No, you stay. I’ll feel like shit knowing you’re sleeping on your sister's couch when you’ve been pulling my weight around here anyways.” Caleb pulls himself out of the hot tub and pulls his swim trunks on before walking toward you. It makes you take a step back.

“You can stay with me, if you need.” Jessica squeaks out and it makes you belly laugh. You really are such a fucking joke.

“You don’t have to leave, either of you. We can work something out.” Rafe looks over at his son, so fucking disappointed in him but he doesn’t love him any less and he doesn’t want him to leave. But he really doesn’t want you to leave either, he’s really come to love you. Well, he loves having you around. He doesn’t love you, he can’t. But god the longer he’s around you he wants to love you so badly. Especially right now, he can see you shaking from here. He can see the angry tears threatening to fall from your eyes and he hates it. He wants to grab you, pull you into his chest, and protect you from the world.

“I won’t force her to be around me after this, dad.” Caleb sighs as he pinches his nose before locking eyes with you. “Just stay here, okay? I want you to stay where you have space. You seem happier here. I’m going to go get some stuff to get me through a couple days and I’ll come back for the rest later on. Come on Jessica, we’re leaving.”

“Listen, I’m really sorry I never meant for you to find out like this.” Jessica sends you an apologetic look.

“Ha! I don’t give a fuck about your apology, bitch. Get out of my sight before I beat your ass.” You take a threatening step toward her and she hurriedly runs toward the back door with Caleb in tow. He sends you another sad glance before walking inside, leaving you alone with Rafe.

“God, what the fuck just happened!?” You let out an aggressive deep breath as you flop down on one of the patio chairs. You groan and throw your head back, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“Are you okay?” The sound of Rafe’s voice inches from you makes you jump as your eyes shoot toward him. He’s crouching in front of the chair with a concerned look on his face and god, you want to jump into his lap and have him hold you so badly. Even when Caleb literally cheats on you, you can’t get these thoughts of Rafe out of your head. If anything they’re just increasing by the second.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. You should go check on Caleb, tell him he doesn’t have to go.” You clear your throat to stop the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “Once I calm down a bit I’ll go get my shit together and get out of your hair.”

“No.” Rafe’s voice is stern but not angry and your entire body heats when he rests his big hands on your knees so you’ll look at him. “I don’t want you to leave. I love my son so damn much but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed in him right now. I’ll never force him to leave but if he wants to go, I think maybe it’s for the best right now.”

“Yeah, but even if he leaves there’s no reason for me to be here if he and I aren’t together, Rafe.” You sniffle, wiping your nose and under your eyes with your hoodie sleeve. You refuse to let him see you cry.

“There is a reason, doll.” Rafe squeezes your knees slightly in a comforting manner as he looks up at you so sincerely you could almost melt. “I want you here. I like having you here. Not just because you help out around the house or because you make delicious food. I like you, I like your presence and being around you. I don’t like to talk much, I can’t stand small talk, but it comes easy with you.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Rafe. You have no obligation to me, I can’t just freeload off of you.” You sigh and Rafe can’t help it, he glances toward the house to see if Caleb is looking but the blinds are closed so he leans up on his knees and takes your face in his hands.

“I know I’m not fuckin’ obligated but I want to help you. I want you here, please?” Rafe’s voice breaks at the end and he hates that he sounds so desperate. But that desperation tells you all you need to know. He’s saying it without saying it. Rafe wants you. And now that Caleb gave you the ultimate fuck you, what’s really holding you back from having him aside from your own moral compass? He’s still Caleb’s dad. On the other hand though? Fuck Caleb and his feelings.

“Okay. I’ll stay.” Your voice is small and you swallow deeply as Rafe continues to hold your face in his big, calloused hands.

“That’s my girl.” Rafe grins at you and places a kiss on your forehead and for a second you forget who Caleb even is. He’s never touched you this much and now you never want him to stop. You want to feel his lips and hands on every inch of your body. “Sit tight, okay? I’m gonna go make sure Caleb is okay and see if he needs any help.”

You sigh and look up at the sky. The sun is setting, kissing the tops of the trees as the cold midwinter wind whips through your hair. You’d probably be freezing in your little work outfit if you weren’t so filled with adrenaline. Are you really gonna stay here with Caleb’s dad? Especially when you know how badly you want him? You know the answer is yes, against your better judgement. You’ve tried to push your feelings down, tell yourself they were based on loneliness and circumstance. But the fact that you just watched Caleb cheat on you and you were more sad about the fact that you’ll have to move away from Rafe is very telling.

You want Rafe. You want his kind gestures. You want the banter you have when you order take ou and watch cheesy horror movies on nights you were left alone. You want the way his lips look extra plush and the way his mullet looks all messy when he first wakes up. You want the possessiveness and the protectiveness. You want to jump his bones when he gets home in his work clothes all covered in mud. You want to eat dinner and shower together and fuck before bed. You want him to fuck you on every inch of this house actually. You want him so bad you can’t even deny it anymore. You want him so bad it almost hurts.

You let yourself sit with that information until you hear the front door shut and Caleb’s car pull out of the driveway. You’re finally starting to get cold so you take a deep breath and push yourself up from the chair to face the music.

As you approach the back door you realize the lights in the kitchen are off, which is odd for this time of day. Did Rafe go to bed to avoid having to interact with you? You wouldn’t blame him, part of you wants the same. You just want to sink in bed and sleep for a week. But when you open the door your hand flies to your mouth with a gasp.

The room is illuminated by candles that are lit on top of the prettiest cake. It’s shaped like a heart with pink and white frosting and your name is in the middle of it, written in pretty, frosted cursive. If that wasn’t enough there’s a little box with a bow sitting next to it and the greatest present of all is the man standing behind them. Rafe still has his navy work shirt with the logo for his company on and he has this lopsided, boyish smile painted on his face that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. This man is a dream.

“Rafe, I- you did this for me?” Your words nearly get caught in your throat and tears prickle your eyes for an entirely different reason than they have all night. “No one has ever… No one’s ever done anything this nice for me before.”

“I know. That’s why I did it.” Rafe smiles at you sweetly as he scratches the side of his neck before running his hands through his hair. “Don’t go getting all teary eyed on me before you even open your gift, angel.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything…” Your voice is barely a whisper and you hardly trust it as you approach the counter and pick up the little box. At first glance you’d think it was jewelry but when you pull off the bow and open it up there’s a keyfob inside. “What is? Rafe, you did not buy me a car!”

“No, yeah, I did.” Rafe chuckles and comes around the other side of the counter to stand no more than a foot away from you. “You deserve it.”

“Rafe, I can’t accept this. You have to take it back.” You push the box toward him but he just stops your hand, pushing it back toward your chest.

“Well, I’m not taking it back. So if you don’t drive it, it’s just going to sit in the garage collecting dust.” He splays his hand across your chest, holding the key and your hand in his larger one as he looks down at you almost lovingly. It fills your heart with hope you’ve been refusing to let in. Rafe tucks your hair behind your ear and presses a kiss to your temple. “Let me do this for you.”

You can’t help it, you throw yourself into his arms with a squeal and he catches you easily with an arm around your waist. You’re tired of denying yourself his touch, it is your birthday, after all. Rafe chuckles and squeezes you to his chest before setting you on your feet in front of the cake.

“Make a wish, birthday girl.” He wraps his arms around your waist and tucks his chin against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world and you know exactly what you’re going to wish for. More of this. More of him. For as long as he will have you. You lean forward and blow out the candles before letting your body rest against Rafe’s with your head tilted back so you can look up at him. “What did you wish for?”

“Can’t tell you, it won’t come true.” You giggle and spin around in his arms and he takes your face in his hands. Rafe thinks you’re the most beautiful girl in the world and he can’t pretend he doesn’t anymore. He needs you. He wants to kiss you so bad and you surprise the hell out of him by throwing your arms around his shoulders and smashing your lips against his own.

The kiss starts off tender, almost nervous. But it quickly turns heated when his big hands grip onto your waist and pull you flush against him. He groans against your mouth and you use it as an opportunity to slip your tongue into his mouth and tangle it with his. You stand there making out, your hands wandering any part of each other they can reach. Rafe’s hands slip lower and slide just under the bottom hem of your skirt, grazing your ass. You

bite down on his bottom lip and Rafe pulls back to look down at you.

“Fuck, we really shouldn’t…” Rafe breathes out through his nose and bites his lip, his actions contradicting his words because his hands travel higher up your skirt and grip onto your ass possessively.

“Do you care?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you grind your stomach against his rock hard cock and scratch the back of his neck with your pointed nails.

“Fuck, not anymore.” Rafe loops his arms around your thighs and you jump up so he can carry you to the couch. He tosses you over the arm and gets on the couch behind you with his legs bracketing yours. He leans over your body so his lips are brushing the shell of your ear. “The first time I fuck you is gonna be in my bed but I’ve been waiting so long to spank that bratty ass and eat that sweet little pussy I need to do it right fucking here.”

Rafe leans back and pushes your little Jean mini skirt up over your ass to reveal the tiniest little pink thong he’s ever seen. He lands a harsh smack on your ass and it causes you to yelp and jolt forward. He gives the other the cheek the same treatment before bringing his hands down on both at once.

“So fucking perfect. Knew you would be, baby.” Rafe runs his fingers over your slit through the lace of your panties, feeling your sticky wetness. “And so fucking wet.”

He gathers some on his fingers before pulling away and marveling at the way it glistens in the low light. He hooks his arm around your neck and holds his fingers to your lips. “Suck.”

You take them into your mouth and swirl your tongue around them, tasting yourself mixed with Rafe’s salty sweat. It shouldn’t taste as good as it does but it makes you hum around his fingers as your eyes roll back.

“Been thinkin’ bout this all day, everyday, since you moved into this house, angel. You’ve been thinking about it too, haven’t you?” Rafe shoves his fingers down your throat causing you to gag as drool pools into your mouth before he pulls them out and spanks your ass with his wet hand, causing it to sting extra.

“Yes, daddy. Everyday. Want you so bad.” You arch your back and wiggle your ass and Rafe feels like he’s going to bust in his pants like a thirteen year old boy.

“Oh, baby, I don’t think you know what you just did.” Rafe chuckles as he grabs onto your thong and pulls it down to your knees, locking them in place. “You want me to be your daddy? Alright. But that means I get to beat this little ass red for the way you’ve been teasing me.”

“Yeah?” You glance over your shoulder at him with that mischievous look you always flash him in your eyes and a naughty little smirk painted on your lips. “Do you fucking worst, daddy.”

Rafe gives you that lopsided grin that makes your stomach do flips before spanking your ass hard. The skin immediately turns red and you don’t have time to process before he spanks you in the same exact spot even harder. He gives the other cheek the same treatment and then rotates back.

“That’s my good little girl.” Rafe rubs your reddened ass and then spanks you again and again. “Not such a brat now, huh? Just needed that attitude beat out of you?”

“I don’t know, I think you might have to fuck it out of me.” You giggle and wiggle your sore ass which only earns you another round of spankings, leaving you a moaning mess. He leans down and bites down hard on your asscheek as two fingers slide through your dripping folds.

“Don’t worry, doll. I’m gonna give you the best dick of your fucking life. But first, I’ve gotta taste this god damn pussy.” Rafe admires the growing bruises and the bite mark on your plump ass before grabbing your cheeks and spreading you open so he can run his tongue along your slit to your pulsing clit.

He swirls his tongue around it a few times before sliding it back down and thrusting it into your hole. Rafe flicks his tongue inside you and hooks his arm around your thigh so you can’t wiggle away.

“Oh, fuck! God, yes, daddy.” You whine and grind back into his face and when his thumb finds your clit you’re embarrassingly close. Your body subconsciously tries to run away from the mind blowing pleasure but Rafe only brings his free hand to the small of your back and uses it to pin your upper half down.

“Quit wiggling and let me devour this pussy, brat. Be a good girl and stay still for daddy, yeah?” Rafe mumbles against your pussy, the vibrations sending your eyes to the back of your skull. “Need you to cum for me, baby.”

Rafe unhooks his arm from your leg so he can thrust two fingers knuckle deep in your pussy while his lips latch onto your clit. He curls his fingers against your sweet spot and rolls his lips around your aching bud and that’s all it takes to have you seeing stars. Pleasure wracks your entire body as you shake beneath him. He sucks and fingers you through your orgasm until you’re over sensitive and your top half is limp with your arms dangling off the arm of the couch.

Rafe leans back to admire you and his cock feels like it’s going to burst. Your hair is cascading over your face as you lay limp across the couch with your ass arched in the air. Your crop top is pushed up showing off the curve of your back. Your butt is red and covered in his hand prints and the bite mark is already starting to bruise. Your little skirt is framing your hips perfectly and your pussy is all puffy and dripping creamy, white.

“I know I said I’d take you to the bed, baby girl, but this pussy just looks so god damn irresistible I’ve gotta have her right now.” You hear the metal of his belt clanking and the sound of his zipper before you feel the fat head of his cock slapping against your ass. He grips his shaft as he runs his tip through your dripping folds and then he uses your wetness to lube his cock. Rafe pumps himself a few times before lining up with your entrance and pushing inside you in one, unforgiving thrust. You both moan in unison as he bottoms out, his balls grazing your clit.

“Oh my god, I’m so full.” You whine as your walls clench around him and Rafe pulls his hips back until only his tip remains before slamming his cock back into you and starting up at a brutal pace. He grips onto your hips and fucks you like a man possessed. He’s entranced by the sight of your ass bouncing back against him while your creamy pussy coats his cock as it swallows him whole over and over again.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, baby. This pussy is so perfect, fuck, even better than I ever could’ve imagined.” One of Rafe’s hands grips onto your throat and pulls you up so your back is flush against his front and the new angle pushes him even deeper inside you, making your pussy flutter around his cock. He grabs your hand with his free one and presses it against our belly where you can feel his cock bulging from inside you. “Feel that? You’re so fuckin’ full of me.”

“Yes, daddy, you’re so fucking big.” You gasp when he slams his hips up into yours so hard the sound echos off the walls and then he pulls almost all the way out and does it again and again, fucking you rough and deep. Rafe squeezes your neck as he pushes up your crop top so he can grope your tits and pinch your pierced nipples.

“Oh, Angel, I’ve just been dying to see these. The way you prance around in those little bikinis has been driving me insane. Let daddy see those pretty tits.” He pulls out of you and you whine at the loss. He grips onto your hips and flips you over so you’re straddling him.

Rafe leans back on the couch and runs his hands down your body before tracing up your stomach so he can graze his fingertips over your pert nipples. He circles the little bars that have hearts in the middle with a groan.

“Oh, fuckin’ look at you. Never seen anything more god damn perfect in my life.” Rafe leans forward to take a nipple in his mouth and it makes you cry out.

“In all your years, right, old man?” You giggle when he pulls back with a glare and grips onto your hip so he can lift you onto his cock, the feeling of him filling you again makes you nearly go cross eyed. “You getting tired yet?”

“I thought I fucked that little attitude out of you, huh?” Rafe plants his feet flat on the ground so he can thrust up into you while using his grip on your ass to bounce you on his cock. The sight of your tits in his face has him twitching inside you.

“I think it’s gonna take more than once, actually?” You smirk up at him and Rafe is fucking gone. He’s obsessed with you. “Can your old man knees keep up?”

“Baby, it’s so cute that you think I can’t keep up with you.” Rafe flips you onto your back and grips onto the back of your thighs as he kneels on the couch in front of you so he can pound into you harder and deeper than ever. “Rub your pussy for me.”

“Fuck, daddy, I’m so close.” You moan loudly as you bring your finger to your slick clit and rub circles on it. Rafe grips onto your throat and pins you to the couch cushion as he continues to plow into you. “Want you to fill me up, please?”

“Yeah? I’ll give you my cum as soon as you give me one more. Cum for daddy, sugar.” Rafe squeezes your throat as his dick hits your g-spot and your fingers rub your clit just right and it has euphoria washing over your body. Your pussy is like a vice grip around him and the pretty little moans you’re letting out as you come undone for him has Rafe spilling inside you. He doesn’t know if he’s ever cum this much in his life as his cock continues to pulse inside you and fill you with ropes of his cum. You lay pliant beneath him as you look up at him like he hung the stars and it fills him with pride, “Yeah, that’s my good little girl.”

“I’m fucking obsessed with you.” You breathe out and saying it outloud feels like the biggest weight off your shoulders. “I’ve wanted you so fucking badly, Rafe.”

“God, baby.” Rafe grabs your face in his hands and runs his thumbs along the apples of your cheeks. “I’m so god damn I’m obsessed with you too. Now that I’ve had you, I never wanna let you go. I’m addicted.”

“Yeah? Well you never have to. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have an attitude and tease you about your old man knees until the end of time.” You giggle when he throws you a playful glare and it makes a wide smile break out onto his face. “But who knows? Maybe I can be tamed one day, looks like you’ll just have to keep fucking me to find out…”

“I think I can manage that, angel, starting now.” Rafe leans down and kisses you sweetly before gripping onto your hips and standing up to throw you over his shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you on every inch of this house, starting with my bed.”

In that moment you think to yourself that maybe sometimes birthday wishes really do come true. You both know shit is complicated, but right now you don’t care. You finally have him, and you’ll figure it out together.

Tagging mooties: @cxrrodedcoffin @starkeysprincess @rafeyscurtainbangs @cameronsprincess @sturnioloshacker @eddiesxangel @that-sarcastic-writer @rafesangelita @nemesyaaa @moonlightseranade 🤍

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ If you made it this far, thanks for sticking around for all 13k words!! I put my blood, sweat, tears, pussy, heart, soul into this. I hope you enjoyed !! DILF!Rafe moodboard ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Divider by @anitalenia

[lexirosewrites]

This has been in my brain for a HOT MINUTE so it will b long

A!Eddie & Corroded Coffin didn't make it in the rock n roll world, the band certainly tried but they all found tht it wasn't the fulfilling kind of work they wanted or needed. So one by one they all ended up moving away from California some of them went back to the midwest.

B!Gareth left first, he'd found a passion for teaching after taking on a few tutoring jobs to pay the bills so after a lot of talking he went back to school in Indianapolis where he could b near family. A!Freak went as far as they could without needing a passport & moved to NYC where they built a fulfilling & even successful career in the Broadway circuit as a musician. Jeff & Eddie ended up leaving together, even staying together as roommates briefly in Portland bc going back to the midwest felt almost like giving up completely but when Jeff's dad passed away he went home to Indiana for the funeral & just didn't come back, Eddie wasn't resentful abt it he was even ecstatic for A!Jeff when he got a call a half a yr later where Jeff told him he'd moved to Chicago & found work w the USPS tht gave him time to volunteer in an after school program teaching guitar. Eddie stayed in Portland working in a mechanic shop till Gareth invited all of them to watch him walk the stage to accept his teaching degree.

It was a touching reunion for everyone & after a lot of drinks Eddie admitted he hated Portland & admired how Gareth & Jeff were shaping the minds of tomorrow & was proud of Freak for the career they'd built in NYC. In the end, Eddie ended up hopping around the couches of his bandmates in their different places in the country till he found work he enjoyed in Chicago as a line cook & he volunteered w Jeff till slowly but surely Eddie became a go to guy for the program to call & then a yr later the director of the program said she was recommending him to a teaching position at the fancy after school youth art institute her friend ran. Jeff had turned down the position when she'd asked bc the pay wasn't much better & he enjoyed his work w the USPS

Eddie gets a job at this youth art institute & he thrives. He still volunteers & through his efforts the art institute expands their scholarship program. He meets one of the ballet instructors, B!Chrissy, & they're fast friends even platonic soulmates some would say. When Eddie introduces Chrissy to Jeff at Eddie's birthday party in late June he was very unsubtle abt his matchmaking intentions & he was vindicated when they admit to him tht they're dating not even a month later.

When August arrives Chrissy starts talking abt preparing for auditions for The Chicago Ballets annual production of The Nutcracker, apparently the institute got to bring a number of students to audition for the roles reserved for children or teens along w other ballet schools of the city. The students of the ballet classes become even more serious in their lessons, many of them signing up for the one on one lessons offered specifically to prepare for the auditions. Eddie's favorite guitar student, O!Max, was best friends w 2 ballet students (B!El & A!Lucas) in a way tht was clearly developing into a romance btwn the 3 & so the one on one lessons he taught her became mostly her practicing chords while raving abt how hard the 2 were working, tht Lucas' dream was to one day b cast as the cavalier who dances w the sugar plum fairy & tht El hopes to one day b cast as the dew drop in the Waltz of the Flowers.

Two days before auditions the ballet students of the institute get visited by members of the Chicago Ballet Troupe. The youngest get to meet & interact w the dancers cast in roles that'll directly interact w them should they b cast. The teens get the most exciting visitors is the consensus Eddie picks up on, apparently it is somewhat tradition for the dancers cast as The Snow Queen, The Dew Drop, The Sugar Plum Cavalier & The Sugar Plum Fairy to visit w the teens. Chrissy gets a glint in her eye when she insists Eddie come along w them to dinner after classes because her friend from dance school is one of the cast members visiting the teens.

He walks into the restaurant, is led by Chrissy to the table practically overflowing w tall athletic bodies, & promptly plopped into the only remaining seat next to the most gorgeous male omega Eddie has ever laid his eyes on. Chrissy introduces him as Steve Buckley, the first male omega to b cast as The Sugar Plum Fairy in literally any major production of The Nutcracker put on by a major troupe. Eddie knows his eyes get gooey especially when he catches the briefest whiff of the sugar sweet scent tht resembles baked apples when Steve leans closer to hear him better over the noise of the restaurant.

A lot happens after auditions & during production, El is cast as one of the snowflakes & Lucas is cast as a party goer & toy soldier but he impressed the production team so well he was given the position of understudy to The Sigar Plum Cavalier. Steve & Eddie grow closer till they finally kiss after the final curtain of the annual production. Chrissy & Jeff move in together & after Chrissy gets pregnant Eddie is asked to b one of the witnesses when they go to the courthouse to register their bonding. Steve takes over for chrissy when she goes on maternity leave.

Four years later steddie have also bonded & Steve gives a final performance of The Nutcracker before retirement, he was honored to b cast as Sugar Plum one more time & to b there w Lucas as he debuted as not only an official dancer w the Chicago Ballet Troupe but as The Sugar Plum Cavalier. Steve would have stayed longer as a dancer but he wanted to b a mother & Ballet doesn't give much allowance for a dancer to b pregnant. So Steve takes the offer of a teaching job w the same youth art institute where chrissy & his mate work & steddie move to the same Chicago suburb as chrissy/Jeff when they officially begin trying for a baby

Joan Riot Munson is born at exactly noon the following year on the first day of the annual production of The Chicago Ballet's Nutcracker 🥰🩰

we love an omegaverse ballet AU!!!💕

(this is the last ask i have in my inbox for slick sunday, but if i see any come in while i’m out, i’ll try to answer and post!)

[frostimochi]

Second Best

(Logan Howlett/Reader)

Summary: You and Logan are both in love with people completely out of reach. After a seemingly innocent joke made for you and him to get together, the two of you brush it off. But as days pass, the idea seems less ridiculous. Then one night, Logan approaches you, finally agreeing to the idea--and what starts as a fake relationship soon takes an unexpected turn.

Word Count: 17.6k Chapter Count: 10/10 (finished!) Author's Note: ok this is my very first time posting any media i've made on tumblr...i can't guarantee i'll do it again, but i will def be writing more on my ao3 account if you wish to see more! this is also a mix of the x-men films and x-men 97 for context. it's a bit rushed but i hope you all enjoy! :3

chapter 1 - what we carry

The night was tense. Clouds of smoke, smoldering debris choked the air, and the distant sound of sirens echoed through the city. It was another X-Men mission coming to an end. You crouched low behind the crumbling remnants of an abandoned building, your heart hammering in your chest as you peeked around the corner. Flames flickered in the distance, casting shadows across the deserted street.

But you weren’t alone; Logan crouched beside you, eyes sharp and focused, his senses tuned into the slightest movement in the darkness. He grunted softly, the usual gruff in his voice present, even when he whispered. "They’re circling around. We need to move."

You nodded, adrenaline still coursing through your veins after the battle that had nearly gone sideways. The mission had been simple enough on paper, but nothing ever went as planned in the field. What was supposed to be a routine infiltration turned into an all-out firefight when the enemy showed up in greater numbers than anticipated.

"Stick close," Logan added, his eyes flicking to yours for just a moment, a brief concern crossing his usually impassive face. "You good, bub?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," you lied, already feeling the dull ache in your side from where you’d taken a glancing blow. You could push through it, just like you always did. This wasn’t your first mission, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. But the fatigue was beginning to weigh on you, not just from the fight, but from everything else—specifically, your own personal endeavors from a few days back.

You and Remy have gotten awfully close. Closer than you probably should have allowed. But he was still wrapped up with someone else, and that reality gnawed at you. The thought lingered as you and Logan crept forward. It wasn’t just the mission weighing on you tonight.

As the two of you moved through the shadows, working your way toward the extraction point, your thoughts only continued stranding to Remy. The way he’d effortlessly deflected attacks earlier, how his movements were always so fluid and confident. You couldn’t help but admire him, desire him. A familiar pang hit your chest, knowing the truth deep down; he only had eyes for Marie.

Just like Logan only seemed to have eyes for Jean.

The thought made you glance at Logan, who was scanning the area ahead. Even now, you knew he was thinking about her, about Jean. The woman who could never be his, no matter how much he wanted her. In the end, you were both stuck in this endless cycle of wanting someone who was just out of reach.

The extraction point wasn’t far, but just as you neared it, a gunshot cracked through the air. You flinched, instinctively ducking as Logan pushed you back against the wall, his body shielding yours.

"Stay down," he growled, his claws extending with a sharp snikt. He didn’t hesitate, charging toward the threat before you could react. The sound of a struggle echoed through the alleyway as you pressed a hand to your side, wincing.

By the time you caught up, Logan had already taken care of the attacker, standing over him with a dark look in his eyes. His claws retracted as he wiped the blood off his knuckles with a grimace.

"Let’s get the hell out of here," he muttered, his voice low. 

You didn’t argue, following him in silence as you both slipped into the shadows, heading for the jet. You were the last few to escape, as the night felt colder, with the exhaustion hitting you full force as the adrenaline began to fade.

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

Later, as the two of you sat in the dimly lit jet, silence stretched between you and Logan. The mission was over, but the weight of everything else from your physical pain, to personal life still stuck at the back of your mind. You leaned back in your seat, staring out the window as the city disappeared beneath the clouds.

"You alright, Y/N?" Logan’s voice broke the silence, his gaze still on you, seeing you still holding onto your side.

"Yeah," you replied, though the aching pain had gotten worse, and your thoughts still scattered. But you knew he wasn’t asking about the mission.

"Doesn’t seem like it," he remarked, a knowing edge to his tone. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You looked over at him, unsure if you wanted to brush it off or actually talk about what was on your mind. 

"I don’t know, Logan," you admitted quietly. "Everything just feels... off lately.”

His eyebrows furrowed in questioning, as you continued. You didn’t feel any reason in hiding it anymore, since there wasn't anything left you could do at this point. The fatigue didn’t help either. Processing a single thought was a different pain on its own.

“Just wishin’ Remy looked at me the same way as Rogue.” you replied in a soft-spoken whisper. 

He didn’t respond right away, just leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You’re not the only one," Logan finally said, his voice low and rough. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just also going through the motions, you know?”

He paused.

 “Jean... she’s never gonna look at me the way I want her to. Not while she’s with Scott."

"You ever get tired of it?" you asked suddenly, the words spilling out before you could stop them. Logan looked over at you, one eyebrow raised.

“Of what?”

“Wanting someone you know you’ll never have?”

Logan let out a low, almost bitter laugh, leaning back in his seat. "More than you know. But it’s not exactly something I can just turn off, you know? Not in my nature."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done," you muttered, trying to shrug it off. "I have bad luck with these things.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, just watched you with that quiet intensity of his, noticing what others overlooked. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his presence grounding you, in a way that Remy’s never had.

"Luck’s overrated," Logan said finally, his voice low and steady. "We make our own way without it."

Another beat of silence passed, the air thick with everything left unsaid. But something about the quiet was comfortable now. You weren’t alone in your hurt anymore, and neither was he.

"We’re a real messed up bunch, huh?" you said, forcing a small laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Logan smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. A real bunch of idiots.”

You silently nodded in agreement, the heaviness in your chest finally settling. You both sat there, the weight of your unspoken heartaches still lingering in the room. It was strange how easy it was to talk to Logan about it, but you knew he understood it quite well. To want someone so badly, yet know you could never have them.

Maybe that's why, despite the exhaustion, despite the pain and confusion, you could finally let yourself close your eyes, knowing that even though you couldn’t have everything you wanted, at least you had this moment. This understanding. And maybe that was something worth holding onto. For now. 

chapter 2 - what we seek

Back at the mansion, things had settled back into a familiar routine. The mission was behind you, but it didn’t stop the heartache for Gambit slipping back in. The lingering feeling always felt like a stab in the chest, a constant reminder of what you couldn’t have.

The truth is, it was supposed to happen. You and Remy had planned it out several nights ago: a quiet, simple evening away from the team, just the two of you. There had been moments; rare, unguarded looks from him that had felt like a promise, a hint of something more. You’d felt it, that same, exhilarating thrill that always seemed just within reach, and for once, you’d let yourself believe in the possibility of something more. But in the end, the odds never seemed to work out in your favor. He stood you up, and was later found reconnecting, rekindling his love with another woman from his past.

Rogue. Marie. 

You had nothing against her—hell, you admired her deeply, and spoke with her several times outside of missions and training. You were sure she didn’t know about what had been happening between you and Remy. You couldn’t deny they were both drawn together in a way that was undeniable, magnetic. Whatever was between you and him had been put aside. You knew it would never compare.

In the end, it was easier to keep to yourself, easier to pretend nothing had changed, but the pain of wanting something just out of reach, kept you from finding any real peace. And in those moments, you found yourself drifting, walking the halls of the X-Mansion at odd hours, going places where you knew no one else would be.

One of those nights, you stumbled to grab any kind of sustenance. The kitchen was quiet, as you poured yourself a late-night drink. A few footsteps from behind broke the chaos of thoughts bursting in your mind, and you turned to see Morph entering with their usual grin. They slid onto a stool, giving you a once-over with exaggerated curiosity.

“So... heard you and Wolverine had a heart-to-heart last night,” they said, a smirk forming.

You rolled your eyes, setting the bottle down, visually annoyed. “Does anyone around here not know everyone else’s business?”

Morph shrugged, leaning back in their seat. “Hey, it's not my fault the walls are thin.”

You let out a sigh, swirling your drink absentmindedly. "And what does everyone think they know, exactly?"

Morph grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "Not much... just that two lonely souls found a little solace in each other’s company after a rough mission." They paused, quivering an eyebrow. "Did I miss anything?"

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "Sometimes, Morph, you’re worse than the tabloids."

"All I'm saying," they continued, "is that sometimes we get so caught up in what we can’t have, that we miss what’s right there."

Raising an eyebrow, you took a sip of your drink. It burned through your throat as you slammed it back down on the table. You took a heavy breath before responding. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

“You and Logan should get together. Problem solved.” Morph crossed their arms, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Right,” you snorted, but his comment gnawed at you. “And how exactly would that solve anything?”

Morph just grinned, tilting their head thoughtfully. “Well, think about it. You two already get each other. You're both in love with people who are already taken. So why not take some of that stress off? Might as well team up and have a pity party together.” 

“Funny,” you replied dryly. “But Logan and I both know where we stand. We don’t need to complicate things further.”

Morph leaned in, their playful smirk never wavering. “Oh, come on, Y/N. You’re telling me you’d rather mope around with this crush on a guy who can’t even remember your name when Rogue’s in the room? That’s some next level torture.”

You shot them a glare, trying to ignore how his words cut a little too close to home. “I’m not moping. I’m just—”

“Just what?” they interrupted, leaning back with feigned innocence. “Waiting for Gambit to realize he made a mistake? Please. At this point, he probably thinks you’re just his backup plan.”

“That’s not fair,” you snapped, your voice sharp. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Sure I do,” Morph replied, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got the whole tragic love story going on. It’s like a soap opera, only less exciting. So why not shake things up? You and Logan could make quite the team. Brooding heartthrob meets the queen of unrequited love? It’s practically a rom-com waiting to happen.”

They chuckled, and before you knew it, he morphed into the Wolverine himself. They adopted his brooding, eyebrow furrowing expression, capturing his essence flawlessly. “So, Y/N,” They said in a low, gravelly voice, “still hung up on Gambit? You know he’s not exactly waiting around for you, right?”

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. “You’re really going to keep this up, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” they replied, their expression a mix of seriousness and playfulness. “Why settle for someone who’s already got his eyes on Rogue when you could be with someone who actually sees you? Like me.”

“If only the real Logan could see you now. You wouldn’t last a second if he was here,” you quipped.

 “He’d probably give me a high five for finally getting you to lighten up.”

“Sure, right before he throws you out the window,” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly. “Even if Logan and I bothered to give each other a chance, it's just another excuse for some love-hexagoned drama for the students to feign on.”

“Hexagon? I thought this was more of a straight line,” Morph said, shrugging playfully, returning back to their form. “How much longer are you going to let Gambit’s rejection keep you down?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of their words. “I don’t know, Morph. I’m still trying to figure out my feelings for Remy, and you know how complicated things are with Marie in the picture.”

Morph leaned in closer, their expression softening a bit. “Look, I get it. It’s a mess, but you can’t just let it stop you from exploring something new. What’s the harm in talking to the wolverine? You might be surprised.”

“Talking to Logan?” you repeated, rolling your eyes. “What’s that going to do? I’m not looking for a rebound or a distraction. I’m not that kind of gal.”

“Just a chat,” they insisted, his voice lightening again. “You never know. Maybe you’ll find out that you have more in common with him, more than just a mutual crush on unavailable people.”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes, getting up from your seat. “I appreciate the pep talk, but I’m not ready for that right now. I need to deal with my own stuff first.”

Morph crossed their arms, the grin returning. “Fair enough, but just know I’m here, waiting, when you’re ready to make your move.”

“Thanks, but really, let’s just drop it for now,” you said, feeling a bit lighter in thought as you made your way out of the kitchen.

As you walked through the familiar halls of the X-Mansion up to your room, Morph’s words were still in your head. They had a point, no matter how much you denied it. Maybe this was something you needed, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

What could possibly go wrong?

chapter 3 - what we plan

The X-Mansion had another afternoon buzzed with its usual energy, the sounds of training and laughter echoing through the halls. You found comfort in your routine, but your thoughts often drifted back to Morph’s words from a few days back. Yet, every time you found yourself lost in those thoughts, a rush of uncertainty would follow.

After an intense training session, you retreated to the common room, seeking solace in the company of your teammates. As you entered, you spotted Logan across the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he talked to Jean. Even bothering to talk about what Morph said to you with him was pointless. He had his own things to deal with, if it wasn’t clear enough.

You grabbed a nearby magazine, your eyes skimming the pages, but your mind wandered elsewhere. You recalled Morph’s words, their constant suggestion that you should pursue something with Logan. It felt too foolish to consider now. He had his own problems, and his own, personal interests. 

As you tried to concentrate on the text, you caught snippets of their conversation. Jean laughed at something Logan said, and your heart sank a little. You shifted in your seat, pretending to be engrossed in the magazine while you tried to make sense of your feelings. Was it even worth pursuing something with Logan, or was it just a fleeting thought sparked by Morph's teasing?

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the hours pass, and the only person left in the room was you. It was late. You threw the magazine back on the couch, and decided to head back to your room, making your way up the stairs. As you walked down the hall, you suddenly bumped into Logan, who was on his way back down.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady. “You okay, bub?”

“Yeah, just didn’t see you coming,” you replied, trying to mask your heart pounding out of your chest.

He offered a small smirk, his expression softening. “You’re awfully lost in thought lately. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, searching for the right words. Should you mention Morph’s suggestion? Or the nagging feeling that there could be something more between you two? Instead, you shrugged lightly. “Just the usual stuff...training, missions, you know how it is.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “You sure–?”

“Yeah, well,” you interrupted, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, “there's a lot on my mind.”

He studied you for a moment, those intense hazel eyes piercing right through. “You wanna talk about it?”

The weight of his gaze continued to send your heart racing. 

This was it. You could either keep running from your thoughts or just finally spit it out.

 “I was thinking about what Morph said to me a few nights ago.”

A flicker of curiosity crossed Logan's face. “Morph? What’d that hellspawn say this time?”

You bit your lip, gathering your thoughts. “He mentioned us. Getting together. It’s ridiculous, I know.” The words tumbled out before you could stop yourself, leaving you feeling quite awkward. You tried presenting yourself enamored by crossing your arms and looking casual, but anyone could see right through that it was taking a toll on you.

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed, and paused for a moment, taking it into thought. He then let out a soft chuckle.

 “Y/N, don’t let Morph’s nonsense mess with your head. They're just trying to stir the pot, like always.”

You bit your lip, still unconvinced. It took him that long to form his sentence? You assumed the both of you were just not in the mood to discuss it, which was partially true. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It just had me thinking it over so much, that I–”

He cut you off with a wave of his hand, his expression shifting to one of playful exasperation. “Seriously, don’t overthink it. We’ve got enough to deal with without getting tangled up in that kind of drama.” 

And that was that. In the end, maybe it was a stupid idea after all. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a nod of reassurance as he walked back off.

You took a deep breath, attempting to collect yourself as you reached the top floor when you stopped dead in your tracks. There he was. Remy, standing there, hands in pockets just right in your way, with his usual playful smirk softened by something unreadable in his expression. He straightened up when he saw you, his eyes flickering that made your heart clench.

"Chère," he greeted, voice low and smooth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond with the same warmth you usually did.

“Remy,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even, standing still. Though, your emotions stirred uneasily beneath the surface. After everything that had happened, after he’d stood you up and had made the decision to be with someone else, you couldn’t ignore the pang of frustration gnawing at you.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to steady yourself, but the words you’d been rehearsing came spilling out faster than you expected. "Have you figured out what I mean to you yet?”

His easy smile faltered, and he looked away for a second before meeting your gaze again, regret shadowing his eyes. “Y/N, it ain't like that. I never wanted to hurt ya...”

“But you did, didn’t you?” The question hung between you, heavy and thick with the nights he’d promised and didn’t show, the times you’d let yourself believe he might actually feel the same way.

His hand reached out, but you pulled back before he could touch you. "I waited for you, Remy. I thought—” You trailed off, hating the vulnerability in your voice, but there was no point hiding it now. “I thought we had something.”

He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck, frustration clear in his stance. “Y/N, you mean a lot t’ me, but Marie... she’s somethin’ I just can’t let go of. She’s always been there in a way I can’t explain.”

You swallowed hard, nodding slowly, the ache in your chest settling as a numbness began to take its place. “I see.”

“No, chère,” he protested softly, stepping closer, his expression earnest. “I care for ya, but Rogue... she’s part o’ me.” He shook his head, struggling to find the right words, but they felt like nothing more than just empty echoes.

In the silence that followed, you took a step back, pressing your arms around yourself to hold together the pieces of your heart that felt like they were splintering apart.

"Fine. Let’s just pretend it never happened."

With that, you turned and left him standing there, resisting the urge to look back. If you stayed, you’d only keep finding yourself hoping for something that would never be. Remy reached out as if to stop you, but you turned, stepping away before he could say anything more, with your footsteps echoing against the quiet walls of the mansion. You were done letting yourself be second place.

As you reached for your door, you took a shaky breath, attempting to swallow the wave of emotions that had been threatening to burst free. You’d tried for so long to keep those feelings buried, to push them aside and pretend that things didn’t affect you as much as they did. But tonight, it felt impossible. You would do anything to get back at him, just as he did to you.

Just as you were about to turn the doorknob and enter your room, a voice behind you broke the silence. “You sure you’re alright?”

Startled by his voice, you turned, finding Logan standing there.

He’d seen it, hadn’t he? The hurt, the anger, what had just happened a few moments earlier...he couldn’t have just let it go unnoticed.

As you stood there, still reeling from your conversation with Remy, Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts. His tone was unusually gentle, his gaze fixed on you.

“I, uh, heard some of that back there,” he admitted, his voice low. “...Kinda hard not to.”

You nodded, letting out a sigh of defeat. “Yeah...”

Logan took a moment to steady himself, his expression shifting as he gathered himself before speaking again. “So, you’re done waiting around for him to make up his mind?”

“Completely done,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I’m tired of this backup shit.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like Gambit and Jean could use a wakeup call...” His tone turned mischievous, and you could almost see the thoughts racing behind his eyes. “You up for causing a little trouble?”

“What do you have in mind?” you asked, intrigued.

Was he actually reconsidering what you told him?

“You know... I thought about what Morph said to you, after hearing all that earlier,” he admitted, looking a bit conflicted. “At first, I figured it really was just them stirring the pot, trying to rile us up. But then...” He trailed off, rubbing a hand over his jaw, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Then I started thinking that maybe they were onto something.”

You blinked, surprised by the unexpected confession. Logan, of all people, wasn’t one open to change, let alone do something like this.

 “If they want to ignore what’s right in front of them, maybe they need a reason to think twice. We show up, give ‘em a taste of what it feels like to be on the outside looking in. You and me... pretending we’re hitting it off.”

Your eyes widened.

 It was simple, maybe a bit petty, but the thought of flipping the tables felt too satisfying. And this was an opportunity that might never come again.

 “So, you’re saying... we should act like we’re into each other?”

“Exactly,” he replied. “A few meaningful looks and some well timed moments. It’ll have them second guessing everything they thought they knew about us.”

“Tempting,” you admitted, still in thought about wanting to go with this crazy idea, but still hesitant on what could happen from it. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Okay, I’m in. But we need to set some ground rules; no crossing lines, and we keep it strictly for show.”

“Deal.” Logan extended his hand, and you shook it, sealing the agreement with a firm grip.

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

As you settled into bed that night, you stared up at the ceiling, replaying the day’s events in your mind. The idea sounded nice at first, and maybe it was originally Morph playing along, trying to play matchmaker. But now it was official. 

And you had no idea what you were about to get yourself into. 

chapter 4 - what we act

You woke up to the muted light of morning, filtering through the curtains. Your mind was already racing with thoughts of the day ahead. Today, you’d be putting the plan into action with Logan, and the uncertainty tormented you. How would it feel to pretend to be something you weren't? Taking a deep breath, you got out of bed, bracing yourself for whatever might unfold.

Making your way to the kitchen for a quick breakfast, you hoped to dodge any awkward encounters, but there he was. Logan stood at the counter, stirring coffee with an unreadable expression as he leaned against the counter, lost in thought.

As soon as he noticed you, a small smirk played on his lips, something almost conspiratorial. “Mornin’,” he said casually, but there was a spark in his eye that hadn’t been there before.

 He definitely had something in mind. 

“Morning,” you replied, trying to play it cool as you grabbed a glass of water. The room felt heavy with unspoken tension, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t help but feel a bit self conscious under his stare.

Logan set down his mug, his expression shifting to something slightly more serious. “You still up for this?” he asked, voice low, and quiet enough that no one else would overhear.

You took a deep breath, giving a decisive nod.

A moment later, you heard footsteps in the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of Jean’s laughter. Logan gave you a subtle nod, the silent signal that it was time to begin. You took a step closer to him, glancing up through your lashes just enough to catch his eye.

He responded immediately, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you in, his hands lingering beneath the hem of your pants, just enough for the warmth of his touch to spread over you like a shockwave. “Play along,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

You tried to settle your heartbeat as the footsteps grew closer. Jean and Scott rounded the corner, stopping abruptly when they saw the two of you standing so close, Logan’s arm around you, that spoke of something far more than friendship. You saw the flicker of surprise on Jean’s face, quickly masked with a forced smile, and a hint of something else in Scott’s usual stoic expression.

“Oh,” Jean said, voice a touch higher than usual, “Good morning, you two.”

Logan just nodded, that small, mischievous smile barely hidden. “Mornin’, Jean. Scott.”

Jean’s gaze flicked between you two, as though trying to piece together how she’d missed this...development. Her eyes lingered on you, a flash of something unreadable crossing her face, and you had to resist the urge to smirk. You were definitely giving them both something to think about.

Scott cleared his throat, trying to break the strange silence. “Didn’t realize... you two were so close.”

Logan’s arm tightened around you just a bit. “Well, there’s a lot people don’t realize,” he replied smoothly. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you, and the flicker of jealousy in Jean’s eyes told you it wasn’t lost on her either. You were tensed up in his embrace, and it didn’t help that your body was heating up right at that moment. Your throat was suddenly dry, struggling to utter a single word.

Scott's eyes shifted between you and Logan, his normally composed expression giving way to slight discomfort. Jean, on the other hand, tried to maintain her composure, but you could see the question in her eyes, the slight arch of her brow as if she was piecing things together.

“Well,” Jean said, attempting a breezy tone, “it’s... nice to see everyone getting along.” But her gaze had more to elaborate, the forced smile not quite reaching her eyes.

“Yeah, who knew?” Logan replied, his smirk turning just a little more smug as he pulled you closer. He was playing it up perfectly, and the look of surprise on both their faces was strangely satisfying.

Scott gave a polite nod, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the scene. “Right. Well, don’t let us interrupt.”

With that, he turned, gesturing for Jean to follow him down the hall. As they walked away, she cast one last glance over her shoulder, her expression unreadable but unmistakably intrigued.

When they were out of your vision, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Logan finally released you, a satisfied look in his eyes.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he said, his tone teasing, still laced with an undercurrent of seriousness.

“Yeah, but this was just a warm up,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face despite the nerves churning in your stomach. “We’re going to have to keep going with this...show of ours.”

“Just keep it casual, and we’ll be fine.” Logan replied, getting up from his chair. He didn’t step away immediately, though; the space between you felt more charged than it had any right to be. His hand lingered again. This time, near yours on the counter, close enough that you could feel the warmth, and for a fleeting moment, it was quite easy to forget that this was all just for show.

You cleared your throat, shifting back slightly, giving yourself some breathing room. “Right, casual,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant. 

The silence stretched, comfortable but weighted, almost feeling the unspoken change in his gaze.

“You’re overthinking it,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with a familiar spark. “If you keep acting like it’s a big deal, they’ll notice.”

You felt a slight heat creep up your neck, but shrugged it off. “I’m not overthinking,” you shot back, attempting to keep your tone light. “Just making sure I’m... convincing.”

He stepped a little closer, eyebrows raised in amusement. “Convincing? More like being stiff.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Not true.”

“Y/N, you looked like you had a stick up your ass.”

“I’m doing my best, okay? It doesn’t just happen overnight.”

Logan’s expression stayed steady. “Good,” he said, his voice softer but still direct. “That’s all we need.”

You took a breath, nodding slowly, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s just... a lot to think about.”

“Then don’t overthink it,” he replied with a slight grin. “We’re just giving them a show. Keep it simple, don’t force anything. They’ll see what they want to see.”

You nodded, only then remembering that once again, you had to continue this show of yours. You and Logan would be heading out on a mission tonight, with you alongside him. Together. They hadn’t told you who else would be joining, which left a gash of uncertainty in the pit of your stomach.

“Right, the mission,” you replied, trying to shake off any leftover tension. “No pressure, right?”

Logan chuckled softly, “No pressure at all. Just another night making sure no one dies.”

“Yeah,” you took a small breath, a smile breaking through your nerves. “And pretending to be in a relationship.”

“Remember to keep it simple,” he reminded you, a tease in his tone, while on your gaze before he walked off. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you take the lead.”

 A knot of anxiety formed in your stomach as he left you alone in the kitchen. The mission ahead felt daunting enough, and the thought of maintaining the pretense of a relationship with him sent your mind racing. 

This wasn’t going to be so easy.

chapter 5 - what we suppress 

The evening air was cool and crisp as you made your way to the X-jet with Logan, Scott, and Marie, who was adjusting her gloves in silence. Scott’s gaze was steady, his expression all business, but you caught the slight hesitation as his eyes passed over you and Logan. Logan noticed too, throwing a quick, almost smug grin Scott’s way as he placed a casual hand on your shoulder. The warmth of his touch caught you off guard, but you willed yourself to keep a neutral expression, feeling the cool, easy role settling over you.

Marie, catching the gesture out of the corner of her eye, raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. If anything, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at her lips, like she knew something Scott didn’t. Scott, meanwhile, looked at Logan and then back at you with an expression somewhere between surprise and doubt, but he stayed quiet.

“Alright, listen up,” Scott began, folding his arms as he launched into the mission brief. “Intel indicates there’s a cache of prototype weapons and possibly experimental compounds stashed in the warehouse. Marie and I will sweep the perimeter. Logan, you will take the inner corridor. Y/N, secure the samples if you find any. We need evidence, so keep it quiet, keep it subtle, and stay on comms.”

“Understood,” Logan replied, the lazy smirk still lingering as he squeezed your shoulder for effect. You fought back the urge to shove him off, partly because his touch felt oddly...reassuring, but mostly because Scott’s slight frown felt like its own kind of victory. And seeing it any longer would make you cry of laughter. 

The X-jet lifted off, slicing through the night sky. You shifted your attention to watching your surroundings, taking a seat besides Logan, glancing at Scott who began to outline the plan once more.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll be approaching the warehouse in ten minutes. Rogue and I will cover the perimeter while you two head inside. Stay alert,” Scott instructed.

“Roger that,” Logan replied. “You just make sure to keep those laser eyes to yourself.”

“Very funny,” Scott shot back, his tone dry. “Focus on the mission, Logan.”

As the jet soared through the clouds, you glanced at Logan, who wore a smirk that could only be described as infuriatingly charming. “So,” he said, leaning closer. “You ready?”

“Yeah. Guess I'm being your emotional support tonight,” you uttered in a sarcastic manner. It happened almost naturally; turning your mind off to focus on what was ahead, you couldn’t deny it helped your case. “Someone has to keep you in check.”

“Good luck with that,” he retorted with a chuckle. “But I have to admit, having you by my side makes this whole mission a lot more interesting.”

“Glad to hear I can spice up your life, Logan,” you replied, trying to match his nonchalance. “Just don’t get too distracted by my presence.”

“Ah, you must be talking about your ability to look cute while doing nothing.”

You couldn’t help yourself but have a big smirk plastered on your face. “I can assure you, I’ll be doing plenty of ‘nothing’ while you’re busy kicking ass.”

Scott’s voice cracked through, his tone annoyed. “Are you two done flirting? We’re almost at the drop zone.”

“He’s right,” Marie chimed in with a sly grin, glancing over her shoulder at the two of you. “Save the romance for after we’re done.”

Logan’s smirk only grew as he leaned back, crossing his arms. “Don’t worry, Anne. It’s just mission talk. Mostly.”

The jet began its descent, and you felt the subtle shift in atmosphere as everyone went into mission mode. As soon as you touched down, the team moved quickly. Rogue and Scott split off to cover the perimeter as planned, disappearing into the shadows around the warehouse. Logan gave you a quick nod before signaling toward the side entrance, both of you slipping quietly inside.

The place was dark and still, the distant hum of machinery faint in the air. Logan took the lead, moving with a quiet precision that belied his usual rough demeanor. You stayed close, eyes scanning every corner, trying to ignore the fact that he was keeping just a little closer than necessary.

The comms crackled in your ear. “Y/N, Logan, we’re in position,” Scott’s voice came through, steady and calm. “Any movement?”

“Negative,” you whispered back. “Place is dead quiet so far.”

As you moved further into the building, a tense silence settled between you and Logan. He slowed, gesturing for you to check a nearby door while he kept watch. You edged forward, opening it just wide enough to peer inside. The room was packed. Crates, steel tables, shelves lined with sleek weapons and unknown tech. Jackpot.

“Found something,” you whispered into the comm. “Looks like prototype weapons, maybe more.”

“Copy that,” Marie replied. “Get what you can. Scott and I are still clear.”

You quickly snapped photos of the equipment, putting smaller prototypes in your pockets while Logan kept his gaze fixed on the corridor. But as you finished, footsteps echoed down the hallway, breaking the stillness. You froze, eyes darting to Logan, who signaled for you to keep low. You quickly ducked behind one of the tables, as he slid beside you.

“Company.” you murmured.

Logan gave a subtle nod, resting a steady hand over your lips as a signal to keep calm. His fingers lingered for a beat, sparking a warmth you tried to ignore, forcing your attention back to the sounds approaching.

Scott’s voice crackled in your ear. “Status?”

Logan cast you a sideways glance. “Just a little activity. We’re fine.”

The shadow of a guard passed just outside the doorway, pausing for a tense moment. You held your breath, clutching the edge of the table to keep from shifting, as Logan’s hand brushed yours in silent reassurance. The faint metallic clink of the guard’s gear sent a shiver up your spine.

The sound of boots hitting concrete grew louder. Guards. Too many to take head-on, especially in such a confined space. Logan’s sharp eyes darted around before locking onto a supply closet a few feet away. Without hesitation, he pulled you toward it, tugging the door open just wide enough for the both of you to slip inside.

The space was cramped, barely large enough to hold the two of you. Logan’s body pressed against yours as he adjusted his position, his arm braced against the wall to keep from crushing you entirely. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his warmth seeping through the tension of the moment.

“Really?” you whispered, your tone dry despite the situation. “This is your big plan?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea, quiet down,” Logan replied, his voice barely above a murmur. His tone was clipped, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The voices of the guards grew closer, and the beam of a flashlight passed just outside the slats of the door. Your breath hitched, and Logan caught the sound, his gaze flicking to yours. He shook his head slightly, silently telling you to stay calm.

The guards paused right outside, their conversation muffled but tense. Logan’s jaw tightened, and his hand instinctively rested near his hip, ready to unsheathe his claws if necessary. But the seconds stretched on, and the guards eventually moved on, their voices fading into the distance.

Logan let out a quiet breath, his eyes flicking to yours. “Told you it’d work.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to ignore the tight space and the way his confidence somehow made the situation feel less suffocating. “Sure, if by ‘work’ you mean nearly giving me a heart attack.”

He shrugged, the movement almost brushing against you. “Heart’s still beating, isn’t it?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the corner of your mouth from twitching upward. “You’re impossible.”

The two of you stepped out, looking back and forth around the room to ensure no one else was around. But the momentary quietness didn’t last for long. 

Shouts from the guards grew louder, their heavy boots pounding against the concrete floors. Logan’s grip on your hand tightened as he tugged you forward, weaving through the maze of corridors.

“This way,” he urged, his voice low but urgent.

You followed close behind, heart hammering in your chest. The narrow hallway gave way to an open loading dock, the cool night air brushing your face like a lifeline. But the guards weren’t far behind.

“There!” one shouted, raising a weapon.

Logan didn’t slow, yanking you behind a stack of crates as bullets ricocheted off the walls. He growled low in frustration, eyes scanning for a way out. Spotting a gap between two trailers, he pointed. “Through there. Go!”

You didn’t hesitate, ducking through the opening and sprinting toward the perimeter fence. The sound of Logan’s claws slicing through the chain link sent a jolt through you. He gestured for you to crawl through first, covering your back before slipping out himself.

The two of you bolted into the cover of the nearby woods, the sounds of pursuit fading into the distance. You quickly turned on your comms for a moment.

“Scott, Rogue—they found us. We’re heading back to the rendezvous point.”

Marie’s voice crackled in response. “Got it. We’re still clear on our end. Stay low, and we’ll meet you there.”

Scott’s voice followed in. “What happened?”

“Guards,” Logan growled, keeping his pace brisk as he scanned the woods for any sign of pursuit. “Too many for subtlety. But we’ve got what we came for.”

“Just make it back in one piece,” Scott replied, an underlying tension in his voice.

“Always do,” Logan said with a smirk, cutting the comm connection before Scott could fire back.

The night pressed in around you, the sound of your breaths and the faint rustle of leaves filling the silence. After a few minutes, you slowed your pace, leaning against a tree to catch your breath. Logan stopped beside you, his sharp eyes still scanning the dark forest.

“You good?” he asked, his voice low but softer than before.

“Yeah,” you managed, your heartbeat finally beginning to settle. “Thanks for the assist back there.”

Logan shrugged, but his smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Wouldn’t have let you face that mess alone.”

You gave a small smile, feeling the weight of the moment settle. “Still, you didn’t have to...you know, drag me into that closet.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback. Instead, he locked eyes with you, something unspoken flickering in his eyes before he finally looked away.

“Come on,” he said, breaking the silence. “We’re not out of the woods yet—literally.”

You rolled your eyes but followed as he led the way through the trees, the faint sounds of the team waiting in the distance.

The treeline opened up to reveal the sleek silhouette of the X-jet, its ramp lowered like a beacon in the darkness. The faint hum of its systems was a welcome sound, promising safety and a chance to catch your breath.

You and Logan dashed through the trees, the X-jet’s ramp now fully lowered, and you kept close, adrenaline propelling you forward. Breathing hard, the two of you made your way to walk inside.

Scott was already at the base of the ramp, his arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place. Marie stood beside him, leaning casually against the side of the jet, her sharp eyes flicking between you and Logan as you approached.

“You cut it close,” Scott said, his voice tight with barely restrained irritation.

“Yeah, well, we ran into a little welcoming party,” Logan shot back, his tone deliberately nonchalant as he marched up the ramp. He didn’t spare Scott a second glance, leaving you to catch up.

You hesitated, brushing a stray leaf from your sleeve as you met Scott’s gaze. “We’re fine. The mission’s intact. That’s what matters, right?”

Scott’s expression didn’t soften, but he gave a curt nod. “Get on board. We’ll debrief on the way back.”

You moved up the ramp, feeling Marie’s amused eyes on you as she followed. “What’s his problem?” you muttered under your breath.

Marie smirked. “Oh, you know Scott. He hates it when things don’t go perfectly. But between you and me...” She glanced toward Logan, who was already settling into his seat. “I think it’s something else that’s got him all twisted.”

Before you could respond, the hatch sealed shut, and the jet hummed to life. Scott took his place at the controls, his movements stiff, while Marie slid into the co-pilot’s seat. You dropped into the seat across from Logan, who leaned back with a sigh, his usual smirk creeping back onto his face.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, keeping your voice low.

“Nah,” he replied, though his tone didn’t match the word. After a beat, he added, “You did good out there.”

The simplicity of the compliment caught you off guard. You nodded, hiding a small smile as you turned your gaze to the window. The X-jet’s engines hummed steadily, the familiar sound almost lulling you into a sense of comfort after the chaos of the mission. You were both finally in the air, the tension of the night starting to dissolve with each mile that passed.

You shifted in your seat, feeling the exhaustion catch up with you. The adrenaline was wearing off, and fatigue hit harder than you expected. Logan, sitting beside you, seemed just as tired but still alert, his eyes scanning the cabin like he was always prepared for the next move.

You leaned slightly toward him, your head subconsciously moving toward his shoulder. At first, you told yourself it was just to ease the aching muscles in your neck, but as you settled against him, something else tugged at your chest. His shoulder was warm, a solid presence that somehow made everything feel a little less chaotic.

“Don’t get used to it,” you murmured, trying to push down the warmth flooding your cheeks.

Logan’s voice was low, teasing, but there was an edge of something softer to it. “Wasn’t planning on it.” He shifted, adjusting his posture to make you more comfortable, but you could tell he wasn’t going to make a joke out of it this time.

You let the quiet settle between you, eyes half-closed as your thoughts wandered. This isn’t supposed to feel this way, you thought, the weight of the moment suddenly heavy in your mind. It’s just supposed to be a game, a distraction. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized that it was starting to feel like something else. Something real.

As the jet continued its steady flight, you let the thought drift to the back of your mind, pretending it wasn’t there. For now, you’d let yourself stay in this bubble, pretending this whole “fake dating” thing was still just that.

But deep down, you weren’t so sure anymore.

chapter 6 - what we hide

When the X-jet finally touched down at the X-Mansion, you felt a quiet relief. The doors opened with a hiss, and you stepped out first, walking briskly to the conference room where the debrief was set to take place. Scott, Marie, and Jean were already inside, sitting at the long table, their expressions unreadable.

Jean, ever the perceptive one, was the first to look up as you and Logan entered. Her gaze lingered on you both, a quiet smile tugging at her lips, but there was something behind it. A glimmer of knowing that made you feel suddenly exposed.

“Mission accomplished?” Jean asked, her voice warm but with that trademark sharpness that suggested she’d already read through the comms logs.

“Yeah,” Logan replied with his usual gruffness, dropping into a seat beside you. His knee brushed against yours, the contact so subtle it could’ve been an accident. You fought the urge to look at him, to acknowledge the sudden shift in the air.

Scott didn’t waste time getting down to business. He slid a tablet toward you, showing the photos of the prototypes and weapons you’d collected. “Is this all of it?” he asked, his voice more controlled than before, but the underlying tension between him and Logan was still palpable.

“Yeah,” you replied, your eyes still on the tablet. “Everything’s documented. No casualties on our end.” You searched through the pockets of your uniform, putting the mini prototypes down on the table. “And...these too.”

Jean nodded, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. “Good work,” she said, her tone still warm, but there was an edge to it now as her gaze shifted between you and Logan. She seemed to linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes narrowing just slightly in that knowing way.

“Everything went smoothly?” Jean asked, her voice casual but with a hint of something deeper. “No... surprises?”

You swallowed, not sure if she was referring to the mission or to something else entirely. You glanced at Logan, who was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way his jaw tightened that gave you the feeling he was just as aware of Jean’s subtle probing as you were.

“Yeah, no surprises,” you said quickly, forcing a smile. “Everything went as planned.”

Scott slid the tablet back toward the center of the table, his gaze lingering on it for a moment before he looked up. “Alright, I think that covers everything. You’ve done good work,” he said, his tone indifferent, but not unappreciative. “Get some rest. I’m sure we’ll have more to discuss soon.”

You nodded, ready to leave the debrief behind you. The tension had been thick in the room, and now that the mission was officially over, you couldn’t wait to take a breath without everyone’s eyes on you.

Logan, however, didn’t move immediately. He turned his head toward you, that familiar, unreadable expression on his face. “You coming?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

You nodded again, standing up. The two of you started toward the door when Jean’s voice stopped you.

“Hold up, Y/N,” she called. “I need to talk to you for a second.”

Marie, who had been standing by the door, gave you a knowing look. Logan glanced at you, his expression unreadable, before shrugging. “I’ll be outside.” He gave you space to handle this, but the shift in the air was undeniable. You felt a wave of unease wash over you.

You hadn’t expected Jean and Marie to corner you after the debrief, but here you were, sitting across from them in the hallway just outside the conference room. You felt the weight of their gaze, the silent question hanging between you.

Jean, always the more subtle one, folded her arms, her smile just a little too knowing. "So," she started, her voice smooth and casual. "How’s everything going? You and Logan, I mean."

You stiffened, caught off guard. Your heart thudded in your chest, and for a moment, you found yourself lost for words. “Uh, it’s good,” you said, your tone a little too light, betraying the nervous flutter in your stomach. “You know, the mission’s over, so...”

Marie raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. “Yeah, sure,” she said, her tone dripping with that playful sarcasm you’d come to recognize. "It’s just... y’all seem real comfortable around each other, huh? A bit more than just teammates, wouldn’t you say?”

I guess they were really buying it now. This is good.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, what do you mean?”

Marie’s eyes glinted mischievously as she crossed her arms, leaning in just a bit. “Oh, come on, sugar. You two were pretty cozy back there. I’m just sayin’.” She tilted her head in a way that made it clear she was teasing, but there was an edge to her tone that made your heart race, a sudden panic crawling up your spine.

Jean smirked, sensing the discomfort in your response. "I was reviewing the comms from the last mission— must be something going on between you two.” Her voice was lighthearted, but there was something about the way she said it—acting like a couple, that made your chest tighten. You knew she wanted to get something out of you.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “It's nothing like that, really. We're just—just getting the job done, you know?” Your voice was a little too fast, a little too defensive.

Marie raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quaking upward. “Mhm, I bet. But you can’t deny the vibes, sugar.” She shot a glance at Jean before continuing, her tone more teasing. “Just like how Scott’s been all mopey over Jean lately... though, we all got our own little dynamics going on.”

Jean nodded, the smile never quite fading. “You and Logan, Scott and I, and—” she paused, glancing at Marie, “Remy...and Marie. It’s funny how these things just...happen, huh?” Her words had a casual air, but you could tell she was trying to gauge your reaction.

You felt your throat tighten at the mention of Remy.

Gambit. 

Right. 

You knew you were technically pretending to be with Logan, but hearing it brought you back to reality. You weren't a real couple. You just had to keep reminding yourself of that. But... the way they were talking about their relationships so casually, it felt so much more real.

Marie’s smile softened a bit as she leaned in closer. “It’s okay, sugar. You don’t have to have it all figured out with him right away. Just take your time. I mean, things with Logan can be... complicated.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Logan’s not the easiest to figure out, I know. But he’s got a good heart under all that stubbornness. Just... don’t be afraid to let him in when you’re ready.”

You forced a smile, nodding in agreement even though your thoughts were racing. Pretend. Right. You had to keep it together, keep up the act, even though it was becoming harder to distinguish the lines between reality and the mission.

“Thanks,” you said, clearing your throat. “But it’s really nothing. Just... keeping things professional.”

Marie winked, still teasing. “Alright, sugar. But if you do decide to make it more than just a mission thing, you know where to find me.” Her tone was playful, but there was a softness in it too, a subtle kindness you appreciated.

As you, Jean, and Marie finally parted ways, heading off in different directions, you took a breath, trying to shake the awkwardness that had settled in the pit of your stomach, and made your way to the door.

As you stepped out into the hallway, you spotted Logan just a few paces ahead, his back to you as he walked toward the staircase. He must have been waiting for you, or maybe just lingering after the meeting, but either way, you appreciated his presence to stick around.

“Hey,” you called out, your voice slightly strained as you reached him.

He turned slightly, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “How’d it go?” His eyes flicked toward you, searching your face with an intensity that made your heart beat a little faster.

You paused, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “It went... fine.” You tried to keep your tone casual, but something in the way you spoke betrayed the uncertainty you felt. “They’re just curious about us.” You couldn't help but add the last part with a slight edge, as if the mere mention of it made your insides twist.

Logan’s brow furrowed, his usual unreadable expression faltering just a bit. “Curious?” His voice was low, like he was still trying to process exactly what that meant.

You nodded, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, well... they think we’re actually a thing. Jean was all smiles, and Marie...” You trailed off, shaking your head as if it would help shake away the unease. “It was just a lot of teasing, I guess.”

A slight chuckle escaped Logan’s lips, and he glanced over at you, his expression unreadable but laced with something... almost like amusement. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

You shook your head. “No, of course not,” you said, perhaps a little too quickly, but you quickly recovered. “Just enough to keep them satisfied.”

Logan’s expression softened, and he pushed himself off the wall, taking a step closer to you. “Yeah, well, it’s working, I guess,” he said, his voice just a little quieter now, a little less casual. He paused, watching you with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. “But maybe we should kick it up a notch, huh?”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “Kick it up a notch?”

Maybe it was a joke, or maybe it wasn’t. You couldn’t tell.

You swallowed, trying to keep your cool, but something about the way he looked at you stirred something beneath the surface. “Well, I wouldn’t mind,” you said, your voice a little quieter than you intended, as your faces grew uncomfortably close.

Logan’s smirk faltered just for a moment, and you could feel the shift in the air around you. He didn’t immediately respond, the space between you both suddenly charged with something you weren’t sure you were ready for. He blinked, almost surprised, but then leaned back with a casual shrug as if to shake it off.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, eyes narrowed, “I guess it wouldn't hurt.”

 His tone wasn’t as teasing as it would have been, which was a bit unexpected in your eyes. You tried not to think much of it. This was a fake relationship, after all. 

For a moment, neither of you moved. Your faces were so close now that you could feel the heat of his breath, your pulse racing in your ears. Logan held your gaze, and you saw that flicker of something deeper. Something that didn’t quite match the playful tone of his words.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, he brushed it aside with a half-hearted wink and a shrug. "Guess we’ll figure it out as we go along, huh?"

You nodded, a quiet tension still hanging in the air. As he turned and walked toward the stairs, you lingered, fighting the urge to follow him, the strange weight of the moment heavy on your chest.

One thing was for sure; things were definitely not as simple as they seemed anymore.

And though you couldn’t pinpoint what specifically, it was there.

chapter 7 - what we share

You watched Logan retreat upstairs until he disappeared around the corner, the faint scent of cigars along with it. The rest of the team had either gone to bed, or disappeared into their own corners of the mansion, leaving you alone with your thoughts. It was strange, how a place so full of people could feel so empty. You didn’t want to sleep just yet, your mind wide awake from the teasing Jean and Rogue had done just minutes ago. Lost in thought, you heard your stomach grumble.

A snack sounded better than staring at the ceiling for hours.

The mansion was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling. You reached to open the fridge, it's cold light spilling over shelves of leftovers and mismatched condiments. You grabbed a soda and some crackers, shutting the door with a quiet thud.

The voice startled you, making you jump slightly. You turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, that unreadable look still firmly planted in his eyes. The surprise faded into a familiar calm.

“You always raid the kitchen this late?”

The voice startled you, and you turned to find Logan leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, that same unreadable look in his eyes.

“I thought you just went upstairs?” you replied, keeping your tone light. “What’s your excuse?”

He smirked faintly, stepping inside. “I don’t really sleep. Figured I’d hang with you instead.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping open the soda. “That your way of saying you’re hungry?”

Logan shrugged, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Maybe. The girls kept you wide awake, huh?”

You hesitated, the soda can cooling your hand. “More like the mission from today,” you admitted, leaning back against the counter. “Feels like I’m still out there, you know? Like my body made it back, but my head didn’t.”

Logan nodded, grabbing an apple from a nearby bowl of fruits, biting it hard. “It’s normal. First few times, it messes with you. Then it just...sticks with you differently.”

“Comforting,” you said dryly, and he chuckled.

Before either of you could say more, another voice broke the moment.

“You two always this chatty at midnight, or am I just lucky?”

You turned to see Scott standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, a disapproving tilt to his head.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Relax, Summers. We’re not plannin’ a coup.”

Scott gave a slight smirk but didn’t lighten much. “So are you two... a thing now?” he asked, his tone playful but still searching. "Or just the late-night hangout type?"

You felt a sudden awkwardness settle in the room, and Logan’s posture stiffened for a moment before he smirked, looking back at you to respond.

“A bit of both.” you replied, your voice a little quieter than you intended. You glanced at Logan, unsure of how much to say, or if you even wanted to say anything at all. The last thing you wanted was to dive into an explanation that neither you nor Logan had figured out yet.

Logan’s eyes flickered to yours. "Yeah, something like that."

 “Right. Well, if you’re both done with your midnight snack, and well...cracking your little situation, the danger room isn't going to run itself tomorrow.” He looked at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

He left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

Logan finished his apple, tossing the core into the trash. “He means well,” he said, almost grudgingly.

“Yeah,” you said, setting your soda down, taking a bite of some crackers. “Doesn’t make it any less annoying sometimes.”

Logan smirked, pushing off the counter. “Well, you heard the man. Get some sleep. Big day tomorrow.”

“I will.” you replied, taking a small sip of your soda once again. You noticed Logan’s expression, lost in thought about something in particular. He stood near the hallway door, contemplating going on with his own endeavors, or staying with you. Either way, it was obvious the two of you weren’t planning to go sleep anytime soon. Not yet. 

“So, speaking of cracks,” you began, the words coming out slower than you expected. “You ever had anyone, you know, break through yours?”

Logan’s eyebrow twitched. “What, you mean, like, past loves?” His tone was neutral, almost shaking his head back to reality.

You nodded, curious but not pushing. “Yeah. It doesn’t have to be deep or anything. Just... someone who actually made you feel like you were seen, I guess.”

Logan glanced down at his feet, chewing on the inside of his cheek for a moment. He didn’t respond immediately, but you didn’t expect him to. Logan wasn’t exactly one for talking about his past.

Eventually, he let out a breath, his voice quiet. “Yeah, a few. Doesn’t last long, though. When you’ve lived through what I have, it’s hard to let anyone in too close.”

You gave him a sidelong glance, your lips curling into a small grin. “Yeah, I get that. But it’s funny, still willing to fake date someone, even with all that baggage.”

Logan’s eyes flickered toward you, the corners of his mouth twitching in what might have been a smile if he wasn’t so stubborn. “Don’t read too much into that,” he muttered.

“I’m just saying,” you teased, leaning against the counter with a raised eyebrow. “If you can pull that off, maybe letting someone in isn’t as impossible as you make it sound.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement there, just barely. “Fake dating is a hell of a lot easier than the real thing,” he grumbled, clearly trying to avoid admitting anything deeper.

“Sure, but it’s still a step,” you shot back with a shrug. “Maybe next time you won’t need a cover story.”

Logan paused at the cabinet door, hand on the handle, probably to get another snack, but he didn’t open it right away. He looked over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You seem pretty sure about all this relationship stuff now," he said, voice low and teasing. "Didn't know you were such an expert."

You chuckled, leaning back against the counter with your arms crossed. "Oh, I'm not," you replied, giving a small shrug. "Just trying to figure it out. I mean, we all have our baggage, right?"

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly, and he stepped closer again, almost instinctively closing the distance between you two. There was a shift in his gaze, a flicker of something else, something a little more raw. "Yeah. Baggage," he muttered. 

“I’ve got enough to fill a warehouse,” he added, for a short moment; his voice still rough, but edged with a dark humor. "Doesn't mean I’m looking for someone to help carry it."

“I understand,” you said quietly, your eyes lowering as you reached for your soda again. You took a small sip, gathering your thoughts. “I’ve got my own baggage too. Probably more than I’d like to admit.”

Logan didn’t say anything, but you could feel his attention on you, steady and unwavering. He let go of the cabinet door, walking slowly to where you were seated. 

“I get why you’d rather keep your distance,” you continued, your voice quieter now, your fingers lingering close to your soda can. “I think... I think I’ve been doing the same thing, just in my own way. Maybe I’ve been keeping people at arm’s length, too.” You met his gaze then, your eyes a little hesitant. “Maybe because I’m scared. Scared of getting hurt again, or worse, scared of realizing I was never really enough in the first place.”

Logan’s gaze softened, just a little, and his lips parted to say something. He hesitantly placed a hand on your shoulder.

“You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice quieter than before, a hint of sincerity lacing his words. The way he looked at you, like he was trying to convey something else without saying it directly— it made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you just stood there, feeling the weight of his hand, and the moment. There was something about Logan that made you want to let your guard down, to let him see parts of you you refused to show anyone else. Something about the way he didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you, he just let you be you. Authentically you.

It was never like that was Remy. No, not even. You wished.

“So, fake dating aside,” you replied, eyes darting away, interrupting the silence. “Do you ever think about what you’d want... if you actually did date someone? For real, I mean.”

"For romance..." he muttered, as if the word tasted foreign on his tongue. His gaze drifted, not quite meeting yours, as if searching for something in the air between you. He sat beside you now, arms on the table counter. 

"I guess it’s easier when someone’s already... taken, you know?" He finally met your eyes, an expression of something you couldn’t quite place in them. "It’s, well, you care about someone but you don’t have to act on it. Don’t have to figure out all the mess of... well, actually being with them. You can care from a distance, and that feels safer. That’s all." His voice was low, a little rough, but there was no bitterness in it, just a resigned honesty.

You didn’t say anything at first, processing what he’d said. It was a strange admission, and yet it made a twisted kind of sense. Logan had always kept his emotions buried so deeply, so well-hidden, that hearing him open up almost caught you off guard.

He cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. "I’m not saying I’m some kind of martyr or anything. I mean, Scott and Jean have their thing. I’ve got my... Well, whatever the hell this is." He waved his hand vaguely in the space between you jokingly, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. "But yeah, it’s easier that way. You don’t have to deal with the what-ifs, the risks. You just... live in the moment and let it go."

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out,” you said, chuckling, trying to keep the mood light, but even you could feel the pain of his words. “The whole ‘keep it at a distance’ thing.”

Logan’s lips curled into a small, humorless smile, but there was a hint of sadness in it, too. “Figured out? Nah.” He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, still looking at you with that same unguarded look. “It’s just... easier to not feel too much. You know?” His voice was quieter now, and for a moment, you thought he might say more.

You didn’t push. You didn’t need to. You understood. You both had your own ways of coping, your own defenses, and the idea of letting anyone in too close felt dangerous. Too uncertain.

"Yeah," you said softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness of the moment. "I get that. It’s easier to... not care too much, right?"

“If I care too much, they’ll get hurt in some way. Ain’t easy, letting someone in."

"Well,” you paused. “I still think the right person would help with the mess. Maybe it doesn’t have to be so...scary. More of just being there when things get messy."

For a moment, there was silence, and you both sat there. Logan’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and you saw the smallest shift in his expression. It wasn’t much, but it was there, something opening up, if only for a moment.

"Maybe," he said quietly, looking down at his hands. "But for now, I think I’m good with the fake dating thing."

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with a quiet understanding. “For now, we’re good.”

Logan stood up slowly, stretching his shoulders with a quiet grunt. "Well, we’ll see what the future holds," he said, his smirk returning, though it was lighter this time. "Get some sleep. Don’t forget about tomorrow.”

You nodded, your smile faint but genuine. "Yeah, I won’t, don’t worry. Thanks, Logan."

He gave you a small nod before turning toward the door. As his footsteps echoed down the hall, you stayed in the kitchen for a while longer. You never realized how easy everything was with Logan. You understood each other a bit too well.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

chapter 8 - what we break

The early morning silence greeted you as you pulled yourself out of bed. You stifled a yawn, stretching as the cool air nipped at your skin. Training day. No missions, no more disasters, just time in the danger room, blowing off some steam without needing to worry about anything else.

You moved through your routine, pulling on your workout gear and splashing cold water on your face to wake up properly. Training days weren’t always your favorite, but they offered a sense of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic life. At least, that's what you said, confronted by anyone who didn’t understand.

That optimism is what carried you all the way to the Danger Room. Standing in thought with your earphones in. As the doors hissed open, your steps faltered when you caught sight of who was already there.

Logan.

And Remy.

They were sparring in the center of the room, their movements fluid yet calculated, each step and strike of power and precision. Logan's growls punctuated the sharp clash of their practice weapons, while Remy’s easy smirk didn’t falter, even as he narrowly dodged an incoming blow.

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could run off before they noticed, Remy caught sight of you out of the corner of his eye and called out, “Morning, chère. You here to watch or join in the fun?”

You held out one of your earphones and froze, like a deer caught in headlights. Words failed you as your brain scrambled to come up with something, anything—that wouldn’t make you seem out of place.

Logan’s head turned at Remy’s greeting, his sharp gaze locking on you. His expression was neutral, but something about the slight tilt of his head made it feel like he was sizing you up.

“Oh, uh—yeah,” you stammered, stepping further inside before you could talk yourself into running the other way. “Thought I’d... get some training in.”

Remy straightened, tossing the staff he’d been holding to his other hand with a cocky flourish. “Perfect timing, non? We could use a fresh pair of eyes. Logan’s got his claws out today.”

You laughed awkwardly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Logan grunted, brushing past Remy and heading to the weapons rack. “You just gonna stand there or jump in, bub?”

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in.

“Well, this is going to be good,” Morph’s familiar voice drawled from the corner. They were leaning against the wall, arms crossed, their mischievous grin on full display. Clearly, they've been watching the whole thing, and from the look on their face, they weren't planning on missing a second of what was about to unfold.

You threw Morph a glare, but it only made them grin wider. Great. An audience.

“Uh, I’m good for now,” you said quickly, waving a hand. “Just warming up.”

You moved to the farthest available spot on the mat, your face heating under the weight of Logan’s and Remy’s lingering gazes. As you stretched, you could feel Morph’s eyes on you, too, like they were silently narrating every awkward twitch and stumble in your movements.

Trying to ignore them, you dropped into a stretch, but your limbs felt stiff, and your balance was off. Every now and then, you caught snippets of the sparring behind you. Remy’s smooth banter clashed with Logan’s gruff responses, the sound of their training weapons striking echoing through the room.

“Keep up, old man,” Remy quipped, his voice light as he sidestepped one of Logan’s swipes with infuriating ease.

Logan snorted, stepping forward with a calculated swing that nearly clipped Remy’s side. “Watch yourself. I’m just warmin’ up.”

You winced, fumbling mid-stretch. Morph’s muffled laugh caught your ear, and you shot them another look over your shoulder.

“What?” they asked innocently, though his smirk said otherwise.

“You’re distracting,” you muttered, focusing on your stretches again.

They chuckled, leaning casually against the wall. “I’m not the one completely flushed out.”

“I’m not flushed,” you snapped under your breath, though the evidence was plainly there.

Morph snickered, their ability to make you squirm practically a superpower in itself. “Sure, sure. And I’m not morphing into Gambit to test your poker face next.”

You groaned internally, pretending to ignore them as you tried to focus on the stretches. The sharp clang of Logan’s claws retracting pulled your attention for a brief second, and you couldn’t help but glance over.

Logan, as ever, was no-nonsense, brushing off one of Remy’s quips as he grabbed a towel from the bench. But when his gaze flicked toward you, sharp and assessing, your heart stumbled. Did he know how awkward and embarrassing this felt? Being forced to be with the guy you maybe still liked, along with your fake boyfriend?

 He probably smelled it. 

“Looks like she’s gonna warm up all morning,” Logan remarked gruffly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward just slightly. “You plan on actually doin’ anything, princess? Or you gonna keep flailin’ over there?”

Your head snapped toward Logan at the jab, and your hands dropped to your sides, clearly annoyed. 

"I’m stretching. It’s called preparation. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Remy’s laugh rang out before Logan could reply, a smooth, teasing chuckle that grated on your already frayed nerves. "You keep talkin’ like that, you’ll rile him up more than me."

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you glanced between the two of them. "You’re both impossible."

“Aw, don’t be like that," Remy said, stepping closer, his ever-present smirk softening just a touch. "We’re just havin’ a little fun. No harm, non?"

You forced yourself to stay still, but every inch of your body wanted to react. Remy’s words felt like a mockery. Your stomach twisted from all of it. There was something in the way his tone lingered, in the flicker of his red eyes towards Logan, that made your blood simmer. 

You then turned towards Logan, of why you’d roped him into this in the first place. Gambit, Remy, the one who had broken your heart, had stood you up weeks prior, leaving you feeling small and humiliated. The worst part? He didn’t even seem to remember. But you did.

Meanwhile, Logan's expression was as unreadable as ever. Carved from stone, he gave away nothing, and yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else. Was he irritated? Amused? Or was it something else entirely? Whatever it was, it only bothered you more.

You gritted your teeth, stretching through the awkwardness while Logan and Gambit lingered too close for comfort.Remy was still smirking like he was in on some private joke, and Logan, for all his gruffness, didn’t seem to mind the tension he’d stirred up. You stole a glance at Morph, who, to his credit, had the decency to mime zipping his lips after Logan’s warning, but his eyes still sparkled with mischief.

With a sharp inhale, you pushed yourself up from your stretch and took a step toward Logan. “You’re right,” you said loud enough to catch both of their attention. “I should stop warming up and actually do something.”

Logan raised a brow, the faintest hint of amusement flickering in his expression. His arms were crossed, his posture relaxed, but there was a tension in his gaze, like he was waiting to see just what you were up to.

With deliberate steps, you closed the space between yourself and Logan. His expression shifted slightly, confusion mixed with curiosity, his body stiffening just enough for you to notice. When you stopped in front of him, his brow furrowed further.

Despite the rapid pounding of your heart, you reached up, cupping the edge of his jaw lightly with one hand, and pressed your lips to his.

The world seemed to still for that brief moment. His lips were firm but warm, slightly chapped, with a roughness that was distinctly Logan. The kiss was soft, unhurried, and intentional. You allowed yourself to linger just long enough to make it convincing, feeling the way his breath hitched almost imperceptibly, the slight tension in his shoulders as though he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

When you pulled away, his eyes were on you, sharper than ever, and his lips parted just enough to give you the satisfaction of having caught him off guard. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of surprise, intrigue, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I’ve changed my mind about joining you two. I’m going for a run.”

You didn’t dare glance back at Logan as you strode toward Gambit, who looked as though someone had just yanked the rug out from under him. His smirk faltered for a split second, just long enough for you to savor the moment. But he recovered quickly, twirling his staff and tilting his head at you as you walked out.

Behind you, Morph let out a low whistle, clearly delighted by the sudden shift in the room’s energy. Logan said nothing, but you could feel his gaze burning into the back of your neck. If you focused hard enough, you might’ve been able to hear the faintest scoff.

As you headed to the outer yard of the X-Mansion, you couldn’t bring yourself to just run just yet. Your mind was still stuck on what happened in the Danger Room. The moment with Logan. The kiss. It felt like an impulsive decision, one that hadn't really been thought through, but in a way, it had felt right.

Mind racing, you were still standing outside the mansion, the weight of what you’d done sinking in. The morning air did nothing to settle your thoughts, only sharpening the confusion swirling in your head. What the hell had you been thinking? You didn’t even have a chance to understand it before your body had already moved. Shaking your head, you walked back inside, your footsteps heavy on the floor.

You’d barely made it to the hallway when you heard the unmistakable heavy footfalls behind you. The sound of Logan’s boots on the floor echoed loudly, and you could feel his presence long before he spoke.

“Thought you were goin’ for a run,” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, low and tinged. He was obviously pissed.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. 

“Changed my mind,” you muttered, your pace never slowing as you reached for your keys. Your mind raced, but you kept your gaze straight ahead, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

His footsteps quickened, cutting the distance between you in two long strides until you reached the door to your room. You didn’t stop, but the sound of Logan’s voice, low and tense, made your heart stutter.

“Why the hell’d you do that?” he demanded. 

You finally stopped, but only to face him with your back against the door, your body tensing at the proximity. He stood there, eyes narrowed, like he was waiting for you to crack. His jaw was clenched, and there was an almost predatory tension in his stance.

“You were the one who wanted to kick things up a notch,” you replied. No matter how sarcastic you may have sounded, it was honest.

Logan’s expression flickered, something close to frustration flashing in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair, barely retracting as he crossed his arms. “That was never what I had in mind.”

You raised an eyebrow, and despite everything, a slight smirk tugged at your lips. “I’m not the one who started sparring with Remy. The last person I want to see. You didn’t exactly make it easy to just sit back and watch.”

He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes. It was intimidating, and you held yourself back from trying to look away.

“I didn't need you to make me look like an idiot,” he muttered, voice low, almost rougher than usual.

You stood there, back pressed against the door, heart pounding in your chest as Logan’s presence loomed just inches away. The room felt smaller with every second that passed in silence.

You heard his voice, low and rough as he leaned in to repeat himself. “Why’d you kiss me?”

Taking a deep breath, you finally spoke. “I didn’t kiss you to mess with your head, Logan.” Your voice was steady now, no sarcasm, no defensiveness; just raw honesty. “But you’re the one who... made me think something else was going on.”

Logan scoffed, that almost sounded like a laugh, while shaking his head taking a step back. “Oh really? The same way you thought you had something else with Gambit?”

“What the fuck, Logan?”

The words caught in your throat, your breath quickening as the sting of his accusation hit harder than you expected. You pushed yourself off the door, taking a step toward him, your voice tight with disbelief. “Don’t you put that on me,” you snapped, pointing a finger to his chest. “You agreed to this.”

“You’re right, I did,” he replied, his eyes burning with something between anger and confusion, maybe even a hint of jealousy. “But you’re the one stuck in some damn fantasy of what could’ve been with that...cajun." 

“I’m not the one pretending like something’s going to happen with Jean.” The words were out before you could stop it.

Logan’s expression hardened in an instant, and the room seemed to freeze. His jaw clenched, muscles tensing under the strain of what you just said. You could feel the air crackling with tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy between you both.

He stepped back, looking at you as if you’d just struck him with something harder than your words. “You think that’s what this is about?” he spat, voice low and dangerous. “You think it’s about her?”

You didn’t back down, your own frustration burning. “Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice cutting through the thick silence. “You’re stuck in some fantasy about her, too. Hell, everyone can see it. But don’t act like I’m the only one holding onto something that isn’t real.”

Logan let out a sharp exhale, his fingers gripping the edge of his coat, fighting to keep his cool. His eyes, though, were wild now, full of something you couldn’t quite define. “I’m not you,” he growled, the words coming out rough. “I don’t make mistakes like you. I don’t...” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

You took a step toward him, your eyes never leaving his. “And what? You think you’re the only one capable of making mistakes?” you shot back, your voice bitter. “Maybe we’re just not meant to have what we want. Because they could care less, to even bother giving a shit about us.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could feel the anger, the disappointment of what you’d just thrown into the air. Logan stood there, his chest heaving, and for a moment, neither of you knew what to say.

He finally broke the silence, his voice quieter but no less intense. “I never said I wanted her,” he muttered, staring at the floor for a moment before looking back at you. His expression was as callous as ever, but the way he stared you down; he couldn’t say it himself, but his eyes could.

Your eyes softened from his answer, but the lump in your throat practically stopped you from giving a response. It didn’t help that your head was pounding from how chaotic your nerves had been turned over. Logan let out a frustrated sigh as you had nothing left to say, from his subtleness, and took a step back. His eyes were still on you, but there was a certain finality to his gaze now, something cold and resolute that you weren’t ready to face.

“Forget it,” he muttered, voice clipped, his face unreadable. “Whatever this is—whatever we are—it's done. I’m done.”

Before you could say another word, he turned and walked toward the door, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. You stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the argument crashing down, the finality of it all, and the overwhelming ache in your chest settled deep into your bones.

And god, you hated it.

chapter 9 - what we mend

The days had dragged on like an unending weight. Each glance between you and Logan felt like a punch to the gut, both of you stiffening the moment the other entered the room. You didn’t even need to look at him to know he was avoiding you; his silence was louder than any words could have been. The same could be said for you. It was easier this way. Or so you told yourself.

Since that morning in the danger room, when your lips had lingered a fraction too long on his, everything had become... complicated. What had been a simple, calculated arrangement of a fake relationship, the harmless flirtation, was now tangled in a mess of confusing emotions. Neither of you had addressed it, but the tension between you had only grown thicker.

At dinner, you had barely looked up from your plate. Every time you did, you’d catch Logan glancing in your direction only to quickly look away. His eyes were stormy, unreadable, and it frustrated you more than anything. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d actually spoken to him, at least not without a stilted awkwardness between you.

The team noticed, of course. Marie, with her usual sharp eyes, had raised an eyebrow at the silent distance between you two. "You two been fightin’ or something?" she’d asked, but you’d merely shrugged, offering a vague response that did little to explain the situation.

Now, as the evening wore on and the mansion fell quiet, the tension was unbearable. The silence in your room felt suffocating, tossing and turning in your bed; and no matter how much you tried to focus on something—anything—to distract yourself, your thoughts kept wandering back to Logan. The way his lips had felt on yours. 

But the line had already been crossed. And you didn’t want to cross any others. 

With a decisive moment, you stood from your bed, slipping on your socks with a swift motion. You had to see him. You just had to know if this feeling—this damnable, undeniable feeling was mutual, or if you were completely losing your mind. 

Your steps were quiet as you walked down the hall, your heart pounding louder than the sound of your footsteps. You reached Logan’s door, hesitating for only a moment before you knocked. The sound echoed in the silence.

"Who’s there?" His voice came through, rough and thick with the weight of the day.

"It's me," you said, and before you could second-guess yourself, you turned the handle, pushing the door open.

Logan was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in his iconic white tank top and bootcut jeans. His posture was rigid, as though he were waiting for something. When his gaze met yours, his eyes darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He took another puff from his cigar, which didn’t help how thick the air was between you both. It was almost as if the room itself was holding its breath.

“What do you want?” he asked in slight annoyance.

 “I don’t know,” you muttered, the words coming out harsher than you intended. 

Logan didn’t move, his eyes never leaving yours. There was a tension in the air, something thick and unspoken. The silence stretched between you both like a taut wire, neither of you wanting to touch it, but neither able to ignore it either.

“You could’ve stayed away,” he said, his voice rough, like he was holding back something he didn’t want to admit.

“I know.” you whispered, a pang of guilt in your tone. “Look, I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean to push you.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might just brush it off, but then he spoke again, softer now. “It’s not just you.” His eyes flickered, as though searching for something in you, something he wasn’t ready to admit either. “I didn’t mean to snap at you either. It’s just... it’s easier if we both just pretend it didn’t happen.”

You swallowed, the weight of his words pressing against you, making your chest tighten. “It’s not easier,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the thick air between you. "It’s not easier for me."

Logan didn’t respond immediately. His eyes dropped to his cigar for a moment, a slight frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He exhaled, letting the smoke curl into the air, his gaze returning to you, but this time there was something different in his eyes. Something that softened the hardness you’d seen earlier.

“Then why the hell are we still doing this?” he asked, his voice low, rough with something that almost sounded like frustration. “Why are we still pretending if it’s this complicated?”

You took a step closer, your pulse quickening with the proximity. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

“I don’t know," you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. "But I can't stop thinking about it—about you. I can’t keep pretending it was just nothing." You looked up, your gaze meeting his, finding him waiting for something, something you couldn’t name.

For a long beat, neither of you moved. Logan’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, his jaw tight, as though fighting something inside him. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted forward on the bed, a breath escaping him as if he were finally deciding to let go of whatever restraint he’d been holding onto.

“You’re not the only one,” he muttered, his voice rougher now, barely above a whisper. “I’ve been tryin’ to ignore it, but... hell, you make it hard to forget.”

You took a breath, stepping closer, your body drawn toward him against your better judgment. You could feel the heat between you, the crackling tension that had been building for days now, impossible to ignore any longer.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to make things so damn complicated.

Logan’s eyes softened, just slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing the back of your fingers with his. The contact sent a shock through you, like electricity, and you didn’t pull away. Instead, you let him close the gap between you.

“Not your fault,” he said, his voice thick, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “It’s me too. I’m... I’m not good at this shit. But I—” His words faltered, his eyes searching yours for something, anything. “I can’t pretend either.”

You didn’t give him the chance to say anything else. You pulled him toward you, crashing your lips against his. The kiss was hungry, desperate, full of all the unspoken feelings you’d been trying to ignore for so long. Logan’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, as if afraid to let you slip away.

You didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. All the confusion, the frustration, the longing—it boiled over in a wave of heat that left you breathless. His lips were firm against yours, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. The only thing that existed was the storm between you both, the undeniable pull that had always been there, buried beneath layers of doubt and distance.

When you finally broke away, you were both gasping for air. Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his hands still holding you close as if he needed to keep you tethered to him.

"Shit, I...that didn’t help, did it..." you whispered, your voice shaky, but a faint smile tugged at your lips. You didn’t know if it was a question or a statement, but it didn’t matter.

Logan’s laugh was low and rough, the sound a mixture of frustration and amusement. "No, but I figured as much." he said, but his eyes were still on you, intense, searching for something.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them, your hands lingering on his chest to keep a certain distance. "I—"

Before you could finish, Logan’s lips were on yours again, cutting off any further words. This time, there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. Just need. 

“Shut up.”

His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, gripping you with a possessiveness that made your heart race. The way he touched you felt urgent, almost frantic, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath the fabric of his tank top, and you pushed yourself closer, needing more of him. His lips were rough against yours, parting briefly for a breath, but you didn’t give him the chance to pull away. You kissed him harder, deeper, as if trying to erase all the space that had ever existed between you.

Logan’s fingers dug into your thighs, lifting you slightly as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with an intensity that left you breathless. You could feel the heat of him through the fabric, and it made every nerve in your body hum with need. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, as if he was claiming you in a way that was both comforting and maddening. The way his hands moved, pulling you closer and closer, left you feeling dizzy, lost in the feel of him.

His lips traveled down to your jaw, and you gasped, a shiver running through your body at the feel of his breath on your skin. You couldn’t stop the way your hands wandered, exploring the hard planes of his chest and shoulders, wanting to touch every part of him. His scent, the warmth of his skin, the feel of his rough hands—it was all too much, and yet it wasn’t enough.

You let him take off your shirt, urging him to do the same, and one thing led onto the next.

Logan's hands slid up your sides, his touch firm but gentle, as if he were memorizing every curve of your body. You felt the steady rhythm of his breath against your skin, his lips trailing soft kisses along your collarbone. Each kiss ignited something deep within you, a rush of warmth that spread through every part of you. You moved closer, your hands instinctively reaching for his back, your fingertips grazing the muscles beneath his jeans.

His breath hitched slightly as your fingers brushed the waistband of his jeans, his body tensing at the touch. You could feel the intensity rising between you, the need in his movements, in the way his lips ghosted over yours before finally capturing them again. The kiss was deeper this time, more urgent, as though everything in the world had narrowed down to this single moment.

You pulled back just slightly, your chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to steady yourself. “Logan...” you breathed, your voice shaky as you searched his eyes, trying to read the same urgency, the same longing that mirrored your own. But there was still hesitation there, just beneath the surface. Still, neither of you moved, too tangled in the heat of the moment to do anything but breathe each other in.

His hand slid down your back, resting against the curve of your hip, fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your pants. He pulled you closer again, the intensity of his touch making your pulse quicken. “I know,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “Me too.”

And the rest? It could only be described as bliss.

chapter 10 - what we confess

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the warmth. Strong, steady, and unfamiliar in the best possible way. It wasn’t just the weight of the blanket cocooning you or the soft glow of morning light spilling through the curtains. It was him.

And you were in his bed.

Logan’s arm draped across your waist, his fingers loosely splayed over your stomach as though even in sleep, he refused to let you go. His chest pressed against your back, the soft rhythm of his breathing stirring the fine hairs at the nape of your neck.

For a moment, you didn’t move. You didn’t even breathe, afraid that the slightest shift would shatter the fragile peace of the morning. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself feel safe, for once, in the quiet intimacy of it all.

Then his voice, low in a whisper, broke the silence. “You awake?”

You turned your head slightly, catching his sleepy gaze. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from the pillow. It was so endearingly Logan, so unlike the composed version everyone else saw, that it made your chest ache.

“Yeah,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Logan’s lips twitched into a lazy grin. “Good. Thought I might’ve crushed you in my sleep.”

You snorted softly, your fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “Not even close. Though you do snore.”

“Snore?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Princess, you’re hearing things.”

“Sure,” you teased. “You sounded like a chainsaw. A grumpy one.”

A chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and he tightened his arm around your waist slightly. “Guess I was too comfortable. Not used to sleeping next to someone who doesn’t wake me up kickin’ in their sleep.”

“Don’t test me,” you said with a mock glare, but your smile betrayed you.

His grin widened as he propped himself up on his elbow. “Noted.”

It was a strange kind of comfort, lying tangled together without the unspoken words or half-faked plans hanging over you. But the comfort didn’t last. The two of you had hardly gotten any words out last night, and reality, as always, had a way of creeping back in.

Logan shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His gaze softened, the usual storminess of his eyes replaced with something warmer, something gentler. “We gotta talk.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. We do.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the words you both needed to say hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Logan broke the silence.

“This whole fake-dating thing,” he started, his voice measured, “I didn’t think much of it at first. Figured it’d be a pain in the ass, but... I don’t know. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling fake.” He paused, his hand brushing yours lightly. “At least for me.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, the weight of his words settling in your chest. “Logan...”

“I know,” he said, cutting you off gently. “I know you were hung up on Remy. And hell, I thought I was hung up on Jean. But the truth is…”

Logan hesitated, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words.

“She was someone I thought I wanted,” he said, his voice quieter now, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. He glanced away for a beat, exhaling softly, before meeting your gaze again. “But... it was never real. Not like this.”

“This?” you asked softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

“This,” he confirmed, his hand finding yours and curling around it. “You. Us.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you found yourself struggling to speak.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to figure it out?” he added, his voice softer now. “How hard it was to just... stand by while you kept lookin’ at him like he was everything?”

Your chest tightened, his words stirring something deep inside you. “I—”

“Don’t,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “Don’t say anything you’re not ready to say. Just... be honest with yourself. With me.”

You bit your lip, your eyes dropping to where his hand rested against your cheek. “I don’t think I love him anymore,” you admitted quietly, your voice trembling with the weight of the words. “I thought I did. For so long, I thought I’d never get over him. But now...” You looked back up at Logan, your eyes meeting his. “I can’t imagine myself without you.”

Logan’s lips quivered into a small, almost disbelieving smile. “Good,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “’Cause you’ve been driving me crazy, darlin’. Watching you smile, hearing you laugh... it’s all I’ve wanted for a while now.”

A small laugh escaped you, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “We’re a mess, aren’t we?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his lips brushing yours lightly. “But I don’t mind. Not with you.”

The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the desperation of the night before. This wasn’t about drowning in the moment. It was about finding something real, something worth holding onto. When it finally broke, your foreheads stayed pressed together, both of you breathing in the shared space.

“So, what now?” you asked softly.

Logan smirked. “Guess we stop pretending.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “You in?”

You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Yeah. I’m in.”

And as his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d already found it.

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Shape of You

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Summary: Commissioned by @zehei. Dabi is a shapeshifter who has spent nearly a decade on the run. Each time he moves it’s to try to find a place for himself and gather the resources he needs to survive and eventually get his revenge on his father. He wears a lot of different faces so he never has to suffer looking at the one he was born with and he certainly wasn’t expecting to be seen as an illusionist by the owner of the Shattered Hand tavern. He thought being clocked as an illusionist wouldn’t be too much of a problem, but unfortunately for him, it turns out that Tomura Shigaraki’s eyes are sharper than he’d thought. 

Contents: Fantasy AU, Changeling!Dabi, magic, size kink, edging, anal sex, oral sex, (brief) spanking, rough sex, tender sex, praise kink, non-human anatomy, multiple orgasms, prostate milking, piercings, vomiting/chronic illness. 

Word Count: 22,785

Music is interspersed with the sounds of conversation at this point in the night. The raucous banter of travelers and the celebration of the work week ending for most has come and gone. Now all that's left are people like him who are looking for work of their own. Dabi is wearing the face of an elf today. His hair is black and drooping down instead of spiked in the style he usually prefers. This body is one of his more regular ones, an elf, the long ears leaving him more room to decorate himself with piercings and an additional two going up either side of his cheeks. His skin is pale but not pasty and he has opted for clothing that will make him look more buttoned-up and polished than he would have picked for himself. The Shattered Hand, so named because the owner's magic is apparently quite destructive if he manages to hold onto something for long enough, takes clientele of all kinds, but Dabi needs a bigger job to make it through the month, and that means that he wants to attract the types who want their business dealt with by a professional. Elves, because of their longevity and ability to shape public perspective around those long lives, are often immediately misconstrued as being wiser than others. He wants someone who will buy into that stereotype and book him for a job because they will believe him when he says he has seventy years of experience in this field even if he only looks to be in his mid-twenties. 

It takes the better part of three hours for him to find the appropriate work that he wanted, but the assassination he's been paid to carry out will be exceedingly simple for someone with his skillset, even if he keeps that tight to his chest. 

When he has his advance and is ready to go back to his current abode for the night, he moves up to the bar to settle his tab. The bartender, he believes, is also the owner of the establishment based on the fact he is wearing black gloves that only cover three of his fingers on each hand. His long white hair is half tied up in a bun, handsome features framed by the fringe that is still falling free, his magic seeming to leave cracks over his eyes and lips where scars mingle with them and dip down his neck to the open collar of his white shirt, a dark leather vest overtop that is secured with thick straps down the front. His build is more than that of someone who might only claim to know arcana, muscle corded along his arms where his sleeves are pushed up. 

"Two gold," The man tells him as he reaches for his coin purse. 

Dabi hesitates, "I only had two drinks." Two cheap pints, he shouldn't be spending more than eight silver. 

"You booked a job in my establishment." The man tells him. "House takes a fee to help keep the guards out of this place so people like you can do your business." He doesn't have eyebrows, the cracks around his eyes seem to have chased away the hair, but Dabi gets the sense that both of them would be up expectantly. 

This is apparently the best place to book his kind of work in the city and Dabi isn't in the position to leave town so soon after arriving, so he huffs softly and hands over the gold. It is barely two percent of the advance that he was given for this job anyway. If that helps to make sure he doesn't get caught and his target doesn't catch wind of his impending end, then that is a fair fee. 

"Thank you." He slides the coins into his pouch, "Tomura Shigaraki. You're new." 

Definitely the owner, "I travel a lot." Dabi says without blinking. "Any other rules I should know about before I keep conducting my business?" 

"Don't bring trouble here and trouble won't find you." Is all the man says, looking him up and down. Dabi doesn't bristle. He's spent all of his adult life being sized up by different criminals. He knows that posturing is simply something that he has to put up with to ensure that he's making the impression that he wants. "Welcome to Zogas, mister..?" 

"Just 'Dabi'." 

"Dabi. Will you be looking for work often?" 

"Will that be a problem?" 

"No, but if you'd like to make a charitable donation to the tavern, I might be inclined to keep my ear to the ground for you." 

"How charitable?" Normally he wouldn't bother. He can make his own connections and find work, but establishing himself in the city as a new person will take time and energy that he just doesn't feel ready to give right now. He hasn't been able to scrape together enough to survive comfortably in months now, and he just wants to be able to get an apartment of his own for a little while instead of camping or living out of hostels the way he has been since he had to leave Threlkell. 

"Ten percent finder's fee on any jobs you book with my referral." 

It's more that Dabi is happy about giving, but if it means that he has more work then it may be worth it. If Shigaraki can't deliver, he can always go elsewhere. "Fine." 

The bartender pours him a fresh pint, "Sit down. I need to know what skills you can offer if I'm going to find jobs that suit your abilities." 

Dabi drops into the seat and asks, "How old are you?" Because he looks young. He can't see the tips of his ears behind his hair, but they're not poking out so that means he definitely isn't a full-blooded elf, though he could be a half-elf he supposes. 

"Twenty. And you?" 

"Two-hundred and twenty-four." 

"No you're not. It's a very good illusion, but elves who are actually that old tend to have vocal tics from their centuries of living." Shigaraki tells him. "Are illusions something that I can rely on you being able to provide your clients?" 

"...Only pertaining to my appearance." He doesn't tell people the type of magic he uses for that. "I'm good with a blade and skilled with pyromancy." 

He sees that spark interest in the other's eyes. "How good?" 

"I could burn every inch of this bar and still have a cold pint sitting right here." He taps the edge of his stein. 

"Well, I think I can work with that. Is this the face that you'll be wearing to do your business with clients?" 

"I'll change it to suit my needs." He says flatly. 

"Then I won't tell them to expect an elf when I have someone to send your way. Will you have any identifying features that I will be able to tell them to look out for?" 

Dabi didn't expect to get clocked as an illusionist so quickly, nor did he expect the other man to be so nonchalant about it. Normally he hides his abilities well, trying to ensure that no one knows what he is lest he get run out of another town. Even though it's a useful skill and criminals tend to give more leniency for it because of its usefulness, they also grow wary of it after a bit of time. People don't like to think that he could be anyone around them, paranoia spiking higher and higher until they believe they have to get rid of him to protect themselves. Hopefully he can make enough money while Shigaraki is brokering him some work before that paranoia sets in again. "Tell them I have a lot of facial piercings." He usually doesn't feel quite like himself unless he has some kind of them on his person, so he supposes that will be as good a marker as any. 

"Alright. And how long do you think you'll be in town for?" 

"As long as I can find work." 

"Well then, I better find you plenty." 

"Why? That desperate for your finder's fee? Seems like this place is already doing well enough." 

"No, I just want to see more of you. Maybe if you hang around here long enough," the other man gives him a slow, easy smile, "I'll get to see what you really look like." 

Dabi snorts. He hasn't shown anyone that in eight years. "Don't count on that." He tells the other, finishing the drink. 

"A man can hope. How old are you actually?"  

He pushes up from the bar and turns to leave, "Twenty-four." 

"Human then?" 

Dabi doesn't deign to answer. Curious is better than paranoid. Maybe he can keep Shigaraki on the hook long enough to actually save up his money for a while. Maybe he can get enough to move elsewhere and live comfortably for a little while. It would be a nice change of pace. Maybe this could be a place he comes back for work when he needs it instead of one of nearly two dozen cities he knows he can never walk again without fearing someone will step behind him and slip a knife between his ribs. 

///

Dabi has a variety of faces he keeps to during his daily life. His white-haired elf, a black haired Sanguine-born with blue horns, a cat-kin with big blue eyes and sooty salt and pepper fur, a rabbit-kin with dense white fur that makes him look soft and small, a blue-scaled dragon-kin with jewelry hanging off of the holes he's had carved into his horns-- but the one that he only wears while he's working is that of an elemental-born. His skin is black cracked lava rock, those portions of his body always shifting as the blue fire flows beneath the surface and erupts like a candle flame from the top of his head. He doesn't want anyone who might see him to actually place him as a person, and this more extreme elemental-born appearance makes him look like a will-o'-wisp or a summoned fire elemental from a distance. He would rather people think he's conjuring spirits or elementals for his jobs, that means they will be looking for signatures of conjuration instead of evocation magic. 

He takes care of the first job that he booked at the Shattered Hand, making sure to execute it perfectly. He receives the rest of his pay for the work, and it's a relief that within the next few days, other people start looking to book him as well. Zogas is a major city with a population in the hundreds of thousands-- but it is a waypoint. The coast is another half a day's travel and the next major port city three. This is the only city on the main road between the capital and that port, forcing most people to pass through it as they go on their way to bigger things in this country or as they are trying to flee for the open sea, hoping to send someone to cut off anyone who might be pursuing them. It makes for a lot of people and a lot of changing faces that have nothing to do with his abilities, but that makes it so much easier for him to find work without anyone seeming to notice that he's the same person unless one of his specific personas is asked after 

Tomura Shigaraki asks after him each time he comes into his establishment though. The human isn't always working at the bar. Some nights, when he seems to have enough staff on hand to take care of whatever he needs them to,  he will mingle with the people there. Sometimes Dabi sees him holding court in the back of the bar and he'll leave surreptitiously and return in his rabbit-kin form so he can hear what he's saying from across the room. He seems to be as composed as he is doing business with others as he was speaking to him. There is a strangeness to some of the things he says, things that tell Dabi that he has learned to socialize from holding this post rather than creating this bar because he had the connections and enjoyed the work first. He also must be highly educated, though he can't tell if he's a scholar, healer, or some other combination of mage and warrior. All he knows is that the other can't be a witch like him without the metal sunk into his skin to keep his magic grounded. He's a strange man, but one who is clearly well-loved by the criminals he surrounds himself with. When he isn't working, his table is open for people to come and play games at and the other man doesn't seem to have a gambling problem, never betting anything that he can't do without, but he does love the games. He will play, and he plays such a wide variety of games that it doesn't surprise Dabi that he is often teaching people the rules of games from different prefectures or different countries entirely, able to go behind the bar and bring out game pieces, cards, and boards whenever anyone expresses an interest in learning.

Dabi doesn't think he's done that while he's hanging around the bar not doing much that night. No new contracts came his way and no one seemed to be looking to do business with him. But Shigaraki comes over to the table he's been haunting for an hour or so and sits down. Dabi is wearing his Sanguine-born appearance today, dark hair, bright eyes, blue horns, and a thin blue tail with a spade at the end, but the metal in his skin still a clear indicator to the other man of who he is. 

"Do you know how to play Visitor's Rumors?" The human asks as he approaches the table. His hair is half tied back again today, but he's wearing his long-sleeved white tunic underneath a deep red coat that, from the way the scales seem to shimmer with an internal glow, tell Dabi that it is made of actual red dragon scales. He seems so young, but maybe he was a successful adventurer before he settled down in this life. Or maybe he just has the money to buy expensive things. Must be nice. 

"No, and I'm not looking to give you even more money losing at gambling with you as I learn." 

"Visitor's Rumors isn't played by betting money." Shigaraki slips into the chair across from him. "It's a game of deception and the winner of each round is able to ask the other person a question and, ideally, get an honest answer from the person they're playing with. It's a popular game in Sostra." Dabi snorts and that gets the other man to smile a bit. The collection of islands that make up Sostra are well-known to be pirate and crime infested because the territory has been caught in skirmishes between countries and trade routes dozens of times throughout the past three centuries. Without a stable government able to control what happens there, between those skirmishes, pirates swooped in and carved up territories there for themselves. It's no surprise that Sostra would create a game like this, not when it's a common refrain that only honest men hang on those islands. "I would love to get to know you a little more." 

Dabi doesn't usually let people get that close to him, but right now Shigaraki has the power to bring him more work, and that could be worth the minor annoyance of spilling some harmless truths about himself. "If you ask me something I don't want to answer, I'm not going to." 

"That's fair. I hope you'll extend me the same courtesy." Shigaraki says with a smile as he passes Dabi a wooden cup with a collection of dice inside. 

///

The game itself isn't that different from Ship, Captain, Crew with the two of them apparently supposed to be doing all their lying around the dice throws and open themselves for honesty at the end of the rounds, the winner of each asking their question and their bets being for topics rather than coin. Shigaraki lets him start first with that, and Dabi would like to avoid the other man going for his throat so he starts with innocuous things. When was the Shattered Hand founded? Does Shigaraki have a favorite drink served at the bar? If he had to be trapped in a caravan with one of his employees which one would he rather it be? Simple things that the other answers very straight-forwardly. The tavern has existed for twenty years, but he only bought it and renamed it about three years ago after his father passed away and he wanted a fresh start with his inheritance. He prefers a mid-tier scotch but he usually says something a little more expensive because if he vouches for it, it sells better. His best friend, a green dragon-kin man, works in the kitchen and he has happily taken trips with him out of town when they have to go talk to the tavern's suppliers in person. He is also a big fan of collecting different games from anywhere he travels and the two of them are quite close. Shigaraki tells him these things with that easy smile as they play a few rounds and Dabi gets the hang of it. 

He was expecting the hustle when all of the sudden he finds himself losing, and losing badly as their play continues. Shigaraki starts off with easy questions too; how long is he planning on staying in town? How did he get into this line of work? Is he a witch and, if so, what kind of magic is he a practitioner of. He answers those vaguely, but honestly. He is here for as long as the work is good. He didn't have any other pursuits when he reached adulthood and fell into this to make ends meet like so many others. He is a witch and he practices all kinds of magic. And then Shigaraki starts asking harder questions. "Where are you from?" 

"No." 

"Alright. Are you actually human?" 

"I'm not answering questions about my race." 

"Why not?" 

"Why does it matter?" 

"I would like to get to know you. Faux pas between races can vary wildly. I'd prefer not to offend." 

Dabi snorts slightly. He has no idea how in-depth those can be for his kin. "Treat me like you would any other stranger. I don't care. As long as you're bringing me drinks or finding me work, it doesn't matter." 

"Do any of the forms you take look anything like your real body?"

Dabi considers that question for a long moment, but he has already admitted to being a witch, it tells him nothing to acknowledge, "I always have iron in my skin." Shigaraki doesn't look impressed by that, knowing it gives him nothing he couldn't have extrapolated for himself. Dabi balances a die on top of another. "...I usually maintain my height. It makes fighting easier." 

Satisfied he's finally gotten a real answer for this round, Shigaraki picks up his cup and puts his dice back into it and they both shake and roll their dice. They play another four rounds, Dabi just barely letting the other man have any knowledge about who he is before he clams up. He doesn't think that anyone he used to know will find him here, but he doesn't want to tempt fate either. He wants to stay here long enough to earn the money he needs to disappear again. Maybe go to port and cross the sea to a new land to make certain that his father won't ever see him coming before he returns to kill him. 

He thinks, maybe, it's how completely he's been dodging the other man's questions that makes it such a sharp surprise when Shigaraki decides to stop trying to ask him things that one might to get to know someone new, to asking if, "Are you interested in men?" 

Dabi fumbles his dice, his tail flicking, and his face going hot. "Wh-- What?" There aren't that many people left in the bar anymore. Just the bartender, a few stragglers being shooed outside, and one of the servers who is wiping down tables, so it's not like he could have misheard him. But Dabi thinks he must have. 

Shigaraki's eyes are crinkled with mirth as he asks again, "Are you interested in men? Ideally sexually, but romantically as well would be a bonus." When Dabi can't get his brain rebooted enough to actually find his words after a minute, Shigaraki rests his elbow against the table and his cheek against his knuckles, still smiling at him. "See? If I had known your race, I would have known how direct I could be with that question without offending." 

Dabi wants to protest that, but unfortunately he's right. Even though so many of the races intermingle here, each one has their own culture around courtships of any kind. If he were really an elf, he would likely have been highly offended to be propositioned if it wasn't a celestial event like a full or new moon, equinox, solstice, or eclipse. If he were a dragon-kin then he probably would have thrown his drink in his face if he had tried without offering him a piece of jewelry or other form of tribute. Being propositioned like this is still an insult to his race, but Dabi has spent a very, very long time fighting every part of what he is, so he avoids giving him that kind of reaction. 

"You're the one who controls how much work gets sent my way, there isn't a direct or indirect manner in which you could ask this and not make it slightly offensive." Dabi tells the other man as dryly as he can. 

Shigaraki's smile finally falls and it leaves him looking as serious as he had when he overheard him discussing a potential reform of the guard that would have put his interests at risk. "I was hoping that what you've observed of my character when you've been eavesdropping on me would have assuaged some of those concerns. You're welcome to tell me 'no', for this, for any job that I offer you that you don't want, without fear of retaliation. The only thing that could cause me to hurt you is if you ask for it very sweetly and we discuss your limits first, or if you do something to put my business here at risk." 

Dabi eyes him. He doesn't really know Shigaraki that well and isn't entirely sure how much he can trust the other man's words. But it has been a while, he is attractive, and Dabi thinks that the reputation he's started to make for his various forms will be enough for him to try and get work in other venues around the city if this one becomes a problem. "I can be whatever you want-- as long as you don't want a woman." He can be if he needs to, plenty of his race switch their genders and sex as fluidly as they do their forms, but that doesn't feel right for him when he tries it. He thinks that if he were forced to try to maintain that while trying to have sex, he would probably not be able to enjoy a single second of it. 

"I just want you." 

"Boring." Dabi tells him dryly. "Don't tell me a guy who starts with asking about safe words is going to be so bland in bed." 

Shigaraki's eyes are bright again, amused, full of challenge, as he stands up from the table, letting Dabi follow his lead. "I'll need to know those safe words before we get adventurous." 

"'Stop' means 'stop', 'slow down' means 'slow down', 'harder'," Dabi intones dryly, "means 'fuck me better or I'm gonna tell the whole world your dick is awful'." 

"You won't have to ask for it harder, pretty boy." He offers a hand to help Dabi up from the booth, and instead Dabi makes sure that he's finished his drink before pushing up from the table himself. Shigaraki is pretty and he is interested enough to actually go through with this. But he's not the one who went asking for it. He's sure that the other man has had people kissing his ass for years now, he isn't going to simper for him in bed just because he's the one sending work his way. 

The bartender doesn't seem to mind the attitude at all, and brings him up the side staircase. Dabi knows that the other side of the building has the small inn that's attached to it, but to his understanding, all of the rooms for public rent are over there. Which must make this the other man's apartment that is housed over the bar. Shigaraki doesn't even have to unlock the door when he goes into the room, clearly feeling secure enough, even running a bar full of criminals, to not feel the need to guard his space. The apartment itself is fairly bare bones. They enter a room with a small table set up to one side where the other man can take his meals, the kitchen off to the other side, and a short hallway opposite the front door that appears to have three doors. Shigaraki lets him inside and shuts the door behind him, opening his mouth like he is going to offer him a drink, say something about the barren emptiness of his space even though he's been here for years, and Dabi doesn't really care about making small talk. If he's going to get fucked, he would rather get started now and figure out if this is worth his time or if he's going to be getting out of here before his skin is sticky with cum. 

So he curls his tail around Shigaraki's ankle and starts to move it up higher as he moves in closer. "You're sure you don't want something else?" He asks on a purr. Some people don't want to take Sanguine-born people to bed, worried that they'll damn themselves to the lake of blood if they associate with the devil-blooded folk. Some people just worry about getting gored on horns and rended with claws and fangs. But Shigaraki doesn't look cowed at all as Dabi rests his clawed hand over his chest. He definitely feels as muscled as he expected from the cut of his clothes, though his skin has a natural chill to it. Hmm, he does use magic. Maybe elemental like himself? Ice? Or, he supposes as his tail moves up to his thigh, it could be necromantic. He certainly is as pale as a corpse, though the strong heartbeat under his palm at least tells him that he's not a vampire or something. 

Shigaraki curls his hands around Dabi's hips and pulls him closer. "I want whatever makes you the most comfortable, Dabi." He reiterates. "All that matters to me is that you're able to enjoy this as much as I'm going to enjoy having you." 

"How many times has a cheesy fucking line like that actually worked?" 

"As long as I mean it? Every time, though normally I'm not contending with a mysterious shape-shifter who can't answer a direct question to save his life." 

Dabi wants to retort but Shigaraki brushes their noses together, giving him the option of mouthing off or actually getting this started. He wants to get onto the parts about this that he's hoping feel good, so he gives up having the final word at this moment and presses his lips to the other's. Shigaraki doesn't rush the kiss, but he does shift Dabi's body, turning them and backing him up against the door so he knows that the human is in charge right now. He isn't going to complain. He wasn't looking for this when he decided to come out tonight, so if he can just let the other have his way with him while he leans back and enjoys the ride, then that would be a pretty good way to end this encounter. 

Lips moving against each other doesn't immediately tell him that this is going to be completely worth his time, but at least the kiss isn't bad. His mouth has to warm Shigaraki's as it moves against him, his lips chapped and broken with the strange texture that covers them and sits around his eyes. Dabi doesn't know what that is and he doesn't want to ask. If he starts asking questions about things like that, then that could spell the end of whatever this entanglement is as the other man might want him to reciprocate by telling him more about his own body. What matters now, anyway, is that Shigaraki's tongue is slick and cool as it teases along the seam of his lips, and that when he lets him inside, it only takes a few seconds for him to be sighing softly. The tension leaves his body a little more because Shigaraki's mouth tastes like the drinks they've been sharing and his tongue knows how to curl against his own to make the kiss hotter and start to stir pleasure in his veins. He moves his tail up to feel along his crotch, wanting to tell the other that he isn't going to need too much to warm up. He doesn't like to go slowly when he hooks up with people. Normally, he doesn't have any trouble holding any form that he takes, but when he goes slowly and lets himself soak in the pleasure of what's happening to his body, it gets harder. His skin sometimes starts to blotch with white and purple, his eyes flicker, and Shigaraki is already so curious about what exactly he is that Dabi doesn't want to invite more scrutiny by going slowly and giving him more opportunities for the other man to see anything that he's been trying to hide. 

It just so happens that as his tail presses against the front of the human's pants, that Dabi forgets that he has a very good reason for wanting to move quickly that is grounded in logic, because it is all lust that floods it away as he feels the shape of the other man against his tail. He's not hard yet, but he's solid. Thick, long, tucked into his pants comfortably, but now that his tail is pressed against him, he can feel the shape of his cock and he knows, before he's gotten his pants open, that he is big. Dabi presses himself more tightly against his front, his hand going down Shigaraki's chest to try and confirm what he felt with his tail. He loves getting fucked on big cocks. It's not something that he gets as often as he wishes he would, but it is a delight whenever it happens. Nothing feels better than to be so stretched open that he can hardly breathe. It's grounding in the same way the iron pierced through his skin tethers his magic together. 

Shigaraki catches his wrist though and stops him, parting their lips for long enough to chuckle, "Slow down, pretty boy. We have all night." 

"Who said I was staying the night?" Dabi's mouth runs before he can even consider it a bad idea. He might if Shigaraki is as big as he felt and can get it up enough to give him a few rounds of being fucked full. But he can't resist the urge to be contrary. Shigaraki doesn't seem to mind that though, still seeming amused before he's got his mouth back on Dabi's and a hand around his wrists. He holds them both tightly and pins them to the door above Dabi's head and that puts a pulse of heat through him as well. It's been a while since anyone tried to dominate him. He isn't incredibly tall or masculine in any of his forms, just averagely so, but especially in his dragon-kin, sanguine-born, and human forms, people tend to see the metal pierced through nearly every inch of his skin and think that he must be the kind who wants to take them apart. He'll do that, not a problem really, but he never has to worry about his form slipping when he does that because it never feels as good as it does when he lets someone else take him apart instead. He moans softly into the other's mouth as he's caged against the door, his tail moving up to Shigaraki's waist and tightening, doing his best to pull him into his body so he can get more of him. 

"Stay," Shigaraki murmurs as his mouth moves from his so he can nip along his jaw. "So I can make sure that every inch of you is feeling good before you go." 

Hard to argue with that but Dabi probably would have tried to find a way if he weren't biting his lip to keep the immediate sound of his need from slipping out when Shigaraki's teeth are moving along his neck, licking and sucking at his skin with the determination of leaving a mark. Dabi doesn't let him. He makes his skin go from pink to unblemished right before his eyes. He watches the other's eyes light up with challenge, and he's very glad to see that means whatever intentions he had of going so slowly and being so doting seem to be thrown away. Dabi doesn't need slow and doting. If he's going to have a good time tonight, he wants to do it by being absolutely wrecked on the other's cock. 

Shigaraki's teeth bite harder, his other hand moving over Dabi's body, feeling the many bumps of metal through his clothes, and finding the man straps, buckles, and belts that Dabi is wearing today. Long leather coat that he has to let go of his wrists to make him shed to the floor. Dabi uses the opportunity to try and move away from the door, and Shigaraki lets him dance out of his reach once before he catches him by one of the straps of his leather vest and pulls him back in for another searing kiss as he starts to work those open to make him shrug it off. He keeps trying to move away, but Shigaraki seems to be happy to play this game with him. He pulls him back in, pulls at his clothes roughly so that his dagger is falling from his thigh and thudding heavily against the floor. The tie of his shirt is pulled roughly until it's open and falling off of his shoulders, but he can't take it off of him because Dabi moves each time he tries to get his wrists. Shigaraki nearly growls at him over that, settling for shoving a hand underneath the fabric instead and finding the piercing set into his sternum and the ones through his nipples, teasing those roughly as he traps Dabi's hips against his kitchen counter with his own. The rough touches are heating his blood far more quickly than the softer ones were. His tail shoves itself into Shigaraki's belt in turn, pulling the strap loose, but he has to use his hands to fumble to actually get the buckle open.

He can't help moaning loudly when he has Shigaraki's mouth moving down across his collar bone so he can replace the fingers on his nipple with his lips and tongue. He gets the belt open and goes straight for the ties on Shigaraki's pants. He's allowed to, allowed to make himself breathless with his want when he feels that the other is half hard now and that he really is as big as he thought he would be when he first reached for him. 

"Fuck me," he demands immediately as he palms his length through his undergarments. 

"So impatient, baby." Shigaraki's voice is amused and warm as he nips at his skin. "Spend the night." His breath is just barely warm as he runs his nose up the side of his neck so he can nibble along the shell of his ear. 

"Show me you're worth losing sleep over." 

It earns him another laugh and hands moving to the laces of his pants. He pulls them open and Dabi lets the other man lift him onto the counter, sitting on the edge as he kicks his boots off and lets the human pull his pants down his thighs, exposing his half-hard cock to the cool air. Shigaraki sees the line of piercing along the underside of his cock and huffs another laugh. "Even here?" 

"Magic has to be grounded everywhere." For people like him. For people who want it so badly and can't get it through prayer, study, or natural talent. They have to forcibly open their magic channels and then keep them open and grounded with the iron in their bodies. 

Shig hums in the back of his throat and strokes his hand along his cock and Dabi is very glad that he doesn't seem all that interested in making any other small talk about that. Instead he seems to be trying to find out if those piercings make him more or less sensitive and Dabi is showing him the answer as he rapidly hardens the rest of the way in his hand. He hisses out a spell, short and a low-level conjuration, that has oil pooling on the other's palm so that the next touch has his toes curling as it slides smoothly over him. 

"What a good boy," Shigaraki teases him as he keeps moving his hand over him, lips trailing over his skin. "Lean back, baby. Going to give you what you want. Make you crave getting into my bed." 

Dabi opens his mouth to take another shot at his ego, aiming to get those hands on him more roughly again, but when he doesn't comply immediately, Shigaraki is pushing him back with his other hand, his wrist twisting around his head on the upstroke, and taking his breath away as his back hits the counter and his hips are dragged forward so his lower body is hanging off of the surface. Shigaraki shrugs out of his red coat, letting the expensive fabric fall to the floor like it's worthless, and losing his shirt in a similar fashion before he's moving back between Dabi's legs. He wraps them over the other's hips. At this angle, his tail can't press up along his back to make him open for his partner's cock, so instead it flicks out and grabs hold of his thigh, trying to pull him in tighter so he can get him inside as quickly as possible and make sure he stays there until he feels like he's been bred full. 

Shigaraki's hand moves from his cock over his balls, cupping and stroking there too which has him moaning, his cock drooling pre against his stomach and the muscles in his thighs jumping, as his other hand pushes Dabi's shirt up under his arms so he can dip his head to lavish his chest with more attention. But his hand doesn't linger there long either, trailing lower to find his hole and whispering that same spell against his skin to bring more oil to his palm so he can slick his skin as his fingers trail around the tight ring of muscles there. Normally Dabi doesn't take very much prep. He prefers to have his partners fuck into him slowly enough to make him stretch on their cocks alone, but it has been a while and if Shigaraki is as big as he thinks he is, then he probably needs a little prep first this time. He still shows how impatient he is for more, though, as he immediately tries to rub against his fingers, rocking against them and tangling his fingers in Shigaraki's hair as he pulls him up for another kiss. The tie slips free from his hair and curtains them in as the other man pushes his first finger inside as their mouths meet again. 

The probing touches inside of him feel so good, putting more of that sweet, sickening heat in his veins, the piercings on his skin going a little hotter as they try to keep his magic in check as he gets more worked up. The oil wets his walls as Shigaraki strokes inside of him with a practiced ease that tells Dabi that he's definitely had plenty of other people up here and pinned just the same way. Good, maybe that means that he'll actually be worth it when he finally gets inside. But he doesn't want to wait for that, and he has sharp teeth and talons that he uses to prick at Shigaraki's skin as he hisses, 

"Hurry up." 

"I'm going to have to teach you some patience, baby boy." He reprimands him by shoving another finger inside and crooking them roughly up against his prostate as his other hand goes to the base of Dabi's tail and he presses his thumb against the underside where it connects to his spine. The pressure there sends stars exploding across his vision as a loud moan tears out of his chest, his cock aching from how hard he finds himself from the sensation of that pressure. He doesn't normally have people touch his tail when he's like this, but Shigaraki's hand fists around the part as close to his spine as possible and he starts to move his hand over him like he's stroking his cock, and it feels almost as good. The pressure around that appendage, so close to his hole, that it's tightening his muscles and making him feel even fuller even just on his fingers. "But not tonight. Tonight I'm going to show you why I'll make it worth the wait next time." 

"'Next time'? Getting awfully full of yourself." 

But Shigaraki just smiles and presses against his sweet spot as he strokes the base of his tail again and Dabi is losing any other snarky comments on a moan. 

It doesn't take much longer for Dabi's sharp claws to catch on the other's wrist to force his fingers out. He doesn't want to be fully stretched open. He wants to feel every inch of how big Shigaraki is as he fucks him open. The other lets go of him and takes his fingers out for long enough to pull himself free from his pants and Dabi chitters, a sound that is entirely Sanguine as he spreads his legs wider because Shigaraki is absolutely huge and he wants nothing more than to have him inside. He barely wants to wait for the human to slick his cock with oil, his tail almost a vice around his thigh with how hard he's trying to pull him back in. When his blunt head rubs over his hole, he goes completely breathless with how thick he feels even just giving him the tease of being inside. 

The second that Shigaraki starts to stretch him open so wide on his cock, Dabi knows that he's going to be trying to celebrate every good job with his cock sunk inside of him like this. Dabi thinks that Shigaraki might be the biggest he's ever had and the purrs that start to leave his throat involuntarily are from the race he's wearing now. He can't help it though. It feels so good to be stretched so wide. He is nearly limp against the counter, his body trembling slightly from how much his nerves are making this feel like. He isn't sure how he's going to keep it together when the other man starts to thrust, already having to fumble for his control over this form just from how very full he is. 

When Shigaraki draws his hips back just enough to rock into him slowly, Dabi has to choke out, "Wait--" as the pleasure wracks through him. 

He stills immediately, "What's wrong, baby? Too much?" 

It is, but that's not his gripe. He wants more, still wants it hard, but he can't have it like this. At least he already has black hair right now. He can let that part of his illusion slip, can let his eyes go white, can let his fangs recede so all he has to focus on maintaining is his tail, horns, and healthy skin color-- but not in this position. "On my stomach?" He begs. He needs that if he's going to be able to let himself enjoy this when his whole body feels like it's about to shatter apart. 

Shigaraki's expression warms from the worry that was pressing in at the edges before and he leans down to give Dabi another soft kiss. "Okay, baby boy, whatever makes you more comfortable." He pulls out and Dabi forces his tail to let go of his leg so he can turn over, fingers gripping the edge of the counter and holding on tight as his tail curves up along his spine and he spreads his legs wide, his toes just brushing the floor. Shigaraki doesn't waste time then, sinking back into his body and Dabi loses control over his teeth and eyes as he moans so loudly as he's filled again. 

"Hard," he demands, his voice already thready just from the pressure inside of him and from his own cock being pressed against the countertop. 

"Demanding, " the reprimand is light, but the hand that comes down against his ass isn't. The sound of flesh against flesh rings through the air before Dabi feels the sting of it and humiliates himself by not only clenching down on his cock harder, but moaning even louder as his hips jump back to get more. Shigaraki doesn't hit him again, but he does give him more. He rolls his hips again and fists his hand around the base of Dabi's tail. Dabi loses his claws. It's just his blunt natural nails biting into the edge of the counter as the other man draws his hips back and fucks him so full that he sees stars. 

///

He still managed not to stay the whole night. Shigaraki fucked him on the counter and when he had rolled him over at the end of the first round, Dabi had to shift to a human too so that he wouldn't have to focus on the extra appendages that had been distracting him before. The other man hadn't seemed bothered by that at all and had just picked him up and carried him into the bedroom, putting him down on his plush mattress and had moved down his body to swallow his cock until he was ready to fill his hole again. 

Dabi might have passed out after his third orgasm, but he needs far less sleep than a human does, and he'd been able to slip out of the bed after a few hours, gathered his clothes, and head out. He almost wishes that he'd chanced bathing at Shigaraki's place because his own cheap apartment only has about five minutes worth of hot water. Still. It was a better fuck than he was expecting, and the next time he goes to the bar to do business, Shigaraki doesn't treat him any differently. None of the contacts he speaks to treat him strangely either, which Dabi hopes means that they haven't heard that he fucked the kingpin. 

When he's flush with cash from his next job, he buys a bottle of the scotch Shigaraki said was actually his favorite and waits for a lull in the crowd before he catches the bartender's eye and moves towards that back stairwell that leads up to his apartment. Shig's eyes are hot on him as he turns to say something to his staff before waving him on. Dabi has only just managed to find what cabinet he keeps his glasses in before Shigaraki enters the apartment and pulls him in for a kiss. 

///

Things have been so good in Zogas that it really shouldn't surprise him when one day he wakes up and it's bad again. Dabi barely manages to roll over before he is vomiting out a stream of bile, blood, and the remnants of his meal from the night before. Fuck. He can't keep his shape and Dabi watches his skin bleed the mottled purple of his burns all along it that he wishes he didn't have to see. He stumbles up out of bed, the apartment thankfully so small that he doesn't have to go far before he can get to the kitchen cabinet. He wasn't able to buy much honey, being worried that someone would see him getting a fair amount of it and put together too much about the strange witch that rolled into town, but he does have a jar. He doesn't have an enchanted ice box in this apartment though, so he doesn't keep any milk on hand. That would sustain him more than just the honey and figs that he does have, but he hopes some of the heavy, creamy cheese he'd splurged on will help as well. 

He cuts open the rind on the cheese and splits the figs down the center before upending the honey on all of it. He doesn't want to eat after just being so sick, but he will have to if he doesn't want it to get any worse. So he starts to shove the food into his mouth, the sweetness and richness filling him and making it easier for him to breathe past the agony that is screaming through his skin at every single point of connection in his body. It's been so long since he's felt this terribly, but he's been using his magic more than he's had to in months of travel and work. It's really no surprise. Iron is poisonous to fey after all. 

///

It takes hours after his meal for him to feel slightly better and when he is, he has to clean up the sick on the floor by hand to avoid chancing hurting himself by pushing his magic right now. He cleans up and then goes and takes a freezing shower, actually enjoying the chill when he feels like each piercing is a brand that is trying to further mar his skin. Dabi lets the water rush over him and does his best not to curse the life he was given. No use in doing that. All he needs is to work towards strengthening his body enough to withstand the magic he'll need to curse Enji's. 

He wonders sometimes, who the fey who sired him really was. Why his mother was so desperate to stay married to a man like Enji Todoroki that she went to a faerie ring and struck a deal with the one who granted her wish. She and Enji were married three years before he was born and she hadn't been able to have a child. So she found a fey who said he would give her the ability if she carried his first. Dabi thinks his mother might be the only woman in the world to have willingly carried a changeling to term without even a thread of deception in the mix. Probably the last too, because the stress of seeing him when he was born, too soon for a human pregnancy, his skin white as paper and eyes just as stark, had frightened her. When she had tried to nurse him he would sink his inhuman needle-like baby teeth into her skin and suck out blood and milk until she started to put honey on her skin instead. That had made him start to look more human most of the time, and when Enji came back from his duties as a warrior, she had presented him with his premature son. It was instinctive and not something he'd had any control over, but Dabi had immediately taken on his 'father's' features to ensure he wasn't rejected. Rei was able to have three more children after him, but each pregnancy drained away more and more of her vitality until her skin was nearly as pale as Dabi's was untransformed, and she seemed one strong wind away from snapping. 

Enji was that wind but it was Dabi's fault. He wasn't actually born of the other man, a warrior mage who had command over flames that had not been seen even in great scholars in generations-- but still not as powerful as one of the others in his guild who had been selected as the next head of it. Dabi tried and tried, but the magic that humans wield and the magic that fey do is different. He was a changeling. Illusions and transmutation of his own flesh were easy, but everything else was impossible. He kept pushing, Enji kept pushing. Beat him black and blue, had gone after Fuyumi and Natsuo next, but she only had weak magic, and he'd had the aptitude to be a healer instead of a warrior. Shoto was the only one of them who seemed to have gotten it right, but his birth sapped the last of her strength. She had clawed at her hair, had confessed to him what he was when he kept trying to push his body to do the magic he couldn't over and over again, and he had spit barbs at her, called her a whore that should rot away to nothing for bringing him into this world and letting him be raised with the hope of a future that was being torn away from him. She'd lost her mind after that. Had used her own weaker magic to try and freeze Enji's blue eye out of Shoto's skull and had been sent away. With her gone and Enji still away most days to do his work, and spending the ones he had at home training Shoto, Dabi had been able to comb their home library until he read about witches. 

He knew salt and iron could do damage to fey, but he had hoped that he would be able to endure the iron with the magic that would be forced into his body from the ritual. It took him a year or two after his mother was sent away to get the resources he needed to do the ritual himself, and he had gone to the mountain where his mother had made her deal, hoping to draw on whatever threads of power might linger there, and he had pierced the metal into his skin. He hid those piercings as they healed, though that took such a long time and was agony all throughout it, but when they had, he was able to cast the way Enji had always wanted him to. He was so excited. He made his father come to the mountain and showed him how strong his fire conjuration was now. Enji's expression hadn't lit up, he hadn't told him that he was proud. He looked at him with rage and horror and Dabi only realized as he suddenly collapsed, bloody vomit spilling from his lips, that his skin was paper white again. That at some point as he overexerted himself through the casting, he had shown his father his true form. 

Enji had raged at him, demanding to know what he'd done to his son, and when Dabi choked out that he never had a son before him, he was told that he wasn't any son of his. That he wasn't a Todoroki, that he was nothing but a bastard and he would not care for him any longer. Dabi tried to show him again. He'd tried to tell him that he made himself everything that he could have wanted, but he was left alone on the mountain as his magic thinned and the poison spread through him. He couldn't control the fire enough to put it out and he had burned. 

Dabi thinks, maybe, his biological father had come through from Fayundell and took him out of the flames, because when he woke many years later, it was in a hospital that was half a continent away from the mountain and he was wearing a talisman that kept him in the form of a human for the time it took for him to wake. Large sections of his body were warped with purple burns, but he was alive and he was able to cast still. He had to start smaller, had to start doing things that keep fey healthy instead of doing things that humans and other races need. Milk and honey is practically a healing potion for him. It revitalizes him and staves off the effects of the iron in his skin. Figs, berries, cheese, some mushrooms, bread, all of that helps too. Cured meats can be a special indulgence, but they don't give him nearly as much sustenance as he gets from other things. 

When he gets out of the shower, he realizes it's only barely nine in the morning. He only needs two or three hours of sleep each night, and he must have woken at before four for it to be so early after how long he spent sitting on his kitchen floor feeling so awful after his meal. He needs more fey food. It's agony to get dressed in his leathers. He has iron sunk into his cheeks, chin, tongue, ears, in seven points down his spine, through his nipples, his sternum, over each hip, through his belly button, on the backs of each wrist, and a row of three down the backs of each of his calves. Each one helps to keep the magic he's forced into his body from tearing him into pieces, and they're all too hot and tender from how his fey-born body is trying to reject them. He really doesn't want to go walk to the market when he's gotten dressed, already exhausted again, but he has to.

He goes slowly, but he walks to market and finds a shop that has everything he needs. He buys himself a large sack of flour, yeast, a gallon of milk, a pint of honey, butter, more fruit and cheese, and a few jars of local jams. When the woman at the stall asks him what he's making, he tells her that it's his mother's honey bread recipe. Honey bread is a common staple that he could just buy from a baker, but saying it's his mother's recipe gives him the guise of nostalgia to hide how his purchases give him everything he needs to help him feel better. 

As soon as he's back in the privacy of his home, he pours a full glass of milk and dollops in two hefty spoonfuls of honey. Drinking that down settles away the last of the fatigue and sickness in his stomach and he considers the massive amount of flour that he has now. Bread can help and it will keep longer than the milk will. He might not bake often, but this is something that he can manage. 

///

It takes a few hours for the bread to be done and he ends up making three loaves of it and he still ends up drinking another two cups of the milk and honey to finish off the milk. The overindulgence has made him feel much better though, his clothes no longer a stark and uncomfortable reminder that he is killing himself slowly with every spell that he uses. It doesn't matter. Going that low and recovering each time allows him to call up more and more magic each time afterwards. He just needs to give his magic channels time to adjust to how much use they've gotten over the past few weeks and then he'll be fine. But for the next couple, he needs to slow it down. So he wraps up one of the loaves of bread in a clean towel that he chances a tiny burst of power to enchant to keep it warm and fresh for the walk over, before he heads back out at around three in the afternoon. 

The Shattered hand doesn't actually open until six in the evening, but Dabi goes around to the back entrance and takes the stairs up to Shigaraki's side-door. He knocks lightly, a little worried that a human who keeps the late hours that he does might still be sleeping even though it's well past morning, but there's only a momentary pause before this lock is sliding open and Shigaraki is pulling open the door. He's wearing leather breeches in the same deep red as his favorite coat and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. 

"Dabi," he doesn't sound or look upset by the surprise visit, and before Dabi can open his mouth, he's stepping out of the doorway, opening it wide for him, "Come in." 

He supposes that this is a conversation he would rather have somewhere that no one else will be able to overhear, so he moves into the now-familiar apartment. Shig shuts the door behind him.

"What brings you here so early?" 

"Wanted to talk to you about the jobs you've been sending my way." He says, making his way down the hall past the bedroom and bathroom and into his living area. He absolutely won't be able to hold it together if Shigaraki were to pin him down and fuck him as well as he normally does right now so he doesn't want to give either of them that temptation by staying in the narrow hallway or having this conversation in the bedroom. 

"Have there been any issues?" Shigaraki's voice shifts slightly as he follows after him. It doesn't become hostile, just focused on their work and Dabi appreciates that. No matter how many times he's found his way into Shigaraki's bed, he never slips with his professionalism when Dabi needs to talk business instead of pleasure. 

"No, I like the work, I've been completing my jobs as asked. But I've been taking on a lot of them." He explains. He barely has to lie about this part. Witches can combust if they use their magic too much too quickly, not like scholars or healers who can simply fall into a coma. When a witch pushes too far, they burn, Dabi has done that once-- not that Shigaraki knows that-- and he doesn't want to do it again. "I think for at least the next couple of weeks, I only want to take on one or two of the higher paying jobs. Since you've been screening most of them for me, can you--" 

"Of course." Shigaraki says so easily. "You can make your own schedule and set how much work you want to take, firefly." He's been calling him that more often now, once he caught wind that Dabi really does burn all of his clients' problems to cinders. "I'm just here to help make that easier."

"Good. Consider this a 'thanks' instead of a bribe." He pushes the loaf of bread across the counter to him and prepares to stand. 

"Did you make this?" He isn't expecting Shigaraki's voice to sound so... softly astounded. 

"Yeah? It's no big deal. I ended up having too much milk." An easy lie to keep up so no one wonders about this. 

"I can't cook to save my life." Shigaraki tells him. "It's impressive to me." 

"You have low standards." Dabi tells him. "It's a recipe that's more common up north."

"From your home?" 

He hesitates. It's been months, but he hasn't told Shigaraki almost anything about where he's from or who he was before this. But he supposed that 'north' is thousands of miles of land. It won't give the other man too much to work with if he doesn't tell him anything else. "Yeah. Family recipe." 

"Eat with me?" 

Dabi considers protesting, but Shigaraki turns to his cabinets and takes out some honey before he turns to his ice box and takes out some jam, butter, and an apple. He sets it on the counter with the bread before he retrieves some knives and a plate. It's practically a compulsion to not pass up food when it's been offered to him. Something fey inside that keeps him rooted to his stool. "Okay." 

Shigaraki smiles at him and Dabi takes one of the knives and cuts the bread as Shigaraki cores and slices the apple. He drizzles honey over it and lets Dabi smear butter and even more honey over the slices of bread that he eats. By the time they're finished, Dabi is very glad that he didn't wear the face of the cat-kin or he might have started purring. Shig catches a drop of honey on the plate and lets Dabi lick it off of his finger and his lips are sweet too when they seal over his. It's probably from the overindulgence in fey food and the fact everything but the bread became an offering that Dabi even has the energy to stay human after the other carries him into his bed again. 

///

The next job that he takes is supposed to be a relatively simple one: One of the competitors to a local industrial smith has opened a new factory that has already been getting in trouble for not being safe for workers yet, but the moment it is, the new factory will take over all of the business that the other smiths have been relying on. They might have emptied their savings for this job, but if the factory burns, their competitor won't have the funds either to try this again. Dabi is just supposed to go to the factory at night and set a fire from the inside. The forge is already having problems. The idea of it sending out a stray spark after cooling incorrectly isn't that unlikely. He just has to set a fire. That's easy and his specialty and he isn't worried about doing it. 

Not until he gets there and breaks in to find that the bastard hired security to make sure that something like this doesn't happen. Dabi doesn't usually have a problem killing people, but he doesn't necessarily want the scrutiny that this job will get him if it comes up with a body count. So he has to be very strategic with how he starts the fires to make them believable and make it so that he doesn't get caught. That takes much greater command of his magic than his fire usually does, and as he's crouched between machines, disguised as a cat-kin for his darker fur and sharper ears, he is desperately trying to bring the embers in the forge back to life without letting the flames creep blue. It takes so long to manage, and when he does, he is trembling from the overexertion and there is sweat on the beans across the palms of his hands. But the forge relights, and then it's a much easier manner of putting a container of machine oil in the way of one of the guards who calls out about it and rushes over to try to figure out how to put out the flames. He stumbles over the container and sends its contents spilling across the floor and Dabi lets a spark jump from the forge. The man all but skitters back as the flames lick over the floor quickly and decisively, others calling out to make sure that the other is alright and to try to coordinate efforts to put the flames out. But Dabi keeps the fire spreading, a little faster than it should, the smoke starting to fill the area thick and black as chemicals burn too. 

It's not long before they are all fleeing, deciding their lives are more important than their jobs. Dabi stays for a bit longer though, turning into his elemental-born form to ensure the fire won't be able to lick at his skin, before he makes sure to bring the flames hotter and hotter, ensuring the metal of every machine is badly warped and that there will be nothing salvageable of even the foundations of this building. He's still ensuring that when all of the sudden, pain spikes through his body again and he's doubling over, lava spilling past his lips and dimming the fire beneath his skin as his magic subjects him to a burning that he can't make himself impervious to. Fuck. Too much magic, too much focus. He needs to get out of here. 

He flows through the fire and smoke and slips out into the night, hearing people calling for casters and anyone who can carry a bucket to try to put out the flames before they can spread to the other buildings. Dabi gets far enough away to stumble into an alley to change to his human form before he starts to walk deeper into the city. He needs his pay for this job and then he needs a week of rest. 

He goes straight towards the Shattered Hand, but he doesn't bother to enter the brightly lit tavern. He is weak and exhausted, something that even his human visage won't be able to hide, and he doesn't want anyone to see how much that took out of him and start to believe that he can't be trusted to handle work like this. He needs more work like this to get the money he needs to grow his funds, he just needs to space out the jobs. Dabi goes up the back staircase and digs out the lockpicking kit that he hasn't had to make use of in nearly four years. But Shigaraki's door is warded, of course it is, against using spellwork to unlock it. He isn't surprised that it also shimmers when he manages to pick the lock and push it open, a silent alarm that the bartender will hear in the back of his mind and will alert him that someone is in his space. That's fine. He can apologize for entering the apartment unannounced when he comes upstairs. 

Dabi's legs feel weak and he pulls the door shut before he lets himself slide down it, sitting on the other's floor so he can try to catch his breath and stop trembling from the overexertion of his muscles and magic. He isn't in danger of burning himself up right now, but he is absolutely not going to have a good time if he doesn't feed his real body again soon. 

Maybe he's more out of it than he thought he was, because the next thing he knows, Shigaraki is kneeling in front of him, bringing a cup to his lips. Dabi means to push it away, not wanting water or any liquor, but he smells the honey a second later and lets out a soft sound of surprise before he's getting his hand around the cup and greedily drinking down the mixture of milk and honey. There's too much honey in it, but Dabi can't complain. For one blissful moment, all he knows is that his body is getting what it needs to feel better. And then the cup is empty and he's gasping for breath as his mind catches back up to him. As he looks up and sees red eyes staring back unwaveringly and he realizes that the human knows. 

Dabi waits for the punch. Waits to have salt and iron shavings poured over his skin, waits to be threatened, to be hurt, for the human to demand a deal with him that he can't give, but Shigaraki's hand just comes up to his cheek and he strokes his thumb very gently around the piercing sunk into his cheek to check their temperature. "Do you need more? I've been keeping it on hand since you visited last. I have some figs and cheese too." 

The terror of discovery has closed up his throat so completely that Dabi is surprised that breath can make it into his lungs. It's really no wonder that words can't make it out. When he doesn't say anything, when the human must be able to see every fearful shadow that is dancing over his features and behind his eyes, his eyes soften and he gives him a soft, tentative smile. 

"Stay here. I have an offering for you." He says. Shigaraki takes the cup and stands, and Dabi tries to get his legs under him. He needs to leave. He has to get back to his apartment and get what he can, get out of town on what little he's managed to save up because if he doesn't now, he's not going to take anything with him when Shigaraki sends people after him or lets it slip that a Changeling has come into Zogas. People are too afraid of him. Husbands and wives terrified that he'll slip into their homes and take their children to replace them with ones of his own. Workers and bosses afraid that he'll become them and sneak into businesses to rob them blind. Even if he hadn't been the cause of the fire tonight, Dabi knows that would still be blamed on him. All bad things, every fight that anyone has gotten into with a loved one since he arrived, he will be blamed for it all and they'll come after him with pitchforks and torches and the city guards will come after him with loaded crossbows, darts soaked in saltwater, and iron blades so they'll know every cut they land on him will poison him more and more until they've weakened him enough to pin him down and cut his head from his neck. He won't be given a trial. He won't be arrested. Fey are too wild and too dangerous. He will be killed for the crime of existing--

Dabi pushes himself up and fumbles for the doorknob, but as soon as it opens, he hears Shigaraki's voice and the spell slams it shut again, locking it in place as the other man comes back down the hall with a bowl of the fruit and another glass of the milk and honey. "Please," he begs immediately, his chest aching so sharply. He's had to run so many times before, but this hurts more than the others. He hasn't spent so long in one place for such a long time, has never taken a partner throughout that either. He doesn't want to turn and see the blackness that he's sure is marring Shigaraki's features now that he's confirmed what the human must have suspected. He doesn't know how long he's suspected. It could have been since the first night he asked him about his illusions, it could have been one of the many nights they've spent in bed together. "You can keep all of the money from this job. Just let me leave." 

"Dabi," he hears the sound of the ceramic clicking against the floor as the bowl and cup are set aside. "I'm not going to take your money and you can leave as soon as you don't look like you're going to collapse. But your apartment is a long walk. You already had one tonight. I have plenty of food for you, eat whatever you need to feel better and then you can leave." His hand catches his shoulder and Dabi can't help the tiny, fearful sound he makes as he shifts forms abruptly to his elemental-born body, the patches of skin that he has lava rock and so hot that he immediately sears Shigaraki's flesh and causes him to rear back with a hiss. Dabi tries to focus his magic enough to undo the ward the other man placed on the door, but he's too weak, the potential of flame too close to the surface of his skin. 

It's only half a threat when he says, "Let me leave, or I'm going to burn your entire building to the ground." He would burn with it. He's too close to combusting. 

There's a long pause and then the ward falls. Dabi immediately turns the handle and stumbles out into the night, tuning into his cat-kin form so he can run as fast as possible to get home. He has more resources than he's ever had available to him before, he doesn't want to have to run away from the city without those. 

Dabi has only just stepped into his apartment when the strain his body has been under sends another wave of sick streaked with blood and ash up from his throat, expelling all of the milk and honey that the other man gave him. The loss makes him even weaker and he's still fumbling with the jar of honey in his kitchen when black rushes in through his vision and the world falls away from him. 

///

When he wakes next, it's in his bed with a little glass being tipped to his lips. The mixture is a little less overwhelmingly sweet with honey this time, and he manages to take small sips. It takes a few before he can manage to open his eyes, seeing that it's very bright in his room. Daylight. No. He was supposed to run under the cover of night. He wasn't supposed to rest. He tries to push himself up from the bed, but a gentle hand pushes him back down so easily. He whimpers and the touch retreats and brings the glass back to his lips instead. 

"Rest, firefly. You're safe." 

Dabi feels his eyes burn and a few bitter tears slip over his cheeks. He's never been safe in his life. But he's too weak to even lift a hand from the bed. He doesn't have a choice but to subject himself to whatever happens to him next. 

///

When he wakes again it's dark outside of his window, but someone has lit a couple of his oil lamps that Dabi barely bothers with from how strong his eyes are in the dark. His whole apartment smells like warm milk and honey, fresh bread, ripe fruit, and a thin smell of stress and sweat. The sweat smell is coming from him, the odor acrid and unpleasant as it is tinged with fear and the sulfur of his magic that tried so desperately to burn through him the night before. But the stress smell is coming from Shigaraki. He's sitting over on the windowsill, looking out over the edge of the city that is visible from there. He is wearing the same clothes as the night before, but there are dark circles under his eyes that Dabi hasn't ever seen him with before, freshly scabbed scratches over his neck from where his nails must have bitten into the skin, and his hair is more wild than he's ever seen it, like he couldn't keep his hands out of it when he wasn't too busy clawing at his skin. 

Dabi's chest feels tight when he manages to speak, "Why are you here?" 

"Dabi," Shigaraki's voice is too relieved. He moves quickly off of the sill and crosses the room to the stove, moving past the counter that Dabi now sees is covered in food that he most certainly didn't have in his apartment before. Custard tarts heaped with berries and drizzled with honey, fresh bread, flower buds, mushrooms, and nuts, and a warm pot of milk simmering on his stove that Shigaraki picks up with a cloth wrapped around his bandaged hand before he pours half of it into Dabi's only mug before he takes a small bottle of what Dabi immediately smells is cow's blood before he fills it the rest of the way with that, mixing the two together with a spoon before he brings the steaming contents over to him. It smells so good, but he doesn't want to take it until he knows the catch. 

"I won't make a deal with you, mortal." He hasn't had to reach for this persona in a very long time, but pretending to be a fey who knows what they're doing tends to give him a better reaction than just bluntly telling the humans that he genuinely can't actually do the things that get demanded of him. 

"I don't want to make a deal," Shigaraki frowns. "I didn't think changelings could do that anyway." 

Dabi stares at him, his mouth dry. He hasn't said what he is... ever. His mother called him that, Enji called him a monster, other people have hurled that word at him like an accusation, but he hasn't ever used it for himself outside of his own head. He still can't claim it now when he manages hoarsely, "What do you know about changelings?" 

Shigaraki sits on the edge of the bed and offers him the mug of milk, honey, and blood and Dabi's stomach tightens sharply with his need. Shigaraki must have cleaned up the sick on the floor because there's no puddle of it that he has to move around to get to him. "Not too much," he says gently, offering him the mug again, "My father did business with some Threadwalkers when he was alive. They had interests in Feyundell and traveled there somewhat infrequently. A few of their clients were changelings who went there to escape the prejudice here." His expression tries not to pinch, but there is something unhappy in the set of it when he asks, "Is that why you've been focusing on taking bigger jobs? To get the money to hire a Threadwalker to take you there?" 

"No." Dabi has never been interested in traveling to any of the other planes let alone Feyundell which is home to the kingdom of elves and courts of fairies that survive an environment so harsh and ruthless that even their plants sometimes try to devour them. Dabi would not survive there when he is already slowly dying to the poison he has in his skin. He turns his eyes away from Shigaraki's before he answers again, "I have things to do here before I consider anything else." 

"Okay," there's no mistaking the relief that comes from the other's voice. "...Are you really a witch?" Shigaraki asks, reaching one hand for his face. Dabi realizes that, despite how horrible and exhausted he feels, he somehow managed to keep his human form intact even unconscious, this one so common and used from such a young age that he was able to cling to it with the barest scrap of his natural abilities. 

He manages a slight nod. 

"... I thought iron was poisonous?" 

Dabi doesn't respond to that at all and Shigaraki's thumb rubs over the grounding iron again. 

"I won't tell anyone," Shigaraki promises him. "This is your secret, your life, you can wear whatever forms you choose, come to me for work, for--" he hesitates, his voice softer when he continues, "anything. I won't tell anyone else what you are." 

"...How long have you known?" He's tried so hard--

"I suspected after the first night," Shigaraki tells him, "After you shifted from a sanguine-born to human so effortlessly. I have a friend who is a master illusionist and even he can't cast without using a word or gesture to do so. You were nearly naked, I knew you couldn't be wearing a talisman for the effect either. When you brought me the bread and got more drunk off of honey than any drink we've shared before, I knew for certain then." 

"Just because I can't steal away your child doesn't mean I couldn't take your place if I so choose." He snaps, trying to make himself seem more threatening when he is so weak now that he thinks reaching for even the barest thread of his magic will have his body burning on the sheets. 

"You don't want that." Shigaraki tells him. "You want to live your life freely. That's why you use a dozen different names with everyone else in town, why you barely let yourself eat the way you need to to keep from drawing attention to yourself. You are deadly when it comes to your work," his hand is still so gentle as it cups his cheek. "But you are not a threat to the identities of any person in this city. You won't even take espionage work even though it would be such a simple matter for you." 

Dabi doesn't know if he's felt so achingly small and seen since Enji Todoroki was condemning him to burn on that mountain top, but any other words that he might have tried to find are lost to him. Discovered and being offered the chance to continue existing? Oh, if ever there were a fairytale for his kind. But if Shigaraki doesn't intend to show his viciousness yet, he needs to take the opportunity that he can to get stronger now. He takes the concoction and brings it to his lips. He doesn't think he's imagining that the smell of relief in the air is coming off of them both when he finally begins to drink deeply. 

///

He's bedridden for days for the first time in years. But Shigaraki comes to his apartment each day in the early afternoon. He brings him fresh milk, more cow's blood, more of the tarts, custards, and fruits. He makes sure that all of it is drizzled in honey and makes sure that Dabi is eating a lot more than he normally would allow himself. Shigaraki brings his payment for his last job, he makes sure to open the window to let in fresh air, even brings him some books from his own collection to keep him company if he needs the entertainment. It takes days for him to recover, but when he has, he knows that his magic is stronger than it was before because the skin all around each of his grounding points feels tight. He has to dig out his kit and stand in the bathroom, looking at his body, trying to find a new place to help keep the magic settled. He ends up placing a row of three dermals along the inner side of each forearm. The iron sinks in, burning slightly as it does, but the new magic swells around the fresh groundings and takes away some of the feverish heat living under his skin. That, at least, leaves him more comfortable and feeling like he can actually move. Shigaraki already left for the day, and he goes to the counter and makes himself pack away the leftovers from the abundant meal he'd brought him today. If he's going to leave now, then he won't be able to go to market to get supplies before he goes. This will last him a while, especially if he turns to an earth elemental-born. His stomach will take longer to feel empty. Long enough to make this portion last him to the coast. It's not much money that he has saved away, but he can get on a boat, maybe he'll even be able to convince one of the crews to take him on as an extra worker in exchange of cutting some of his cost of being there. 

He packs up the few things in his apartment and leaves the books that Shigaraki brought for him neatly on his bed. He could have gotten him killed at any point since he came to Zogas. The least he can do to show gratitude that he hadn't is by not stealing from him. 

It's been a very, very long time since Dabi has ever felt saddened to leave somewhere. The little places that he's carved out for himself as he's traveled never feel quite like homes. But he... likes Zogas. He liked going to the Shattered Hand and soaking in the atmosphere. He liked that his many personas were all starting to gather good reputations and to be recognized on the street as someone to greet with a smile or nod. He liked... the way it felt to celebrate a job gone right with a drink and then as much pleasure as he could get while he was laying in Shigaraki's bed. He always planned on moving on, but he thought that this time he would have more of a choice about when that would happen. He didn't expect that he would have to run again. Didn't expect that this time it would hurt without the pulse of adrenaline through his veins that made him run harder and faster to avoid the mob that was on his heels. 

There is no mob this time. Just Shigaraki. Just one person. If it were anyone else, Dabi thinks that he would be able to slip into his house, would go to bed with him again and slit his throat as he slept. A murderer would be looked for, but he could ensure that it wasn't any of his faces that they were seeking. But Shigaraki is a master criminal with half of the guard and the entire underground on his side. Not only would it be foolish to assume that he would be able to kill him without a fight, but it would be even worse to do so thinking that he might not have a backup plan in place that will get him caught. 

Dabi sits on the edge of his bed, looking at his pack, looking at this apartment that was a shithole, but belonged to him, would still belong to him for another six months because he chose to sign a long-term lease instead of living month-to-month for the first time in years. Dabi reaches into the purse that Shigaraki left him with the rest of his payment and he does something that he hasn't since he was a very small child and his mother and father made him-- he prays. There is a wide pantheon of gods, none of which, he thinks, have ever turned a kind eye towards him. He selects Gidona, goddess of good fortune, and asks for guidance, before he flips the coin. He holds it cupped in his hand. Heads and he may have gotten her blessing. Heads and maybe for once in his life some greater power might let something work out in his favor. Tails and Zedos the god of misfortune might have turned his eye to him again. Dabi stands, holding the coin against his skin for a long time before he lets it fall to the floor. He grabs his bag and the coin purse and moves swiftly to the door. The gods may have cursed him from his first breath, but he is not beholden to their whims now. 

The evening air is cool and fresh as he wears his elven visage as he makes his way towards the Shattered Hand.

///

He makes sure his bag is hidden on the landing of the back door behind a planter, and then he uses his lockpicks to break in again. He can hear the music coming up from below, but he has no doubts that Shigaraki will find a way to leave the bar to come see what's going on in his apartment. It only takes a few minutes for the front door to swing open and let him in. As soon as he sees him sitting at his table, he sighs softly and flicks his fingers, a strange dull shimmer of energy dissipating as he does so. 

"If you're going to keep doing this, then I'm going to have to key you into my wards." Not 'stop breaking into my house'. 'Stop pulling me away from my work by breaking into my house and making me think that there's a threat in my space'. 

"What do you want from me?" Dabi asks, his chest tight. "I can't make deals, but you must want something. If anyone found out I was here and you knew-- even all of your contacts wouldn't protect you from the backlash. No one would trust you again." His bar is entirely built on the trust that he has with his clients. If he loses that, then he won't have anything anymore. 

"I want you," Shigaraki says, closing the door behind him and moving slowly over to the table, "To believe me when I say that I want you to stay here. I want you to feel comfortable enough to build a life here because I want to stay in your life. I enjoy your company, Dabi. I don't want to lose that." 

"Why? All I've done since we met was lie to you." 

"You've hardly ever told me a lie," Shigaraki says. "You omit things," he concedes, "but you never hide it when you are. You make it perfectly clear that you don't want to talk about that subject. I never push because if you ever do want to talk to me, then I want you to do it of your own accord. You never have to tell me anything about your past or how you got here, Dabi. I'm just happy that I've gotten to know you now." 

Dabi's eyes search his face for any ounce of deceit, but it's hard to find anything but the sincerity that Shigaraki has treated him with for all of the time they've known each other. He should still leave. He should go right now before the human realizes how bad this will be for him if someone else finds out about this. 

He's never noticed how tired he is of running until he tries to get his legs under him again. "You'll change your mind." 

"Even if I do," and Shigaraki doesn't sound convinced that he will, "I won't tell anyone what you are. I've been able to make a name for myself by keeping my client's secrets and never wavering. You won't be the person I start with." He promises. 

Dabi doesn't say anything as he turns to leave the way he came. He doesn't know if he'll be back. 

But he only makes it about an hour out of the city limits before he's letting a few desperate, frustrated tears slip over his cheeks as he turns around and makes his way back home. 

///

Shigaraki knocked on his door tentatively the next afternoon, and when Dabi opened it, his expression had gone from worn and worried to elated in a second. He had curled his hands around Dabi's hips and pulled him in to kiss him so sweetly. He offered Dabi two more jobs and he had declined both and sent him away. Shigaraki came back the next day with a fresh offering instead, whipped cream filled pastries with fresh strawberries that Dabi had wanted to take so badly, but that he had rejected as well. And the day after that Shigaraki brought him new books. Dabi gave back the ones he already loaned him and told him, 

"Don't come back." He watched his face fall, watched Shigaraki swallow down whatever words were caught in his throat, and the human had just nodded stiffly and left. He didn't come back for a week after that, and Dabi kept waiting for the scorned man to lash out. To reveal his secret or come to his home to force himself on him or kill him himself. But nothing happened. He got letters, ones encoded with the language of criminals that were other job offers, but those weren't written in Shigaraki's hand save for his address. Proposals for jobs that clients were still looking to book and that Shigaraki was making sure made it to the right address even though each of his personas pretended to live elsewhere. He took a few of those, telling his clients to send the kickback to the Shattered Hand, but never going to the bar himself. He stayed away. He waited. 

After two months, he heard someone bragging about being bedded by the owner. They were in for a rude awakening when Shigaraki didn't give them any kind of special treatment afterward and Dabi's chest had been sharp with his spite. He has no right to jealousy, but he feels it anyway. The person he'd bedded was a man nearer to Shigaraki's age. He had freckles, tan skin, curly bronze hair, flecks of gold in his eyes, and the small point to his ears that spoke of sun elf blood in his veins. Dabi always favored moon elves for the basis of his look. He always leaned pale because pale mortal flesh was closer to his real skin that was the color of curdled cream. He tried not to think of it too hard, but he found himself standing in front of his bathroom mirror. He tried to make himself younger, prettier, softer. Gave himself skin that was kissed by the sun and eyes bright green instead of blue. He gave himself birthmarks and freckles to give his skin more life. He made his hair warm brown instead of stark white or black, orange, pink, lavender, blue, the colors of the sky as the sun moves across it as he flickered through every race that he's always been able to make himself so effortlessly. He gave himself a fuller figure that wouldn't look so gaunt and starved as he went back to eating so little of what he needed to avoid drawing attention to his diet. He practiced and practiced until he thought that all of the new forms he could make for himself were more beautiful than the ones that he'd been showing Shigaraki up to this point and he ached with hatred for himself when he glimpsed bits of his real form slipping through as he exhausted his abilities. 

He doesn't know why he's doing this. He's been trying so hard to keep Shigaraki away from him. To make sure that he wouldn't break his promise of keeping his secret safe even if Dabi slipped out of his life. He hasn't. It's been months and he hasn't. He hasn't come to his home again, he's kept all of his jobs coming to his home for him. He hasn't ever once gone back on his word. But Dabi wasn't asking him to wait for him, to prove himself before he would crawl back into his bed. He doesn't have any right to jealousy. He doesn't have any right to ask him for his attentiveness and care back. Why would he even want to give it to him-- he turns into the man who he slept with before and touches the pretty features that don't belong to him-- when he could have someone like this? When he could have someone better? Dabi's stomach sours sharply and he changes his face again. Thicker lashes, prettier features, softer hair. He could have anyone he wants, but Dabi can be anyone he does. He can at least make it a fraction more appealing to let him slip back into his bed now if he can use his abilities to show the other man that he can be worth the trouble.

///

Dabi goes back to the Shattered hand the next night, wearing one of his new forms, but allowing the metal of his piercings to glitter in the light. He wears a tunic that is open across his chest and a coat that hangs off of his shoulders artfully. His legs are encased in tight pants that cling to the more defined and softer curves of his legs, trailing up to a fuller ass that he hopes the other man will find appealing. He thinks other people are finding this form appealing, plenty of them coming over to introduce themselves and offer to buy him drinks. He puts on an accent. That's not that hard to do, he can mimic voices very easily and taking on the lilting tones of further east makes his requests for whisky mixed with milk, a Snow Drift as it's called there, allows him to drink the alcohol in a way that makes it actually able to sustain his body as well. It will still take him far more of these to get to the point of overindulgence than it would one of the mortal races, but he can drink and give his body the fuel it needs to wear this form for as long as he needs or to change it to whatever else Shigaraki might want. He lets people flirt with him as he makes his way around the room until he is finally passing by Shigaraki's table. He isn't working tonight, he's sitting in his favorite booth, his favorite red coat hanging off of his shoulders. He hasn't cut his hair since Dabi saw him last, the white locks even more wild, even with a portion of it tied back again. And those intense red eyes are tracking him around the room. 

He makes his way closer and closer until one of the people at his table takes notice of him too and invites him to sit. 

"There are no more chairs," He says in his thick accent. 

"That's alright, you can sit on my lap, doll." The man speaking must have orcish blood in his veins-- it's the only explanation for his size. Dabi glances at Shigaraki and the other man is doing a very good job of keeping his expression neutral. But he's given Dabi so many offerings at this point. He can smell him much more clearly than he's ever been able to pick up on anyone else's scent before. He can smell the jealousy, the bitterness as he watches his companion ease him down into his lap, his large hand cupping Dabi's ass as he does, which he doesn't call out. "Never seen you around before, you new in town?" 

"Yes," he surrenders himself to small talk, letting the other man ask him who he is, where he's from, what he wants to drink-- that is what pushes Shigaraki's smell from bitter jealousy to anger and he tells the two companions that he wants the table to himself for a moment. 

"Oh come on, Shigaraki, you always steal the cute ones--" 

"If--" He sees the other man almost slip with his name, "Cyran wants to court your company further after our conversation, then he'll be welcome to do so." But his tone is hard enough for the other men to move away from the table and let Dabi slip into the booth alongside Shigaraki. 

"Should I sit in your lap, sir?" He asks sweetly with his accent still firmly in place. But Shigaraki is having none of that and he moves the cards and chips that were on the table, but haven't been played since he sat down, aside so he can hit the rune at the center of the table which closes off the booth in a bubble of silence that no one else will be able to hear past. 

"What are you doing?" 

"...Reintegrating myself into the city." He says, dropping the accent, but nothing of the ditzy persona that he's been cultivating since he first entered the bar. 

Shigaraki takes a slow breath and seems to try to get a hold of his emotions. "Right." 

"Am I not welcome to do so here anymore?" Maybe he should have appeared as one of his other forms first. Maybe he underestimated how bitter his abandonment of the other man would make him even if it never got to the point of him wanting to reveal his secret. 

"You're welcome to do business or make merriment here however you see fit. I was just surprised. It's been... months." 

Dabi reaches for one of the curls falling around his face, but doesn't meet his eyes. "And you didn't go back on your word." 

Shigaraki stiffens slightly beside him. "If this was a test," he says waspishly. "All you've done is tested my patience-- not my word. Nothing short of you betraying me or my other clientele will make me betray your secret, Dabi-- Cyran, fuck--" he tries to regain his composure and that makes that place in his chest ache again. Dabi pushes in close, pressing his chest to Shigaraki's arm and tangling his fingers in the other man's coat. 

"You can call me whatever you want." He says, hating how quickly the desperation comes into his voice. He sees Shigaraki's hand clench against the table out of the corner of his eye and then he loosens it so he can reach for Dabi's face again like he's done so many times before. His thumb rubs over the piercing through his cheek and then he's pulling him in. Dabi goes readily. His lips are softer than his mouth was before, but he doesn't know if it's that change or how long it's been since they did this that has Shigaraki's tongue pushing so hungrily into his mouth. He just knows that he wants the other hungry for him. 

"Take me upstairs," he demands against his lips when it seems like the human is tempted to have him right here in the bar. "Or I'll just break in again." 

Shigaraki doesn't have to be tempted further, pulling him up from the table and bringing him back towards the side stairwell. He heard a heavy thump against the bar and glances back to see the orcish man's head against the surface and his friend patting his back and ordering them another round as they pass on the way to the stairs. They stumble into the apartment and Dabi finds that not much has changed since he was here last. But he doesn't care about that. He's too busy shrugging out of his coat and kicking out of his boots. 

"Dabi," Shigaraki catches him again, pulls him back in and kisses him like he's been starving for the taste of his lips. He is more than happy to throw himself into this kiss. He made himself shorter, to make himself even more cute, and it's different to have to stand on his tiptoes to get the other's kiss comfortably against his lips, but he isn't going to complain. Shigaraki doesn't seem to like it as much though because he pulls back, red eyes searching his new face. "Let me see you." 

"Which one?" He shifts to one of the other new ones he's made for himself, a sanctuary-born with olive skin an opalescent sheen to it, and natural coily black hair a halo around his head. "I have so many." 

"You," Shigaraki insists, his hands moving over the new body, touching him like he's scared that if he lets go, Dabi might disappear forever. "I just want you, Dabi." 

That's... a little disappointing. He spent so much time practicing all of these different bodies. "I can be anything you want," he insists. "I can make myself perfect for you. Anything you could ever want. An ex? An unrequited love? A famous courtesan? I can be it all. You'll never have to pick," Dabi insists. "I can be all of them." He turns himself into the man he heard bragging and Shigaraki's expression pinches, the hands on his hips not holding him as tightly as he was before. 

"That's not what I want, Dabi." He tells him, his hands shifting to his face again, rubbing his thumbs over his piercings like those are the only things grounding him in the moment instead of the things that are keeping Dabi together. "I don't want you to change your appearance to suit my tastes. I want you to be comfortable showing me who you really are. I want to see you, firefly, what you really look like." 

Dabi's stomach sours and he shifts, instinctively, back to one of his more practiced human forms. The one that he's been interacting with Shigaraki with for months. "... I can be beautiful for you." His voice is too small, too weak, but there are only a small number of people who have ever seen what he looks like. His mother, Enji, presumably his biological father if he really was the one who pulled his body from the ashes. All of them had condemned him or abandoned him. He'd never even let Natsuo know what he was or see him plain. He didn't think he would be able to stand the way he would look at him when he saw his sibling-- not even his real sibling-- was so different from him. 

"I already think you're beautiful," Shigaraki tells him, "And it doesn't matter if you're a human, cat, sanguine, or anything in between. It's your company that I want to indulge in. How you look when it happens doesn't matter to me." 

Dabi has to bite back the bitter tears that he feels trying to well behind his eyes. "If that doesn't matter then why do I have to be anything else to get you to touch me?" 

Shigaraki looks at him in a way that Dabi can't make sense of. It's something heavy and sad, but he does draw him closer. He kisses him softer and slower. For one minute, Dabi thinks that he's going to be turned away. That he got it all wrong when he offered Shigaraki everything, that he waited too long, and that he'll be sent away, but Shigaraki keeps kissing him. He reaches down to the backs of Dabi's thighs and he knows the way he grips him now. He hops up, wrapping his legs around the other's waist, his arms around his neck and tangling his hands in his hair so he can angle their heads to make the kiss desperately hotter again. Shigaraki lets him as he carries him to the bedroom. 

Dabi is warming again, able to put away some of his trepidation as he is placed so gently on the familiar bed. Shigaraki shrugs out of his coat, kicks off his own boots, and then has his hands back on Dabi's clothes. He unthreads the few ties that are keeping his shirt in place and pulls the fabric away, kissing across each inch of the revealed skin as he does. 

"I'll touch you, firefly. I'll never turn you away. I'll never tell your secret." His hands move over his skin, and his mouth gets distracted as he licks over his nipple piercings. Pleasure stirs through his body even as he feels a slight trepidation. He threads his fingers through the human's hair. It's soft and wild, and he sets it free of its tie so it can tickle his skin as the other presses their bodies closer together. He tried to make his hair as soft as Shigaraki's when he mimicked so many of his different forms. "I'll make sure that you have all of the milk and honey that you could ever want and that no one ever looks at you strangely for demanding it. I'll let the entire city think I'm bankrupting myself so I can bathe my beautiful witch in it every night to make your skin even softer--" 

Dabi whimpers slightly as he feels a blush rise to his cheeks. He's never had anyone talk to him like this. Never had anyone know what he is and try to take care of him without resenting him on some level as well. But Shigaraki's voice and touches are so sweet as he gives them. 

He moves his hands down his waist, over his hips so his thumbs can rub against the barbells pierced through his skin there as red eyes meet his, so aching and earnest that Dabi forgets how to breathe. "I'll love you for as long as you let me-- even if you never show me your true form." 

He promises this to him. He's never gone back on his promises before, but Dabi's whole body is a horrible tangle of desperate arousal and aching sadness. He wants to believe him so badly, wants to be loved for once in his life, "It's ugly," He says, and his voice cracks as tears slip over his temples. 

Shigaraki leans down and kisses away a track of his tears. "No part of you will ever be ugly to me, Dabi." 

"It's broken," he tries to tell him, a fresh sob working out of his chest. "I-- I already burned once. That body-- it's horrible," it's his. It's the one that he was born with, the only one that doesn't cost him effort to exist in, and he won't even live in it in the privacy of his own home so he can avoid looking at it. He hates it. Hates himself. "You won't want it. You'll change your mind." 

Shigaraki pulls him closer, cradling him against his chest as he strokes his hand through his hair. "I would have hoped," he says softly, his breath tickling his hair, "That after all that you've observed of my character in the past few months, that you would know by now that I never go back on my word, Dabi. I couldn't stop loving you after months of being told that you didn't want anything to do with me. Nothing about your appearance could change that." He holds Dabi as he tries desperately to make the frustrated, bitter tears stop slipping across his cheeks. "Show me once," he says, "and if you want, you'll never have to show me again. I won't ever ask. You'll be able to be anyone else you want to be while you're in my bed, firefly." 

He lets Dabi think that over for a few minutes, his hands so gentle over his skin. But he doesn't rush him. Once. Just once. He can show him how awful it is one time, and then he can spend the rest of his days in this warm embrace, can have his offerings and sweet words. He can have one person in the whole world who cares for him as deeply as he wants to care about someone else. He didn't know that was something that he wanted, but he can't stop wanting it now that the thought has been dangled in front of him like a carrot. He has been alone his whole life, even when he was a child. Even when he didn't understand why he was different from his siblings, he knew that he was. He knew there was a distance that he couldn’t cross between them no matter how hard he and Natsuo used to try. He just didn't understand people the way he should, just didn't know how to behave correctly unless he was mimicking others which they always found alien and insincere. Shigaraki is the only person who has reached with hands that knew what he was and that wanted to grasp him anyway. 

"...Once." 

"Once, baby." He promises. "Unless you get comfortable enough to be like that around me more afterward. I'm never going to resent seeing you in any of your bodies, firefly." 

Shifting forms is supposed to be natural, supposed to be easy, but as Dabi tries to let his form go, he finds himself flickering instead. Too many nerves, his fear instinctively trying its absolute hardest to keep him looking like one of the other visages he's used for years. He needs to do this to keep himself safe. He has to, his instincts scream, and more frustrated tears slip over his cheeks as he is made to be so impossibly weak. 

"You don't have to force it, baby." Tomura tells him. "Lay down," he tells him, lowering him back to the bed from his embrace. He cups his cheek in his hand and doesn't flinch even though Dabi's appearance is flickering between all of the ones he's worn before and all of the new ones he's been practicing. "I know it's hard to hold when you're feeling so good, let me help make it easier?" 

Dabi will take whatever he can get from the other man before he sees him and decides that this is one promise that he just can't keep, so he nods weakly and Shigaraki sighs softly. He smells soft too. Warm even though his magic makes his skin perpetually chilled. Affectionate, Dabi realizes distantly as his hands start to move over his skin again, trying to soothe him into holding one form, even if that's not his real one. He's never had someone smell like affection for him before. 

Tomura's mouth moves gently over his skin, lavishing every spot he knows is sensitive on Dabi's body. When his tongue moves over his belly button, licking at the stud there as his fingers move to the ties of his pants, Dabi gasps softly and his body shudders as he unintentionally grounds himself in the form of the moon elf he wore the first night they spoke. Tomura kisses across to his hip, his teeth tugging teasingly at the grounding iron and then licking around the sensitive point as he lifts Dabi's hips enough to let him peel the leather from his legs and expose him to the cooler air of the room. His emotions are still such a mess that he's still soft, but he reaches down to thread a hand in the human's hair so he knows that he doesn't want him to stop.  

The other man understands, but doesn't push for him to find words. He sucks a bruise over his hip as his hands stroke over the tops of his thighs and then up along the inside, spreading them wide so that he can settle more comfortably between his legs. He kisses and nibbles at his skin there too, making sure that each one leaves a little mark against this form's skin as he moves up. Dabi is starting to harden when his cool breath ghosts over his skin, his lips following immediately as red eyes flick up to look at him as he does. It's such a light touch, but it has him squirming and biting his lip all the same. Always so embarrassing when Tomura watches his face so closely as he puts his mouth on the most intimate parts of his body. It's part of the reason that he always insists the other man fuck him on his knees or stomach. He never faces him, always too scared of something bleeding through across his facial features when he's lost to the pleasure that the other man is able to give him so easily. But Tomura is trying to let him find that peak so he can slip and let the other see. 

His mouth is cool, soft, and wet as he takes his cock between his lips, licking around his head before he is moving his tongue further down so he can tease each point of his ladder as well. It's been months since he's been touched-- he hasn't even touched himself since he was last in Tomura's bed, and he can't help but harden rapidly as he's reminded how good this can be. The suction and softness of his mouth moving down him, feeding him deeper and deeper each time as one of his hands shifts from his thigh to cup his balls instead makes him breathless. His fingers massage him, pulling just enough to make his toes curl against the sheets, in time with each soft suck and flick of his tongue over his head, and soon Dabi is biting his lip, trying to ground himself with that little spike of pain but knowing it's no use. It's been long enough, and his emotions are so thin, that he feels especially sensitive now. He doesn't think he'll be able to hold on for much longer and his balls give that away as they tense in the other's hand the closer he gets to his orgasm. 

But just before he crests that edge, Tomura pulls off of his cock, watching as he, so hard now, immediately is pressing up against his stomach and leaking pre as he whines. "Tomura--" Never called him that aloud before and it earns red eyes going even hotter on him as he pulses out the smell of his arousal as his mouth moves back to the skin of his thighs. 

"Not yet, pretty boy. Not until you show me." 

That earns him another pitiful sound. It's so hard to concentrate, and when he tries to switch forms again, he instinctively tries to avoid the one he knows will get him hurt. His tail sprouts from his back and wraps around Tomura's wrist instead as he goes sanguine-born, the appendage trying to get the other to bring his hand to his cock to pump him through to his completion. But Tomura won't. He just chuckles softly before he moves his mouth against him again, tongue laving along his balls in such a teasing lick that Dabi is growling and cursing as his hips try to jump up to get more anything as such a sharp ache centers itself on his groin as his orgasm starts to slip completely back from the edge he was so close to. 

Tomura's hand shifts to his hips as he kisses down over his balls and to his hole. Dabi keens as his breath tickles him there before he's laving his tongue over him. Dabi can't help throwing his head back as he moans and he hears fabric tear on his horns as it catches and sends feathers spilling across the bed. His tongue flicks around him, teasing the nerves that haven't gotten to feel like this in mouths, getting him slick and wet, but not nearly enough to take the thing he's been missing so badly. As masterful as the human can be with his tongue, it is nothing compared to the ecstasy that comes when he's so achingly full of the other's cock. But this is still good, still more than he's had in so long and making it even harder for him to focus as his tongue presses into his body and licks along his walls like he's been starving for him as one hand goes to the base of his tail to stroke it the way he always does. Doesn't miss a beat when his forms change and he never has. Always tries to find the things that each of his bodies crave. 

His tongue moves inside of him, one hand over his tail, and Dabi is aching and leaking again so soon. He keeps one hand in Tomura's hair, trying to keep him as occupied as he can with his mouth, so that he won't notice as he unclenches his other hand from the sheets. He reaches down to his cock and starts to stroke himself. He was so close before and the movements of the other's tongue inside of him are only bringing him there even faster. He is going to fall apart and he needs to do so before the other realizes what he's doing and stops him. 

But he can't make it before Tomura's other hand reaches and catches his wrist, pulling it away from his body and leaving him thrusting up into nothing, and withdrawing his tongue when he tries to grind down on that instead with a sob. "Please, please, please--" he normally gets as many orgasms as he wants when he's in the human's bed. He's the most indulgent partner that he's ever had in his life. His body doesn't know how to handle it now that he's not being allowed to get them. 

His breath cools the spit that's dripping out of his hole as he speaks, "No, baby. Not until you show me." He won't stroke his tail anymore, won't lick him again, doesn't touch his cock at all as it is flushed and aching against his stomach. Instead he kisses his skin so gently and sweetly. "It's okay, firefly," he promises. You can let go. I'll make sure that you keep feeling so good. You just have to let yourself relax. Don't you think it will feel even better if you give yourself over to the pleasure completely?" 

Dabi whimpers, but he can't find any real words as his whole body is left vibrating, so desperate for a relief to the ache in his cock, and unable to let go of the fear that keeps him rooted in one of his false bodies as he turns to a human instead. 

Tomura sighs softly. "That's okay, baby boy. I know what helps to make you even hotter." He strips away his shirt and moves off of the bed for long enough to grab the bottle of oil he has in the nightstand and slip out of his boots and pants. Dabi doesn't know if he's ever been so desperate for pleasure that just the sight of the other's body and his thick, perfect cock, could bring him so close to the edge that his balls visibly tighten as a fresh gush of pre brings him closer to his orgasm without actually giving him the satisfaction. But that just means that Tomura doesn't immediately move back between his legs. Instead he presses soft, sweet kisses to each of the new grounding irons that are set into his forearms, to the one in his sternum, the ones at his wrists. Little touches places that won't bring Dabi over, but make it hard for him to settle too. 

But he must know how desperately Dabi likes to be stuffed full of him, because he decides that isn't enough to cool him down and keep him from coming right away if he tries to get him wetter with lube. Instead he chills his palm further with his magic and makes Dabi keen brokenly when he cups the cold flesh around his balls. It makes his erection flag sharply enough that he thinks that he'll be able to hold on until he shatters, and the hand goes away and is a more moderate temperature when the slick fingers make sure to wet him in a way his saliva never could. Dabi is near full hardness again, his lips swollen and sore from the kisses that Tomura has been giving him as he makes sure he's open enough to take his cock. 

It takes so much effort to make his heavy limbs move enough to wrap his legs around his waist, his heels biting into the small of his back to try to get his body full faster. "Tomura," he whines. 

"I know, firefly. Never happier than when I'm filling you up," the human's voice is also thick with his desire as he moves his hand over himself enough to ensure that he's soaked with oil too. Dabi moans so loudly he wouldn't be surprised if the people downstairs could hear him through the ceiling as Shigaraki's cock presses inside, stretching him open so wide that Dabi's control starts to tremble. Instinctive to want to roll on his back so he can hide, but this is what Tomura wants. He wants to see. But Dabi is still fighting the transformation as he's made so full. Tomura's cock presses in along every inch of him in that perfect symphony of pressure that makes him see stars and has him aching again. Never fucked Tomura on his back before. His cock is rubbing up against the cut lines of muscle across his stomach and smearing both of their skin with more pre as he goes breathlessly needy for his release. He needs it so badly. He just has to let go and he'll get it. 

But he's fighting it still as Tomura starts to fuck him so slowly. The sounds of his pleasure spill out between them and he is so breathless with his want. And once again, this time barely a few thrusts in, as his muscles tighten around the human's cock, he pulls out until only his head is inside, letting most of Dabi's walls clench down hard on nothing as he steals away his orgasm again and Dabi sobs like he might die without it. 

It takes him smelling blood in the air and hearing the sharper intake of Tomura's breath for him to realize that his form has fallen. He is a changeling, the unburned portions of his skin white as bleached bone, and eyes damaged so badly from the fire that ate away at his skin that he can only cry crimson now. He is scared that means that he's not going to get anything else because Tomura will surely be too disgusted to keep wanting to touch him, but in the next second he is being filled to the brim again. 

"That's it, firefly. There. I'm so proud of you. I'm so happy that you let me see. You're still beautiful, baby boy." He says the words and they are sweeter than any offering of honey he's given him. Dabi is crying harder, sounds of his pleasure mixed in with everything else. Tomura kisses the blood from his face as readily as he kissed away his tears. "Not going to love you any less if you look like this all of the time. It's all just you, Dabi. I just want you." He tells him again as he rolls his hips in that same, slow, agonizing rhythm that isn't bringing his pleasure high enough fast enough to give him his release. 

"Please, please, please," he showed him. He wants to feel good at least one more time before Tomura really does change his mind. He's going to have to. No one could ever want a changeling. That's why his kind have to sneak their babies into cribs or disguise themselves to take partners. Smart people don't even want full-blooded fey and they, at least, are beautiful. 

"You're so sweet, precious." Tomura tells him as he shifts to make sure that his cock is putting pressure on his prostate each time it brushes over it as he sinks in deeper. "You can cum now. Let me see. I've wanted to watch how your face twists with pleasure since the first night I took you to bed, firefly." But he won't touch his cock. He even shifts between his legs so that he is only bouncing with each thrust, but can't grind against his stomach like he did before. Not going to give him friction. Only going to make him cum from how good it feels to be stuffed so full of his thick cock the way he's been craving for so many months. That lack of friction is the thing that makes him last longer than he wants to. He's aching so badly, his cock convinced that he's going to have all of the good sensation in his body taken away just like it was the first time. Each movement inside has his nails biting harder into Shigaraki's back, and he answers that needy desperation by moving harder, but never faster. He makes Dabi creep up to his orgasm. Makes him hurt so much that the pain loops back around to the sharpest, sweetest pleasure he's ever felt in his life as he sobs and moans as his cock finally, finally kicks and gushes his cum up over his chest and stomach. His mind whites out entirely and for a second he wonders very distantly if he was wrong about this being his real body, because he thinks he's going to melt apart completely against the sheets. Maybe he wasn't made to have any physical body at all because he doesn't think that this one will last as he's brought sharply up against the edge of a second orgasm from his prostate impossibly fast as he savors how full he is as Tomura focuses on finding his own completion in his body too. 

Dabi is crying so hard, another very thin stream of milky cum forced out of his limp cock as he's fucked completely full as Tomura peppers his skin with kisses. His mouth doesn't hesitate over the unnatural pale sections or the warped, ugly burns. The smell of his arousal never wavers. Red eyes don't shut to pretend he's something else as he moves so deeply inside of him until his hips sink in one more time and he floods his insides with his release. Then it's just his soft, trembling sobs in the dark of the room and Tomura's sweeter breaths as he pulls out.

A keen ache goes through his chest, so scared that the human will pull away completely and tell him to get his things and go-- but he doesn't. Doesn't go back on his word. His eyes are still too soft and warm as he pulls him close to his chest again and goes right back to kissing his lips and kissing his tears away. 

"Shh, it's alright, firefly. You did such a good job. So perfect for me, baby. I'm so proud of you." He murmurs as his hands stroke over his skin. He holds onto him as the tears come harder and faster now that they're not muted by the pleasure the other was putting into his body. He can't stop them from coming, but it takes him a long, long time to realize that he's not just crying because he was scared of losing this completely, but because he's weeping for all of the years of his life he's spent being utterly convinced that he would never be allowed to have this at all. 

///

"Welcome back!" 

Dabi's head snaps up from the drink he was pouring, a little furious that Himiko spotted his lover returning before he did. He and Iguchi are still making their way through the crowded bar, but the dragon-kin is already having his attention pulled by some of the other regulars. Everyone else knows better than to stop Tomura on his way to the bar, on his way straight to him. Dabi passes off the drink and immediately moves out from behind the bar, abandoning Himiko to keep up with demand as he moves to meet his lover halfway. 

Three weeks. It's the longest they've been apart since Dabi came back into his life a year and a half ago. Since he showed him what he was and Tomura carved out a place in his life and used every ounce of influence he had in Zogas itself so that he would never have to hide that again. Three weeks since, to pay one of those debts he took on to make a life for them, he had to travel like an adventurer again to slay some monster that was wreaking havoc in the countryside. He promised he would come home and this time when Dabi had been scared, when he'd doubted, it was because he knew that the world might conspire to keep his lover away, not any worry over the sincerity of Tomura's words. 

"Dabi," he doesn't have to ask. Dabi is letting the form of the elf fall away as he presses himself into the other's chest. If anyone else cares what he looks like, they've learned to hold their tongues or risk his lover's wrath. "There's my firefly." He says, eyes warm and lips twisted into a smile that he borrowed a few times when he was missing him so badly while he was gone. Tomura lets him taste it fresh when he tangles his hands in the mess of hair that he still refuses to cut and pulls him to his mouth. 

"I missed you," He says against his skin when he has to part lest the jeering and peanuts being thrown at them turn into Himiko or one of the other staff throwing a pitcher of ice water on them. 

"I missed you too, precious. Brought you something," he says as he lets his bag down from his shoulder so he can get a hand in it. He pulls out a jar of honey that is a deeper, darker amber than anything he's seen sold in the city. "Buckwheat honey, the seller said that it's malty and spicy." 

Dabi would purr if he had the right parts for it now. "Come feed it to me?" 

"Absolutely, pretty boy." Threads his fingers through the strap that holds his swords to his back and pulls him towards the stairs, towards their apartment. 

"Wha-- hey! He's working!" Magne cries out. 

"Not anymore." Tomura says with finality. "Have Jin make a shade. " 

He doesn't ever take his eyes off of him as he pulls him up the stairs, not even as his clients, employees, and friends jeer at them as they leave. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed consider dropping an ask/reply!

[seitmai]

Wow I just have many thoughts...

All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him.  The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

Seems like the prayers worked 🤭

You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

I feel like he would be overwhelmed with so many people there to help him, so he just keeps the bare minimum or rather the people he really want to have around him

Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

They probably share those feelings about home 🥺

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

Ahhh those shared glances 🥰

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.” “And you?” It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

Oh he is probably so disappointed by that 🙈

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

Everyone deserves love though 🥺🫶🏻

“What about you, Dominus?” “Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

Let's find it again 😌

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…” “I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.” “I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure. He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

I'm just in love with this little conversation 😍

He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

To have someone listen to you and wanting to hear your thoughts is just such a great way to show love 🥹

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape.

That's just so cute 🥰

Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

🥹🥹🥹

He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

Not the glance over the shoulder 🥺

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

He said "yeah thanks, but no thanks" just more politely 😅🤭

Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He really made sure she knows his feeling about this meeting!!

On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

A fresco for his past as a gladiator and one for the future his wants, his muse😉

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.” “Well, I still need to draw your bath and…” “Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied. You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?” “Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

Urgh im swooning, he just wants her to relax and take care of her 🥰🥹

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger. “Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

Valid reaction

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

The pleading 😮‍💨🥰

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.” “I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

😭😭😭

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

Urgh I just love that you can truly feel how he means it 🥹🥰

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” “You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.” “Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

🥰🥰🥰

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.” You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

I'm crying this is just so good 😭🥰

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

They shared their names to now entrust each other's hearts 💕

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.” He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

He is just so excited for her, especially because he has thought about it for a while🥹

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too.

 both if them shaking just shows how emotional and meaningful it is for the both of them 🥹🥰

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

🥰🥰🥰

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

I love that he not only noticed it but also adressed her new aura 🥰

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.” His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

Ahhhh it's happening!!

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

Oh, he is so ready to worship her even if it's just laying at her feet

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

I've had a head massage before, so I get it 😌

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

This is just one of those key elements in this story that I love so much!! Him giving her his name, showing how much he values her and giving her time and space to truly make up her own mind if she wants this, it's just perfection 🥰👏🏻

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

A truly good man ❤️‍🩹🥹

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

A sight to be seen, I'm sure 🤭

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough.

🥰🥰🥰

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

Aww rats just so cute, I love tender little moments like that (especially after some other things happening before 🤭)

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

I'm a true sucker for post-sex laughter and giggles shared together 🥰

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours.

I just loved this so so much 🥹🥰👏🏻

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[barleyo]

Make the Most of Freedom.

Father! Sukuna X Daughter! Reader (smut)

A/N: can you tell i'm going through a sukuna obsession right now? ^_^ he's literally my everything currently, and i love him as a father

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), slight mentions of abuse and forced marriage, sexism and heavy misogyny, oral (f receiving)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Your father was decent enough to you, as fathers went. None were particularly good, but you had recently heard gossip of a man who married his daughter off to the town's local pervert in her eighteenth year, convinced by a lump sum of silver, so, certainly your old-fashioned, stern father was a lucky draw. For all the so called "decency" your old man had, though, he had a certain distaste for women. Girls more so. 

Perhaps it was when your mother died that he gained this sneering mentality on the opposite sex. Likely that being left with you, a girl he was forced to raise on his own, was what caused it. Either way, Sukuna's affections for you only ran so deep.  Not abusive, necessarily. Distant was more like it. Neglectful where it mattered most, you often thought, but diligent in your personal matters. 

He practically had a legion of homebound spies to keep him up to date on you.

Choices were not something you often got to make in your life. Every day seemed to be planned out down to the second for you. Servants crowded you and equated you to a pampered house pet. Practice this, say that, eat this, but definitely don't eat that. Look this way. Look there. 

Do not look at him. 

Boys were a nonstarter. Romance was hardly allowed to be the subject of your fantasy. If Sukuna could gain a monopoly on your mind and control your every thought, he would. Without a second thought. He could not, though, so luckily for you, you could peer around a wooden beam on the veranda and watch one of the younger servant boys walk around your father's estate. 

To catch a glimpse of a boy was a rare treat with how often Uraume, on your father's order, tasked you with some type of busy work or etiquette training. Still, you enjoyed your cheeky voyeuristic moments. You savored them, knowing that the spare moments you had to yourself were your only chances at feeling normal. 

Normal girls at your age had other normal girls to chat with about boys. Normal girls had suitors and gentleman callers. Normal girls' pursuers did not disappear randomly after attempting to court them. Normal girls did not have fathers who were feared across all lands. No, that was a you-problem. 

Then again, normal fathers did not love their daughters as much as Sukuna loved you, despite how terribly horrid he was at showing it.

Like every other day, you were aimlessly trapped inside your home. Perhaps not trapped. There were plenty of places to go—your father owned more land than any man could reasonably need—but where else would you go? Outside to be teased by the sight of assorted servants and concubines enjoying the simplicity of their lives? Or, perhaps you could go to the servants' quarters, where Uraume would grill you on your posture and wipe nonexistent smudges off of your face. As wonderful as those exhilarating options sounded, you felt that staying inside the four comforting walls of the main house would be in your best interest.

You leaned against the sliding door parked at the entrance of the house. Trailing your fingers gently over the wooden frame, your found that the door was slightly ajar. A careless servant must have left it open, and you must have been too lost in your thoughts to feel the cool draft wheedling through the crack. Your finger pads pushed against the doorframe to slide it shut, but a familiar voice stopped you. 

That boy. That wonderfully, blissfully ignorant boy. 

You envied him on a few days, but desired him on most. In essence, he was free. Freer than you, at the very least. He seemed your age, but he walked with the experience of a man your father's age. You wondered if he knew things you did not. If he could teach you—touch you.

Sukuna disliked the younger boys that worked on the estate. Lazy, the lot of them. Lazy and easily rousing to the otherwise whorish women who worked with them. You assumed your father simply did not like people, with the way he had a complaint for every make and model of society. 

Women were inferior sluts. Girls were stupid and vapid. Men were arrogant and audacious. Boys were impure little bastards and something you would have nothing to do with under his roof.

He made that very clear when you attempted to ask about leaving the estate with the boy. He pleaded for you to ask your father, and stupidly, you did.

Your father looked at you with what could most plainly be described as disgust. Shame, you would say, if you thought your father was capable of feeling any. 

"Leave?" 

You knew you made a mistake the second the words left your mouth. No phrasing or tone change could have saved you. 'Leave,' 'home,' and 'you' were words Sukuna wouldn't tolerate in the same sentence, unless of course the sentence was: 'I shall never leave home or be away from you, father.'

"For what?" he asked, clenched hands resting on the top of the table. Uraume, knowing what was about to happen from the guilt-stricken look on your face, had disappeared into the servant's quarters right after presenting dinner. "That boy?"

Such venom was spat in the word. Such degradation forced into a single syllable word. You bit your tongue for a moment, feeling offended on the behalf of your tawdry crush. 

"Why, I have half a mind to lock you up. He is the one who had put these ideas into your head, isn't he?" Sukuna asked between bites of his dinner. The idea angered him to his core, but the idea of such a pathetic man-child attempting to take his only heir was humorous enough to keep his temper even enough to eat.   "You probably think you love him, right? Foolishness."

He scoffed and waved his hand at you dismissively, nose crinkled. After a thick gulp of his wine, he continued, practically speaking to himself as you fumed silently in embarrassment. 

"He's just a boy. Swine, really, and you—" his eyes sharpened— "are not to see him again."

That shattered any hope you had left. The small window of freedom you had, the small glimpse of a future, was snatched. 

"That is not fair!"

Childishness, as Sukuna had expected. He sighed and ignored you. What he hadn't expected was the quick, flagrant backtalk you spat out. 

"He isn't just a boy. He's a man, and I am a woman now," you said, voice rushing to match the pace of your furious mind. "I'll leave whenever I want to. If I want to go into the city with him, I will. A woman can choose..." you trailed off, obviously not being as experienced as an independent woman as you claimed to be. 

Sukuna's expression never shifted. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—he simply stared at you, his gaze sharp, predatory. The silence hung heavy in the room, oppressive, thick with the weight of unspoken things. His eyes bored into you like a vice, until you began to regret every word that had left your mouth.

"You are a woman," he said loudly, his voice a low rumble of danger and fact, "it's what I hate most about you. Just like any other woman, look at how you turned out. Spoiled. Pampered. I'll bet a whore too," he added, peering down at your body for a beat too long, seeing the way the silks trapped your matured form. "Is that why you set yourself out to leave? Lover-boy knocked you up like some common whore?"

You could tell by his tone he didn't actually think so lowly of you, but the relentless taunts broke you. Any pretense of womanhood shattered under the embarrassment of father chiding you. 

"Well, who will want you now, hm? Not a pretty, little virgin anymore. See what boys do?" Sukuna stood and pulled you up by your shoulder, forcing you to his level. 

"They ruin you."

If boys ruined you, what did men do? With your father's hands digging into your hips and with his tongue attacking your rosy clit, you reckoned that they saved you. 

Yes, saved. That was the word for it, when Sukuna's spit baptized your dripping cunt, you felt saved. How such a feared, demonic man could make you feel such heavenly things, you knew not, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was that you could hardly remember the name of the once tempting boy you had fought so hard to go with. 

Many nights after the argument with you father, you tried to force yourself to leave. You made it to the door each time, sometimes further into the garden, before returning back to your room. Your scarce knapsack was unpacked quickly and you tucked yourself back into bed like nothing had happened. 

The night that you made it to the estate gates, you ran back home as fast as your bare feet would take you. You clawed at your father's bedroom door, splintering the tips of your fingers as you cried it for him to let you in. 

You would admit it. He was right. As always, regretfully. You were a stupid girl with the dreams of a woman and eyes bigger than your true appetite. As you sobbed into your father's robes, sick gratification crossed his features. 

"Not your fault," he mumbled between your thighs, licking agonizing stripes through your folds. "Y'never learn. I know."

Your body laid bare before him, showing every curve and blemish, every sin clear as day, you seized and rocked on the mattress. Your blood was hot and your chest was uneven. 

Inexperienced and needy, you gave into your father the second his hands slid down your panties. You let him guide you. Your shepherd, his sheep. Your white wool was his for the taking, and he harvested with interest. He took all you had to give. Ever noise you could make, every gasp, he stole from your chest greedily. 

He could have you, all of you. Nobody else could match him in that moment. As your cunt melted into his mouth, he peered at you through heavy lashes with pure ownership.

How could you ever leave the man that finally made you a woman?

[milk-tea-sakura]

𝐵𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎- 𝒥𝑜𝒽𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝒞𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒾𝒸, 𝓈𝑜 𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑜 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈. 𝐻𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓁𝓅𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈.

𝒞𝓌: 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝒻𝒻, 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓃𝒶𝓃𝒸𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝒶𝓁

Johnny had always been a fan of the holiday season, particularly the Christmas festivities. As a devout Catholic, he loved celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ and spreading the joy and cheer of the season. And one of his favorite traditions was decorating the house for Christmas.

For Johnny, hanging the Christmas lights was always a must. "No one does it like me," he'd say with a grin, patting his chest in pride. But it wasn't just about being the best at it, it was about feeling the magic of the season and creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere in their home.

Every year, Johnny would drag out the boxes of Christmas decorations from the attic, a childlike excitement in his eyes. "It's time to get festive," he'd say with a chuckle, rummaging through the boxes and finding his favorite string of lights.

You, his wife, would watch him fondly as he went about his task. He would hang the lights outside on the house, wrapping the eaves and outlining the windows carefully, humming carols under his breath. And once they were done outside, he would move indoors to string the lights on the tree, the fireplace, and any other surface he could find.

As he worked, Johnny would occasionally turn to you and say, "Can you bring me the tinsel, baby?" or, "Do you think this looks even?" His focus was solely on getting the lights just right, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated.

Finally, when the lights were hung to his satisfaction, Johnny would step back and admire his handiwork, a proud smile on his face. "There," he'd say, his chest puffed out. "That's how it's done."

Finally, when the lights were hung to his satisfaction, Johnny would step back and admire his handiwork, a proud smile on his face. "There," he'd say, his chest puffed out. "That's how it's done."

The house would be transformed into a winter wonderland, the lights casting a soft, warm glow throughout the rooms. And as you looked around, taking in the magic of the season, you couldn't help but feel thankful for Johnny's enthusiasm and dedication to making their home as festive as possible.

"Are you going to take all this down after christmas?"

Johnny nodded eagerly, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. "Of course, baby. Wouldn't want the house to look like Christmas year-round, now would we?"

"You probably wouldn't mind it"

Johnny chuckled, a guilty look on his face. "You know me too well," he admitted, a grin tugging at his lips. "I do love the holiday season, but I guess I'll have to settle for just one month a year."

"Besides," he added, taking a step closer to you and wrapping his arms around your waist. "I think you'd get sick of it pretty quickly."

"I wouldn't but it would take the magic out of this time of year. Plus I wouldn't get to see my handsome military husband use his muscles yearly."

Johnny's chest puffed up at your compliment, a cocky smile on his lips. "You just like seeing me lift heavy things and reach high places," he teased, his hands sliding down to give your hips a playful squeeze.

"Well, it certainly doesn't hurt," you replied with a coy smile, looping your arms around his neck. "But I also like seeing you all festive and jolly. It's a nice change from that tired military man all the time."

"Hey, I can be serious and festive at the same time," Johnny protested, feigning insulted, despite the smile still tugging at his lips. "I can put up the decorations while silently judging your taste in Christmas décor"

"What's wrong with my Christmas decor?"

Johnny's eyes widened in mock shock, as if offended by your question. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you insist on putting up that gaudy inflatable Santa next to the front door every year—"

You rolled your eyes playfully, swatting him on the chest. "That Santa was a gift from my grandma! I have to put it up every year."

"Plus she knows how much you love Christmas which is the whole reason she gave me that Santa." You continued.

Johnny chuckled, unable to argue with that logic. "Okay, fine. The Santa stays."

He leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "But the elf collection in the living room is another story—"

"You contribute to that collection every year so don't even."

Johnny's shoulders sagged in mock defeat, a sly smile on his lips. "Guilty as charged. I do seem to have a habit of buying those little elves every time I pass by the Christmas section at the store..."

"Yeah, and I quote "I brought it because it made me think of you." Sound familiar?"

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Alright, alright, you caught me. But can you blame me? Those elves are adorable."

"You just said that you didn't like them"

Johnny chuckled, wrapping his arms around you tighter. "Baby, I just said I didn't like the elf collection. Doesn't mean I don't adore those little buggers. I do have to admit, they are pretty cute."

"Plus, they do remind me of you," he continued, his voice turning teasing. "Short and feisty."

You slap Johnny's chest playfully "On another note, I have a semi-early Christmas gift for you."

Johnny's eyes widened, a mixture of curiosity and excitement in his gaze. "A gift for me? And early, too? Christmas came early this year, I guess. What is it?"

"How do you feel about kids?"

Johnny's eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting that question. He paused, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, a thoughtful look on his face. "Kids, huh? Well, I mean, I've always thought it would be a nice idea, you know, to have a little one running around someday. But...are you trying to drop a hint here or something?"

"Stay here, I'll be right back." You say as you disappear into the bedroom

Johnny watched you with a mix of confusion and curiosity as you left the room. He stood there in the living room, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what you were up to.

He waited anxiously, his gaze darting between the empty doorway and the boxes of Christmas decorations surrounding him. The suspense was killing him. "Babe, what are you doing in there?" he called out, his voice tinged with impatience.

You walk back into the living room holding a small box "Here you go"

Johnny's eyes widened as he saw the small box in your hands. A mixture of emotions flashed across his face - surprise, anticipation, and a hint of excitement.

He took the box tentatively, his fingers lightly cradling it. "What is it? Can I open it now?"

"Yes, you can open it now."

Johnny's heart seemed to skip a beat as he looked down at the small box in his hands. He carefully opened it, his movements slow and measured.

When the lid came off, Johnny's breath caught in his throat. Inside the box was a single item that made his eyes widen and his heart skip a beat.

It was a positive pregnancy test.

Johnny's mind seemed to go blank for a moment as he stared at the small stick, trying to process what it meant. He looked up at you, his eyes wide and filled with shock and disbelief. "Is...is this real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes... and I would like an emotion from you so I know how you're feeling about this."

Johnny's mind was still reeling as he processed the news. A mix of emotions ran through him - shock, surprise, a hint of worry, but also a growing sense of happiness and excitement.

He looked up at you, meeting your gaze with a mixture of awe and joy in his eyes. "I...I don't even know what to say. I can't believe it. We're...we're going to be parents?"

Johnny's words were shaky, his voice thick with emotion, as he began to fully grasp the implications of the positive test. He placed the box down and took a step towards you, his eyes searching your face. "Are you sure? This is...this is real?"

“Yes, it’s real Johnny. We are going to be parents.”

Johnny's heart was pounding in his chest as he heard you confirm the news. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you close into his embrace. "We're gonna have a baby," he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of joy and disbelief.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your familiar scent. "I...I can't believe it. I'm going to be a father. We're going to be parents." He repeated the words, as if trying to make them real.

"We're going to be parents" You confirm

Johnny held you tighter, his arms almost crushing you to his chest as the reality of the situation sank in. "A baby," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "We created a life."

He lifted his head, pulling back just enough so he could look into your eyes. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe, love, and a hint of trepidation. "Are you...how do you feel about this? I mean, I know we talked about kids, but now that it's real, are you..." He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

"I'm...I'm a bit scared," you admitted, your voice slightly shaky, but also filled with a hint of excitement. "It's a huge step, you know. It's going to change our lives forever. But...but I think I'm also excited. I want to be a mom, Johnny. I want to have a family with you."

Johnny's heart swelled at your words, a wave of reassurance washing over him. "We can do this," he said, his voice firm and determined. "We're a team, remember? We've been through so much together. We can handle this. "His hands ran up your back, holding you close again. "I promise I'll be there for you every step of the way. We'll do this together."

He pulled back slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Plus, you're going to be a kickass mom. I can already tell."

You couldn't help but chuckle, some of the tension from before melting away at his compliment. "And you're going to be a pretty darn good dad," you replied, resting your head against his chest.

Johnny beamed at your words, his arms wrapping around you tighter. "Damn right I will be," he said, his voice filled with determination. "I'll protect our little one with everything I've got. And I'll do my best to make sure they know how much we love them."

"Even with you being away with the military?"

Johnny sighed, the weight of his job suddenly heavy on his shoulders. "Yeah, I know it'll be tough," he admitted. "Being away on missions, especially when the baby arrives...it's gonna be hard. But I promise you, I'll do my best to be there as much as I can. And we'll figure it out together, okay?"

"We'll get through it, baby," he continued, his voice filled with determination. "And our little one is gonna know how much we love them, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. We're in this together. You, me, and our baby. We're a team."

He pulled you close again, his arms encircling you once more. "And when I'm home, I'll make sure to spoil you both rotten."

You smiled into his chest, feeling a wave of reassurance wash over you. "You better," you replied, your voice filled with mock threat. "I'll hold you to those promises."

Johnny chuckled, his hand gently rubbing your back in a soothing motion. "Oh, don't worry," he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. "I always follow through on my promises, especially when it comes to you and our baby."

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None

Summary: Daryl helps you reignite the Christmas spirit as best as he can.

A/N: This started as an incorrect quote inspired by a friend and her epic battle with a christmas tree. You can find the quote here. A special thank you to @shadowcitrine for allowing me to bear witness to this gladiator battle to the death. It was the hardest I have laughed in a long time. And furthermore, thank you again for allowing me to use your suffering to my creative advantage. I love you. ❤️

🎶Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree🎶

“How ya even know when it is anyway?” Holding the hex nut up to eye level, he turned it over between his fingers. Yep, that was the one. He placed it in the designated spot and fitted the wrench, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he worked. 

“I don’t, but it’s mid winter and it’s snowing and why not? Don’t be so bah humbug, Daryl.” You chuckled at his expression. He never knew he was making it and you never told him. He would certainly make every attempt to stop and it was far too adorable to allow that. 

“I ain’t.” He grumbled, sitting up to scrutinize his own work. A droplet of melted snow landed on the apple of his cheek. He didn’t seem to mind, if he noticed at all. The roof of the old stall was known to leak. “Just—never understood it, s’all.”

Your smile faded. “You never had one.” You didn’t need him to confirm, and he didn’t. Not verbally. The way he paused with the wrench halfway to the bike spoke volumes. After a heartbeat, he cleared his throat and continued his work. 

The holiday wasn’t something that had been celebrated in the several years since the turn. Truthfully, no one had paid attention. Some of the children likely didn’t even know what Christmas was. The thought had always made your heart heavy but there had always been something standing in the way of any reclaiming of the holiday. 

“We should celebrate this year.” You blurted, not even really realizing that you had spoken out loud until Daryl scoffed. 

“Good luck with that.”

“I’m serious.” Crossing the space between the two of you, you crouched and balanced yourself with a hand on the bike’s front tire. “Come on, Daryl. It’ll be great for the kids. Hell, maybe it’ll do everyone some good.” He sighed, allowing his hand to fall away from its task. The pout you pinned him with was certainly what did him in. 

“Fine.”

Biting your lip in the center of a beaming smile, you lunged at him, almost toppling him over with the embrace. “Thank you!” Daryl nodded and patted your back, still awkward in his reciprocations of your touches even after so long as a couple. It was endearing. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whaddaya need me to do?”

With a firm grip on his upper arms, you pushed him back to arm’s length. “You’re gonna be Santa’s little helper! Come on!” 

Daryl scrubbed a hand over his face and gave a heaving sigh. “M’a regret this.”

It had taken six days and four supply runs to gather enough decorations for at least your own home to be decorated. You enlisted the help of some of the children for drawings and crafts that could be used as well. Though you wished you could color the community in lights and garland, your space would have to do for that first year. 

Your hope was for it to coax the holiday spirit from within the adults and inspire a sense of wonder from the little ones. Even with all the effort, it seemed so lackluster. And Daryl, bless him, was granting a valiant effort toward your endeavor. 

You had just pulled some cookies from the oven—gingerbread men for the kids to decorate with what little frosting and candy you could manage—when there was a knock on the door. 

“Yeah, one sec!” You called, pulling off the oven mitts to discard them on the countertop. A spared glance into the living room had you smiling. The multicolored lights you ran for a few hours each evening cast a brilliant illuminance across the door and then Carol’s face when you opened it. “Hey, come on in.”

Her boot had barely touched the floor on the other side of the threshold when a loud crash sounded from the living room. “What was that?” She queried.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it!” Came Daryl’s gruff response before your lips could even part. Carol’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline before another thump thud crash could be heard. 

“What was that?” She chuckled. 

“You’re askin’ a awful lot’a questions for someone who ain’t even in the goddamn room!”

Try as the two of you might to withhold, you broke out into laughter. You hid your knowing smile behind your hand. “Daryl’s putting up Christmas decorations.” 

“No I ain’t!” He shouted with obvious annoyance.  “M’playin’ “whose dick’s bigger” with a plastic fuckin’ tree!” 

More ruckus echoed, and you finally decided that maybe your archer needed some assistance. “Are you okay in here?” You chortled, rubbing your lips together in an attempt to maintain a straight face. 

Daryl was chewing his bottom lip in earnest when his eyes met yours. There was no anger there, but something more akin to embarrassment. Tilting your head, your nose crinkled and brow furrowed. What on earth could he be embarrassed—

Oh. 

The tree leaned to one side, bare spots where lights should be, limbs missing and broken on the floor. No matter the battle, it appeared the tree had won. Carol was snickering behind you, shushed by a wave of your hand and a stuttering ssh as you tried not to join her. 

“It looks—” You began.  

“Like it needs a stage name.” Carol finished for you. You turned to her again, your smile belying your admonishing tone. “Something about it seriously isn’t right with Jesus.” She laughed heartily. 

“He ain’t got nothin’ to do with this.” Turning back, you could almost see a pout decorating his handsome face. “May be his birthday but this is my tree!” Oh, how hard it was not to tease him. “Why couldn’t he just’a got a cake like everybody else?”

“Daryl!” You gave in, nearly doubling over. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lighter and some beeswax.” He grumbled, petulantly yanking his arm away when you laid your hand on it. 

“It’s got character.” You assured him, face mockingly serious. Arms crossed, you stood next to him, head tilted to match the lean of the tree. “Like an extra in the Nutcracker.”

“One ya ain’t gonna let dance in the front.” He mimicked your pose, appearing a little more at ease—almost as if he himself might laugh. Carol joined the two of you, three sets of eyes studying the colorful disaster. 

“It really says something.” She affirmed with a hint of amusement. 

“Yeah, says m’sorry.” Daryl huffed. Smiling genuinely, you switched the tilt of your head to the other side, your temple resting against his shoulder. 

“I love our little crooked tree.” Your smile broadened when you felt his arm move and come to rest around your shoulders, his lips pressing into your hair. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.” 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, comfortable in his embrace, but the excited yays from Judith and RJ broke the trance, your already upturned mouth splitting into a beaming smile. 

“Uncle Daryl, we have a tree!” The young boy exclaimed, jumping up and down. You had explained the gist of things to a group of children, delighting in their excitement when you promised to try your hardest in reviving the season. 

“Sure do.” He sounded almost proud, sparking something warm inside your chest. 

“How about some cookies before we invite everyone over?” You offered, your eyes on the children before finding Daryl watching you, a corner of his mouth upturned. 

There almost wasn’t room in your modest home for all the townsfolk but you made it work, serving stew and desserts and heaping helping of cheer. The laughs and smiles were all you had ever wanted for the community, the desire to uplift their spirits and inspire hope where so little had remained.

“Hey.” Daryl breathed against your ear, his arms wrapping around your middle. All teeth and crinkled eyes, you laid your head back against his shoulder and just watched. “Think ya did it.”

“We did it.” You corrected him, angling your face upward to kiss his chin, his whiskers comfortably scratching your lips. He hummed.

“Got a surprise for ya.” Daryl stepped back, arms releasing their hold only for his hand to find yours with a gentle tug. A curious expression crossed your face. 

“A surprise?”

“Mhm.” 

It took no coaxing for you to follow him to the door, watching him open it with sheer excitement reflecting in your bright orbs. You weren’t sure what you were expecting but to see his bike, strategically wrapped in garland and bells under the gentle peppering of snow was not it. 

“Oh, Daryl.” Your bottom lip quivered, your voice trembling. “You did this for me?” The tears that began to escape were unbidden, born not of sadness. 

“Well, yeah.” He kicked at something nonexistent on the porch, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Y’deserve something too.” Your smile was dazzling but dimmed after a moment, expression falling as you watched him. “What?”

“I didn’t—I couldn’t get anything for you.” 

Daryl stepped into your space without hesitation, the side of his forefinger below your chin while his thumb stroked your cheek. “Got all I need right here in this house.”

“Daryl.” You sniffled, a sob cut off by his lips on yours. The kiss was chaste, the taste of sugar and smoke so deliciously Daryl that you felt your heart flutter. 

“C’mon, let’s take ya on a sleigh ride.” 

With your hand in his, he guided you to the bike, your eyes wet and your heart full. Not even the cold winter wind whipping against your face could erase your smile. 

[blackbackedjackal]

Soul Eater has always been a bizarre case. on one end of the spectrum there's characters like Kilik Rung, Mira Nygus, and even major manga antagonist Noah. on the other end there's the infamous bg jazz band that are straight up minstrels (they look identical in the manga. this was not studio bones' artistic liberty) and the death scythe repping Africa named Dengu Dinga who wears a mashup of "african flavoured" clothing. and then there's Sid, obviously i can't pass judgement on what's good or bad design rep but there certainly was a scene where Maka literally calls him a "mean blue gorilla"..

sorry for rambling, but Ohkubo absolutely takes inspiration from graffiti art and hip hop aesthetics in his work which makes the antiblackness even more disrespectful

Feel free to ignore that ask if the topic is bogging you down btw, I didn't see your last post if you're done engaging with the topic for now feel free to delete it. Looking forward to what you do with strawberry moon <3

Oh dude you're good. I just needed a nap before I answered more lol. I'll try and answer as many of these as I can because I'm honestly enjoying the discussion even though I have to step away from it for a bit. It's triggering to me but not in a way that I can't talk about it, just bogs down my mind ya know?

Anyway, I've never watched Soul Eater so I had no idea of the Black characters in the show! I had to look them up and I see what you're saying. Mira is a stereotype because I'd consider her a sexualized Black woman in this context. Kilik is like 100% fine to me at a glance, like he just looks like a Black guy though there may be some writing I'm missing that still makes him a stereotype.

I had no idea that he was influenced by graffiti art but I TOTALLY see it now in his shape language. Sid is by far the worst since he still has the big white teeth and a more 'gangster' aesthetic. Especially considering the time period Soul Eater was released, it's in poor taste at best and still perpetuating Black stereotypes at worse.

Anime is it's own sub-genre of racism in animation. White people LOOOOOVE to say "oh it's a different culture and they don't know" LMAO YES THEY DO DON'T PLAY stop infantilizing Asians you fucking sickos.

Colorism alone is such an issue in Asian countries. I've lived with people from China, South Korea, Thailand, Taiwan, and the Philippines. I've heard first hand accounts of people from the Philippines being treated like lesser human beings just for having a slightly darker skin-tone and don't get me started on how Chinese imperialism has impacted Taiwanese people. I'm not going to speak for disenfranchised Asian people but it's easy to find if you look it up. But my point is if colorism is that prevalent, imagine how much worse it is when your entire culture has a history of being exploited to the point that blackface is a worldwide issue.

Also the Boondocks exists and though not a perfect example, it still has some of the best depictions of Black people in an anime style. There's no excuse to draw racist stereotypes when there's literally 5 seasons worth of overall solid Black character designs that can be referenced for other series.

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Sugar Babe

Finally got around to finishing this, first published fic on this account, who cheered?! (pls gimme feedback/requests)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Plus Sized/AFAB Reader ★ Established Relationship

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, mentions of ADD lol

WC: 1.3k

*Alternate timeline: a few years after the events of season 4 (spoiler: he lived)*

Inspired by the 1971 song 'Sugar Babe' by Stephen Stills

You were an outlier; you and Eddie both were for an endless number of reasons. One of the most prominent ones to oblivious outsiders looking in was the fact that you were only in your early twenties but you behaved like a couple who’d been married for at least a decade. It grossed the kids out, it warmed older adults’ hearts, and it made your friends of the same age a little envious. Neither of you really saw it as abnormal because it just felt normal; not forced, not overdramatized, not rushed, none of that. It was just natural, good old fashioned love as Wayne liked to describe it.

Now, don’t get anything twisted, the both of you certainly weren’t the perfect couple but you were perfect for one another and that was what mattered. You had plans to get married but not for awhile; 25 at least as you’d said whenever a family member brought it up since you’d been together for a few years already. There were times, however, when Eddie considered just full sending things because of how overwhelmed with love he felt: pawning a ring from the shop just outside town, taking you out some place nice, and proposing even if it threw you for a loop, even if neither of you had more than a few hundred bucks at a time. But he knew that wasn’t how either of you wanted things to play out so he practiced restraint, even on nights like tonight. 

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

“You can do whatever you want to do, you can be who you want to be. Just remember that me and you ain’t all there is to bein’ free.” Your singing was soft and clearly zoned out while you stood at the stove in Eddie and Wayne’s kitchen, eyes honed in on the pot that crackled and popped with searing oil and slivers of potato. Your boyfriend watched you from the opposing counter where he was supposed to be working on a tattoo for someone who’d paid him to design something; a simple sword with song lyrics wrapped around it that resembled vines. It was good money and something he loved to do, but he loved you more. 

“People need love. People need trust. People need one another and that means us. My sugar babe. Believe me, sugar babe.” You didn’t notice him slip off the countertop nor did you seem to hear him slink towards you. If you did, you made no efforts to turn towards him or to ask what he was up to so he continued onwards, sly as a fox. 

“Everyone knows it ain't easy when you get it all together in your heart. It's the easiest thing to do to be pleasin'. Folks ain't made to live apart.” You smiled and hummed as you felt the familiar embrace of Eddie’s arms wrapping around your midsection, his chin settled on your right shoulder so he could see what you were seeing. 

“People need love. People need trust. People need one another and that means us. My sugar babe. Believe me, sugar babe. I'm on your side, sugar babe.” He husked the words with you like they were a prayer and you gushed as you kept an eye on the fries. This was your song, at least one of them, and he called you Sugar Babe as often as he could because it got the biggest smile on your face; prettier than the stars. 

“Let yourself be open, honey, learn to bend. Remember, everyone gets scared, but I'm still your best friend…” He stole a kiss to the side of your head right above the temple and you turned this time, giving him the invitation to grab your hips with a little jig in his stride. 

“When you forget about yourself and think of things to do to make me happy, then you love me girl, like I love you, oh-oh-oh…” He turned the charm up to 100 by tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, keeping his warm hand there since it always made you soften. You gave him that sarcastic smirk he loved and he began to lean in, going for the kill. Your eyes fluttered shut when he got close enough for your noses to bump but then a sharp gasp left you as the pot began to sputter a little louder. 

“Oh, shit! Gotta turn ‘em.” You spun around like a top to do as you said, the edge of your elbow brushing across Eddie’s chest; a punch to the heart. You were lucky you were cute. An audible noise that sounded like a mix of irritation and adoration left Eddie so you furrowed your brows while you watched the golden fries bubbling inside the amber colored oil. 

“What?” You asked in question, side eyeing him. He snorted and waited until you’d turned all of the fries over; having set the big spoon you were using back down.The moment it clattered against the spoon rest, he let out a long chuckle and grabbed at your waist once more. 

“Nothing, ‘s nothing, Y/N.” He paused and met your eye as you cocked your head towards him; there’s those pretty blues. “Your ADD is just going ham right now.” You frowned and geared up to give him a sassy defense but he finally gave into his temptation (one of them, at least) and chased your lips with his own; shutting you up mid–sentence with a hungry hold. You gasped into the kiss but melted all the same, similar to putty in his hands and in turn, you held his face with gentle palms that he swore could heal. Your lips finally parted for the sake of air and you clicked your tongue at him once you caught your own breath. 

“You interrupted me.” You said with an accusatory tone, unable to help the giggle that fell through when he started tickling at your ribs. Asshat. 

“That I did, Sugar Babe.” 

“Ass.” He rolled his eyes at you like a diva. He even did the hair flip for fuck’s sake. Drama queen. 

“Oh, whatever. You liked that.”

“Says who?” You challenged it though it was true; this was part of your dynamic with Eddie, after all. 

“Says the pink in your cheeks, Sugar Babe.” You fumed at that and he snickered since you turned an even deeper shade of pink, causing you to grimace at him with a saucy wiggle back towards the pot. Another eye roll came from him even though he knew you couldn’t see him and he sighed with a nonchalant lean forwards, grabbing you and hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing. 

“Eds.” You groaned out of irritance though you made no efforts to stop him; not even any squirming when he had you comfortably settled over his shoulder.

“What?” He whined back in mockery of you, earning a light slap to the middle of his back. 

“Put me down. It’s not good for your back, ya know.” He disregarded your words with a grunt that may as well have said ‘oh, as if’ and he kicked the door to his room open before gently flopping you down onto the center of his bed. 

“Good one, babe. You should try standup.” He toed back to shut the door with his butt and he pulled his shirt off of himself, finding you with a confused gaze that amused him in some odd way. He tilted his head at you inquisitively and climbed on the bed, reaching for you with protective arms. 

“What about the fries?” You asked him shyly. Even after all these years, you still got a little meek during these moments of intensity where all of his attention was on you and you only. He grinned with a shaking head and held your face, squishing at your cheeks just lightly enough to get a low noise of annoyance out of your mouth. God, he loved annoying you. 

“Honestly, sweetheart?” He paused for a moment to kiss you; a long and hungry embrace of battling tongues, clashing teeth, and racing hearts. Butterflies filled both of your stomachs and this time it was his cheeks that turned a deep shade of fuchsia.

“Fuck the fries.”

[leggerefiore]

I looked in the mirror and realized a horrifying truth: You see, I'm trying to grow my hair out and it's at an awkward length, and pairing that with my glasses... I look EXACTLY like Maxie 😩🌋🌋

Can I request Maxie, Archie and Kabu's (Hoenn boissss) reaction to their s/o unfortunately looking like a certain eco terrorist? 🌋🌋🌋 tempted to cut my hair now

you just made me remember when I grew my hair back out from a half buzz cut... I don't think I can ever go that short again haha.

cw: comedy

characters: Maxie, Archie, Kabu

☀️Maxie🌋

🪨 Few things could get a reaction out of the Magma Leader. He prided himself on being controlled and confident. So, he would never admit to the jump and light scream that came from him seeing you. Were those his glasses!? No, wait, they could not be. His were on his face. He blinked a few times. Was this another attempt to look like him? He half-expected to see you in his uniform again. Maxie is not entirely sure how to take this situation. Your explanation of this being accidental and horrifying to you did not help. How was this accidental!?

🪨 Maxie, ultimately, helped amend the situation. Maroons were off limits, and he was tempted to ask Courtney for other ways to style hair… If the admin would not have panicked and demanded he keep himself looking as he always did. Instead, he found himself trying to set the style you two have apart to prevent any weird situations. Really… He feared what Archie might say if he spotted you two. That buffoon would probably ask if he had made you look like this! It sent a shiver down his spine. So, this needed to be amended. For his sanity. He was even willing to go for contacts for a while to prevent comments.

🌧Archie🌊

💧 The Aqua Leader was tiredly wandering into the bathroom to start his morning when he spotted a sight. He nearly stumbled back in shock. “Maxie, what're you doing in my bathroom?!” the question left him unconsciously before the person turn around to face him. Then, he was more bewildered. His Luvdisc?! How did you look so eerily like the Magma Leader? He hoped this was not some attempt at finding out his past with the other man – He certainly was not in a place to answer it after the shock and confusion. Your explanation made him nod. Right. You were growing out your hair. He knew that. That hairstyle was just far too similar.

💧 He offered a bandana to help make you stand out as different than Maxie's own. He worried a bit, after all. They were both kind of despised for their activities, and he already knew you caught a lot of unwanted attention just by being with him. That, and… Archie shuddered to think about what Maxie might say if you two encountered him with you looking so eerily similar to the Magma Leader. He was not wanting to particularly find out. So, he was ready to help you differentiate yourself to the best of his abilities.

🔥Kabu🏅

💥 The Gym Leader got out of bed with a yawn as his alarm finally blared. His gaze drifted towards the bathroom, where a light was on. He got up to go check in and start his day but froze in the door frame. Blinking, he recalled frantic messages from family and saw the news about some group's leader who had nearly turned Hoenn into a desert due to his horrible ambitions. But… Why would somebody like that be in his bathroom? He nearly jumped out of his skin when you turned around. That was quite an unfortunate look… He regained himself and shook his head. Not particularly your fault… Still, the shock of thinking a certain eco-terrorist had invaded his bathroom was haunting.

💥 “... Maybe we should pop into the salon…” He offered after you complained about your hair, “That is quite an unfortunate resemblance.” And he would prefer it not happen again… The rumours that would be in the press about him… That sounded like a headache. He tended not to care for that stuff outside his work related needs, but he could tell a “situation” nowadays. A certain water-type Gym Leader would alert him to it as well. Honestly, he would prefer you not to look like the Magma Leader for his sanity, too.

[steel-and-fire]

When he handed her over the blade, he noticed she had drifted off. He did find it a little peculiar that she hadn't come to check that he hadn't run away with her sword. While he had been doing his best to be accommodating, they only knew each other for less than a day, he wouldn't think Ill of her to want to make sure.

But, the poor thing had fallen asleep. She was very strong, but it seemed that the mercenary life still didn't treat her kindly. It rarely treated anyone so. If he had managed to offer her some warmth and comfort, he was happy to have achieved that.

A smile formed on his lips, his hands placed on his sides.

"Don't mention it, it was hardly anything difficult for me.", he mused, walking over the couch and taking a sit.

"I'm just happy that you like it. Happy you liked the soup too.", he chuckled with a small wink.

"The trade is fair, understanding Senko has opened my mind to a lot of possibilities. It might not seem so to you, but I've gained a ton of insight and magical knowledge. If I find myself with a dragon horn, I'll have all the more chances to turn it to a strong weapon.

That is worth a lot, isn't it?"

"So, what do you plan to do now? Our work is done here, but you're always welcome to come visit. And if I'm no longer in town, we may still find each other in the travels. If you hear about a dragon blooded blacksmith in a wagon, that's proooobably me."

He most certainly wanted to see her again. Sky was a nice gal, and a honorable person from how things seemed. Quite strong too. There was no reason for their paths to never cross again.

The interior of the tavern was cozy and warm, and although busy enough with patrons, it wasn't loud and cacophonous. Something the dragonblood appreciated quite a lot, walking through the room and finding a nice remote table to sit and have his meal.

The black armor with the golden patterns did not seem to bother him much as he made himself comfortable, very well fitted to his body, and his tail came to rest over his legs.

He ordered, and had a drink....when something caught his eye. On the table in front of him, a woman was enjoying her own meal, probably a mercenary, but what stuck to him was the beautiful blade that she carried. The craftsmanship looked astonishing, and his curiosity flared....alas, the handle seemed worn and barely holding in place, standing out quite a bit compared to the rest of the weapon.

He...decided to mind his business, and not bother the fellow person. But the food came, and he ate it, and he had his drink, his eyes kept falling on the blade. Minute by the minute, the curiosity increased and built courage inside him.

He played a small conversation in his head to find out how to address her properly, and then coughed a little into his fist.

"Um....excuse me, my lady.", he started, taking a small breath to steady his tone and form a smile on his lips. "Forgive my bothering you, but I am a blacksmith and your blade has truly caught my eye. It's a gorgeous thing."

@the-storm-chaser

[cyanide-latte]

Hihi!!! Tis the season to ask holiday themed asks!! Assuming the world of TWST celebrates winter holidays, do your OCs celebrate any holidays? If so, what are some things they like to do?

Thank you for including me in this idea, fam!

Admittedly this took a bit of consideration and it's still somewhat haphazard, so I apologize for that, please bear with!

Copper Benoit- While we touched on this very briefly in DMs, I don't mind expanding on it here! Copper doesn't recall celebrating winter holidays in the orphanage prior to Mr. Stone kidnapping him at age 6 or 7; he's sure the caretakers at the orphanage probably did do something for the kids, but it's been so long ago and his trauma so severe he doesn't really remember much about his time at the orphanage, let alone if they celebrated much of anything. And during the slightly-over-a-decade he's kept by Mr. Stone, nothing was celebrated, not really. So Copper's first exposure to winter holiday celebrations really begins when he starts his student career at Night Raven College! He wants to learn and respect as many celebrations of all sorts that he can (and as appropriately as possible,) so he's just happy to be a part of things and learn what these celebrations are and the significance they hold! Difficult to say what exactly that will lead to as he grows older, but he's got time to figure that out!

Wei Renqiao- Ren's family celebrates the Lunar New Year very faithfully, and when he comes to NRC, he makes certain to continue observing those traditions and celebrates in small ways before going back home to Bàoyìng for winter break. He especially loves when Ortho takes a more vested, hands-on interest in learning more about their celebrations, and goes out of his way to include him and anyone else who's curious in his festivities, even if they're much quieter in Ignihyde Dorm than they are back home!

Chrysanthos Shroud- Ahhh, here's where we get to my headcanon that the Shrouds observe a TWST version of Saturnalia; you'll have to forgive me, it's been years since I practiced observing it in high school and I'm still re-learning a lot of what I forgot, but that celebration and feast holds a special place in my heart. Even with working on re-educating myself, I do headcanon the Shrouds observe it, and it wasn't much more than a passing acknowledgement of notations on a calendar until Ilias married Kallisto. Kallisto insists on the Saturnalia season being warm and good-spirited and makes it a point to bring that together for her husband and her in-laws, so of course Chrys grew up with a very positive winter holiday celebration. His aunt and uncle and of course Ortho will also happily observe with him, though Idia has to be coaxed. Chrys loves the energy of Saturnalia and the vibes, and he brings it with him; eventually when he and Wei Xinyi start dating, the two decide to learn each other's celebrations and holiday observations, and eventually celebrate both when they get married!

The Anatoles- I do think they celebrate some sort of Yuletide holiday. The siblings are brought home during the holiday break and spend some time doing a lot of winter activities and holiday shopping and dining out, both with their great-grandmother, and with their stepfather's old jazz buddies. Their staff is offered the holiday off with double pay, but are also invited to meals at the home with them. Marianne especially wants people to eat the desserts she works hard to make, Bertrand will happily play holiday music on the piano, and Toussaint is generally pretty sleepy and calm compared to his usual energy (though still jovial as ever.) The siblings will often do their best to drag Rollo into their celebrations, despite his protests.

And last but most certainly not least, bonus surprise

The Pondicliffs- Felix and Aurelian always come home from Royal Sword Academy for Yuletide during the winter break. It's a little crowded with their sizeable family with so many dalmatian beastfolk kids, but they're pretty happy. The family tends to stay indoors most days for the break, with Felix and Aurelian often building snowmen, making snow forts and having snowball fights, or sledding downhill with their siblings, while the parents do a lot of cooking for several days. They all help with decorating their house, and spend a lot of time playing board games in the evening, having festive treats, watching holiday films, and then over the course of three days, they exchange gifts with one another! Felix loves the holidays, Aurelian's at that grumpy teen stage of hating the holidays just 'cause.

Thanks again for sending this ask! Also, would love to see more peeps and mutuals share their thoughts for their OCs and winter holidays too!

Taglist: @elenauaurs @inmateofthemind @ramshacklerumble @tixdixl @winterweary

@distant-velleity @rainesol @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @twst-migraine

@natsukishinomiyaswife @the-trinket-witch (DM me if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist for my TWST OCs stuff)

[sandu-zidian]

Im going away for a long time…

[necrotic-nephilim]

i personally have very complicated feelings on the Gotham Knights video game and the routes it takes with characterization. i think it has a charm to it and it goes in an interesting direction with everyone (especially within the confides of the plot of the game) but it does have certain moments that veer painfully fanon for me. (such as: the dialogue where Tim drinks too much coffee) it's an interesting story for what it is but i don't view it comics-based for characterization and therefore don't care to interact with it much for like. fanfic purposes.

that *said* though. i do have to give the game some kind of credit for giving one of the top five JayTim moments that lives rent free in my mind. every since i played the game, the cutscene lives in my mind daily. it's the specific cutscene where Jason and Tim are arguing about whether or not Jason's non-lethal bullets are too dangerous for the field, and the argument leads to TIm *standing in front of the target* Jason is shooting and telling Jason to shoot him. it lives rent free for me. i never stop thinking about this.

the absolute certainty Tim has that he is in no danger standing in front of Jason, who has a loaded gun pointed at his face. the way Jason *hesitates* for just a moment before lowering the gun. he thinks about it for just a second. Gotham Knights JayTim seem to get along very well and can rely on each other, but Jason still clearly holds a bitterness about his death and Tim that flickers through in some lines of dialogue under the guise of jokes. especially since this game deals *heavily* with concepts of Pit Madness causing an altered state of consciousness, i think it's believable that occasionally, Jason fights the urge to fight and hurt Tim for the feeling of being replaced.

i like their tension so much in this canon. they get along but you can *tell* Tim is afraid of addressing Jason's trauma or even addressing Jason head-on, and Jason leans into spooking Tim about it. which isn't very comics feeling in their dynamic, but it is an interesting way to place their dynamic if you're playing with a more timid Tim who's newer to the role of Robin. (which he seems to be in-game) he really doesn't want to offend Jason, or worse, piss him off. but he'll still face Jason head on for things like this, while completely aware of what Jason could be capable of.

and Jason seems very protective of Tim and respecting Tim as a Robin in typical Jason fashion. if Tim pushes, Jason *will* relent. he knows this is a kid who's proved himself and should be treated with equal respect, sometimes even more than Dick and Babs do in-game.

so for all that to culminate in Tim stepping in front of Jason's loaded gun that he *knows* is on the edge of being too dangerous, just to force Jason to listen? it's the most unhinged way Tim could've gotten his point across in this scene. he was literally daring Jason to hurt him and playing with a very dangerous fire. but he did it anyway bc he believed he could make Jason heel just at the thought of hurting Tim. and he was *right*. they're gay and i'm feral ty.

[eievuimultimuse]

     THE FLY IS nodding along, almost absentmindedly, until he suddenly pauses, a puzzled expression on his face. He suddenly realizes that what Xever is saying doesn’t really add up with what he’d believed, particularly the detail that he was thrown away shortly after he was born. He’s not left to wonder for long, however, as the fish soon clarifies the truth. Superfly’s no longer pressing against Xever’s back, instead opting to lean away from him. It’s not a fully conscious action; he just recoils, flinching away in his shock.

     “ …You…were a human. “  His voice comes out flat, although the disbelief is still THERE. He…frankly didn’t know that was even POSSIBLE. Granted, there weren’t many mutants in his home world to begin with, but…they were all ANIMALS. They were born animals, and they were turned into animal mutants. So naturally, he’d been under the impression that the mutagen only worked on animals; this was why his whole plan hinged on him mutating every ANIMAL on the planet just to— …He shuts his eyes, shaking his head slightly before opening them again. He has to remember that THIS ISN’T HIS WORLD. Whatever the rules are between this one and his, they’re not guaranteed to be the same.

     He continues listening to Xever’s story, although he’s noticeably quieter than he was before, eyes averted elsewhere. His gaze returns only briefly to glance at the large orange contraption that’s attached to the fish mutant when he brings up nearly suffocating.  So that’s what that’s for, he realizes. His grip tightens ever so slightly at the mention of changing one’s shape against their will. Can only imagine, he wants to say sarcastically, but he can’t get his lips to work, still reeling a bit from the inner conflict he’s feeling. Here he was, believing that no human  ( aside from his own father, who started it all, who Superfly always deemed as closer to a MUTANT than a HUMAN )  could even come close to understanding the type of suffering that mutants endure. Yet Xever admitted to being outcast even before becoming a mutant.  ( Yet…should he even really dwell on it ?  Xever’s a mutant now. It doesn’t necessarily have to throw a wrench in everything Superfly thought before. But it still does. )

     It’s after they’ve slowed slightly that Superfly finally finds his tongue, speaking up again.  “ I don’t even know if Ooze works on humans in my world. It ain’t happened yet if it does. “  He hopes it doesn’t. He really does. His brows furrow at the mention of a ‘cure,’ however, skepticism visible in his eyes.  “ That ‘cure’ sounds a lot like that ANTI-MUTAGEN crap TCRI made t’ deal with the likes of me. Maybe for humans, it ain’t so bad since they’re no less AWARE after they’ve turned back.Me ? “  He lets out a small huff, then adds in a mutter,  “ I’d be better off DEAD than goin’ back to bein’ a regular fly. “  The notion that someone could tear away all his capabilities for cognitive thought in a heartbeat is certainly terrifying. He doesn’t much like to think about it.

     “ I dunno why anyone would wanna turn back anyway. Humans...I ain't had the best experiences with 'em. Hell, the only human I knew probably would've rather have been a fly than a person himself. They don't really seem all that great. "

"Must be nice, I never had any of that. I've always been by myself. Family decided to throw me away not long after I was born. But, my story isn't special in any regards simply one that is more tragic because it it so common. I was a human by the way, just want to make that clear. I became a mutant because some idiot dog decided "Oh if I'm gonna lose I'll take you all down with me!" Only I was standing right beside him. We were fighting the turtles at the time."

Yeah, wasn't exactly nice recounting how Xever became what he is now. Rahzar was someone he had many complicated feelings about even now since the time the Foot fell apart into nothing. Xever had hated him with a passion, but eh who cares no point reflecting.

"Me and him were partners working for someone. We both mutated at the same time because of goo that he spilled. I almost suffocated because I turned into a fish and then lost my legs. Imagine suddenly changing shape against your will because some idiot decides to carry out some stupid plan that didn't work! And he ruined your life while doing it! Though, the guy's dead now...good riddance..."

Xever revved the engine as he recounted this making go a bit faster for a moment before slowing down once more. They were getting closer to the docks now with Xever still moving left and right to avoid traffic. He kept talking since well it was something he did a lot.

"The turtles have a means to cure humans that got turned into mutants. They used it on our Stockman if you can believe it. He got mutated into a fly but is back to how he used to be. The rest of us though? Nope! Apprantly we're not getting that cure. Which is fine by me, I'm used to this new form now. I've adapted its nothing I haven't done before. I've gone back to my roots a solo man once more."