#pride and passion chapter 4 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

unsolicited-opinions · 2 months ago

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this is a genuine question: why do you think the queer community is so bad when it comes to the antisemitism and even the overt Hamas support? I can’t figure it out at all. Jews have always been a huge part of and even pioneers in the community. now we’re banned and harassed and unsafe. I see a pride flag online these days and feel terror because I expect a watermelon or red triangle to be right next to it, it’s happened so often. I’d feel safer in a church than at a pride event. why do they hate us so much now? even those of us who are also part of that community?

I've been trying to figure that out, too.

I was pretty sure that the origin was in postmodern academia, but I didn't know much more.

I have never formally engaged with Queer Studies, nor with Gender and Sexuality Studies,so I had no idea where to start.

Someone on #jumblr (I regret that I don't recall who) pointed out this collection of essays, Poisoning the Wells: Antisemitism in Contemporary America.

Chapter 2 is "Pinkwashing Antisemitism: The Origins of Queer Anti-Israeli Discourse by Dr. R. Amy Elman.

I'm way outside my wheelhouse here, despite holding a degree in one of the social sciences.[1]

I'm going to try to summarize this in a way which is shorter and more digestible than reading the whole thing, but there's a link to the whole thing at the bottom of this Very Long Post.

Disclaimers:

1. Acknowledging the depth of my ignorance:

I don't have the contextual knowledge to know with confidence if this is an intellectually honest argument, or even if the history is fairly presented. If anyone on Jumblr has more experience studying this topic, I'd sure welcome their thoughts.

2. A note to LGBTQ+ readers on "queer":

I understand that some in the LGBTQ+ community don't care for the term "queer," and some regard it as a slur. I have tried, for this reason, to cease using this word in my daily life. Below, I'm going to use the word "queer" a lot here, however, because Elman does and the scholars she discusses do. If you're among those who dislike this term or find it hurtful, I hope that you will not see my doing so as a slur or an insult

3. My editorial comments are in blue.

4. This is long. Not as long as the article itself, but long for Tumblr. You are forewarned.

Got a coffee or an energy drink?

Continue below the break:

Elman says the increasing appeal of queer politics was for specifically millennials, and the BDS movement actively pursued a "queer" plank to broaden its appeal.

This tracks.

She says that Leaders from both movements saw a potential for synergy, with some suggesting queers could transform BDS from a "vanguard movement" to a "popular" movement.

Elman gives a history of the "Queer Movement" in which she argues its adherents are particularly susceptible to BDS's "pinkwashing" accusations.

She says:

- "Queer" is an intentionally broad, deliberately ambiguous term encompassing various sexual and gender minorities who reject traditional LGBT politics as conservative.

- The queer movement emerged in the late 1980s and early 1990s in opposition to both neo-liberalism and feminists who critiqued sadomasochism (S/M) and the sex industry.

- This opposition to feminist critiques of the eroticization of inequality, says Elman, is a crucial factor in understanding queer politics' susceptibility to antisemitism.

- Elman says early queer activists prioritized passion over reason, making them potentially vulnerable to harmful ideologies.

The Feminist Sex Wars

- There was conflict, says Elman, between lesbian feminists and proponents of S/M, arguing that the increasing acceptance of S/M within the lesbian community weakened its ability to resist fascist values.

I don't see the need to politicize whatever one enjoys in private as long as it is safe, sane, and consensual, but okay.

- Elman draws a parallel between the eroticization of fascism in the past (referencing Susan Sontag and Sheila Jeffreys' concerns about Nazi aesthetics in queer subcultures) and the current uncritical embrace of certain radical ideologies.

- Elman says the embrace of "outlaw" identities and the downplaying of the harmful implications of S/M practices (including the use of fascist symbols for parodic purposes) are problematic trends within queer politics.

Which made me think of seeing Queers for Palestine protestors calling Jews "Nazis" and combining the swastika with the mogen David.

- Elman argues that the rise of queer politics led to the silencing and marginalization of lesbian feminists who focused on women's rights and opposed the industrialization of sexuality and S/M.

Like Andrea Dworkin?

- Elman says Queer Theorists have dismissive attitudes towards lesbian feminist concerns and that the once-flourishing spaces and intellectual contributions of lesbian feminists were diminished within the broader "queer" coalition.

As a cishet man, I had thought the broadening of the movement, the addition of each letter in LGBTQ+, gave all parts of it more strength, but it seems obvious to me now that lesbian concerns aren't always the same (and may not be aligned with) gay men's concerns, enby concerns, trans concerns, etc.

I can see how being subsumed by a larger movement could dampen the voices of its different component populations and diminish the perceivability of the points on which they don't agree.

Judith Butler features prominently here.

- Elman seems to say Butler's nuanced stance on her lesbian identity is rather different from her non-nuanced Jewish identity, and it is "as a Jew" that she declares her anti-Zionism.

...in 1989, [Butler] was asked to provide a lesbian lecture and responded that she would rather describe herself as "being" homosexual because identifying as lesbian felt "neither true nor false." Yet, she demonstrates no similar reluctance to claim a Jewish identity years later. To the contrary, it is "as a Jew" that she condemns Israel and vows to develop a Jewish opposition to Zionism.

A decade after Butler vacillated over being lesbian, she similarly described her nearly two-decade-long relationship to S/M discourse as "active and complicated," a position in keeping with the tenor of her fourth book, The Psychic Life of Power. In it, Butler speaks of her "paradoxical" embrace of "injurious" names because they "constitute" her "socially."

Huh. Jewish identity without nuance? I'm not sure I've ever seen that...?

- Elman says Butler's engagement with S/M discourse and her concept of erotically embracing oppressive power structures are linked to the potential eroticization of antisemitism and the demonization of Israel.

As Martha Nussbaum explains, the central thesis of The Psychic Life of Power is that “we all eroticize the power structures that oppress us, and can thus find sexual pleasure only within their confines.”

If Nussbaum is correct, there may be no better explanation for the ongoing eroticization of antisemitism and the demonization of Israel.

So concerned was Nussbaum by Butler’s influence on American women’s studies programs in the 1990s that she concluded,

"There is despair at the heart of the cheerful Butlerian enterprise. The big hope, the hope for a world of real justice, where laws and institutions protect the equality and the dignity of all citizens, has been banished, even perhaps mocked as sexually tedious. Judith Butler’s hip quietism is a comprehensible response to the difficulty of realizing justice in America. But it is a bad response. It collaborates with evil. Feminism demands more and women deserve better."

"Hip quietism" makes me want to read more Nussbaum.

Butler was chair of the International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission (later renamed Outright First)...which was a UN recognized organzation. While the name might cause the casual observer to to think it would focus on gays and lesbians, it has seemed to focus on Israel.

Outright First claims it advances LGBT rights through awards consistent with its agenda, yet the first of these was not made until 2005, fifteen years after its founding and the same year that BDS was ostensibly established.

That year, the organization honored Mary Robinson, who decriminalized homosexuality as Ireland’s first woman president (from 1990-1997).

Robinson also served as the UN’s first woman High Commissioner for Human Rights and, in this capacity, Robinson oversaw the 2001 UN World Conference against Racism, Xenophobia and Related Intolerance in Durban, South Africa.

Despite the conference’s noble rhetoric, the antisemitism that it manifest led Robinson to resign in disgrace.

It was in Durban that “anti-racist” organizers revived the scurrilous Soviet charge from decades earlier that Zionism is a form of racism and Israel is an apartheid state. Although Robinson called these allegations inappropriate and unacceptable, she did not reject the conference’s final declaration that contained them.

Ach. The feckin' Irish again.

...in 2008, Desmond Tutu became the second recipient of the organization’s “Outspoken” Award. Tutu, a Nobel prize winning anti-apartheid activist, is also an outspoken critic of Israel for “practicing apartheid” in its policies against the Palestinians. While he too condemned bigotry against gay men and lesbians, like Robinson, Tutu may be better known for his opposition to Israel than for any long-standing and deep defense of LGBT rights. Thus, one wonders whether the “critical partnerships” Outright First fostered were less those that promoted the world’s LGBT communities than those that helped legitimize anti-Israel activism.

This example, it seems to me, is a more appropriate illustration of “pinkwashing”:

that is, pinkwashing may be less about bolstering Israel’s reputation than providing Israel’s sworn enemies a seemingly progressive mask behind which to conceal their animus.

Pinkwashing, Triangles, and Softcore Holocaust Denial

The term "pinkwashing" initially referred to corporate profiteering from pink-themed breast cancer awareness campaigns.

Elman contrasts this with the reclamation of the pink triangle by gay activists as a symbol of defiance after the Stonewall riots, noting that this is a "disturbing" appropriation of a Nazi symbol.

Years before American corporate executives bolstered sales through gender-conforming pink promotionals to women, American gay male activists openly embraced pink to signify their gendered defiance after the Stonewall riots of 1969.

This political reclamation manifested itself in their adoption of the pink triangle Nazis used to denote and facilitate the destruction of those men they identified as homosexual. That this exclusively male Nazi symbol came to signify LGBT rights is disturbing and reveals a movement that, whether through ignorance or choice, embraced a fascist aesthetic

Is that fair? The idea of reclaiming is to take the symbol away from the oppressor and redefine it, right?

ACT UP's use of the pink triangle and its analogies between the AIDS crisis and the Holocaust are presented as examples of "softcore" Holocaust denial that paved the way for later strained comparisons.

By 1987, the Nazi pink symbol gained American prominence when the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power (ACT UP) used it for its logo, which also read “Silence Equals Death.”

Founded by Larry Kramer, ACT UP’s mission involved combating the public’s indifference to “the AIDS Holocaust.” Equating the epidemic with Jewish genocide, ACT UP’s gay pride float that year depicted a concentration camp within which activists posed behind barbed wire. Kramer’s book, Reports from the Holocaust: The Making of an AIDS Activist, further popularized this agitprop and the pink triangle marked its cover. As the HIV death toll mounted across the globe, ACT UP’s rhetoric and the Nazi triangle became internationally ubiquitous

So Elman believes this was softcore Holocaust denial through universalization/appropriation by the queer movement.

Holocaust images...absent the Jews. We see a lot of that on social media from the LGBTQ+ community right now.

BDS and "pinkwashing"

Sarah Schulman, an ACT UP alum, was as a key figure in popularizing the "pinkwashing" accusation against Israel. Here's an inside look at how that happened:

And here's Schulman's 2011 NYT piece:

If you need to get past the paywall, use this link.

Schulman's argument is that Israel's promotion of its LGBTQ+ rights is a cynical tactic to conceal human rights violations against Palestinians.

It couldn't be a natural outcome of an electorate with a majority which is socially liberal enough to not want to persecute their LGBTQ+ family members? Why not?

Oh, it's because Jews are sneaky and devious /s

Elman critiques Schulman's anti-racist pretense, arguing it invisibilizes Israel's diverse population and misrepresents the motivations behind Israel's LGBTQ+ initiatives.

The investment in Tel Aviv as a gay vacation destination is acknowledged, but its negative framing by BDS as "pinkwashing," says Elman, creates not just an entry point for antisemitism, but also a permission structure.

Soon "pinkwashing" took on a different meaning from the one intended by the women who originally coined it.

When applied by "pinkwatchers" whose sights are trained exclusively on Israel, the accusation became an entry point for antisemitism.

According to Wikipedia, it now describes "a variety of marketing and political strategies aimed at promoting products, countries, people or entities through an appeal to gay-friendliness in order to be perceived as progressive, modern and tolerant."

As Cary Nelson observed, "the pinkwashing accusation gives license" to condemn Israel, while discounting all of its achievements (e.g. legal protection against sexual orientation discrimination, recognition of same sex marriages, joint adoption, and open military service) without any reservation.

Want to know the first thing Sarah Schulman posted to Twitter on 10/7/23?

Here's Canary Mission's page about Schulman.

Elman continues:

There may be no better way to simultaneously encourage antisemitism and dismiss Israel’s LGBT initiatives (whatever their shortcomings) than to insist those efforts undermine the rights of Palestinians.

Were it not for BDS double-speak, Schulman could not maintain that she “never” betrayed queer people, despite her having acted in “solidarity” with “presumably straight Palestinians” to oppose Israel’s LGBT community.

Like countless other “queers” who take “pride” in being “ashamed” Jews, she received political “guidance” from “presumably straight” folks like Omar Barghouti, the purported founder of BDS.

Known for his explicit desire to “euthanize” the “Zionist project” and his vocal opposition to the two-state solution, Barghouti insists that not even “the end of occupation” will end his struggle.

Elman wraps up:

Like “Islamophobia,” “pinkwashing” and its corollary “homonationalism” are accusations often employed to silence critics while simultaneously providing those who issue them the appearance of being concerned about LGBT people and other minorities. Yet, this posturing offers little in return.

In fact, these denunciations are in keeping with the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation’s longstanding assault on homosexual conduct, gender equality, and universal human rights at myriad UN fora under the insidious cover of anti-racism and anti-imperialism.

You can grab a PDF of the whole book here.

That BDS similarly promotes itself through the cynical appropriation of social movements and ostensibly progressive claims that vilify the Jewish state represents a consummate act of public diplomacy in which anti-semitism itself has been pinkwashed.

_________

You read the whole thing, so have a cookie: 🍪

[1] I agree with Neil Postman that the social sciences would more accurately be called moral theologies...and are not sciences.

You can read more about Postman's point here if you want to know what I mean by that..

#Lbgtq+#Queer #sex and gender #Womens Studies #Queer Studies #Antisemitism #antizionism #jewish antizionism #jumblr #israel #leftist antisemitism #illiberal left #Gender and Sexuality Studies #GNSX #queer theory #judith butler #sarah schulman

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areyouwell · 9 months ago

Text

Thanatophobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of losing somebody you love. Children or adults with this condition tend to steer clear of any form of relationship, haunted by the possibility it could be ripped away from them.

Ch.6

Ch.5,5, Ch.5, Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Paring: Logan Howlett x Mutant!F!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, explicit content, brief description of rape, extremely fucked up timelines cuz i can't do maths but just like, go with it? for me? pls?

Word Count: 13k

A/N: whew boy was this chapter tricky. not to go into too much detail about my personal life but i actually managed to trigger myself writing this so please please please be aware that this could be difficult to read if you're an SA/Rape survivor cuz yeesh... was this tough

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside @justice4billiam @holyhumorliteraturelight @cxptainbuck @sseleniaa @sadslasher13 @yallgotkik

Settling into your new life hadn’t been as difficult as you’d thought. Perhaps it was because you’d spent the last two years away, but you didn’t miss the mansion as much as you thought you would. Sure, you missed Kitty randomly barging into your room, and you sincerely hoped someone had explained to her at least some of what was going on, but the feeling faded fairly quickly within the first few weeks. You and Logan fell into routine domesticity a little too easily. He taught the correct way to aim a hunting rifle, nestling the butt of the gun into the nook between your shoulder and chest. He taught you how to follow deer tracks, what to look out for when estimating how far away the game is, and which tracks not to follow under any circumstances.

You, on the other hand, started teaching him a passion you’d forgotten you’d had until you found yourself with too much time on your hands. Or at least, a passion you’d forgotten was planted in your memory… was it your passion, or just a passion you thought was yours? Every time thoughts such as these rose to the forefront of your mind, you tried to push them away. They never yielded any answers and just served to send you spirally. Logan usually caught your faraway stares, the way your eyes glazed over as you dissociated back into your mind. He’d bring you back with a gentle call of your name, hands tilting your chin up to look into his eyes.

The first time you’d slid your sketchbook across the dining room table, Logan’s eyes welled up slightly. Sure, he’d stolen glances at you whilst you huddled on the window seat bench, charcoal staining your fingertips black as you elegantly swiped it across the paper, but he had no idea you were sketching him. When you’d asked him what he thought, he couldn’t find the right words and ended up with you perched on the kitchen counter, his head between your thighs, pouring his awestruck gratitude into eating you out. Since then, you both took time out of your days to sit with each other and you taught him everything you knew. As it turned out, he wasn’t half bad. At least, that’s what you exclaimed with a slightly insulting amount of surprise in your voice. He’d always brush off your praise, comparing his work to yours, but he couldn’t deny the pride that bloomed in his chest.

Logan had learnt not to ask after your well-being too often, finding that you would huff in irritation if he mentioned it more than once a day and remind him that you weren’t that mentally unstable. After a month of settling in, you’d mutually decided to start training again, heading out into the woods a little ways and finding a safe, exclusive spot on the lake shore. Plenty of shadows around between the tree line and the water, it was perfect. Though, not that it made much of a difference. The progress you made was second to none, barely managing to make the darkness shift a fraction before you’d grit your teeth and attempt to stamp down your frustration.

The days grew colder as the months went by, leaves fading from lush, vibrant greens to crinkled, burning oranges before dropping altogether, coating the ground in a blanket of crunchy fire. It was your favourite season, autumn. The sweet scent of mulch wreathed your senses with every kick of the chilly breeze as you stepped from the warm cabin thankful you’d donned a knitted scarf around your neck, two mugs clasped in your hands. Amongst the many other things Logan had taught you, how to make the best cups of hot chocolate may be, in your opinion, the most useful. Small marshmallows melted atop the surface of the drink as your boots crunched along the gravel, eyes drinking in the sight before you.

He was made for this life. Leather jacket discarded atop a stack of logs, he’d rolled the sleeves of his brown flannel shirt up to his elbows, the hood of the truck propped open and his head ducked far into the depths of the engine. You mentioned you thought the spark plugs were going a few days ago, but he brushed off your concerns. It wasn’t until he’d received a call from the local garage about a bike part he’d requested and he went to leave that morning did he realise you were right after the truck misfired almost instantly. You tried not to be too smug about it.

“How’s it going?” Logan looked back as he heard your voice and approaching footsteps, withdrawing from the depths of the hood and swiping his hands on the dirty rag over his shoulder. A warm smile pulled at his lips as he saw what you were carrying, and he thanked you with a quick kiss, taking the mug you’d offered to him.

“Well. you were right,” you pursed your lips as you tried not to smirk wildly, failing miserably when he rolled his eyes. “Yeah alright. ‘Scuze me for asusmin’ you didn’t know what you were talkin’ about. Anyway,” he continued pointedly and you giggled lightly. “Todd rang, he’s on his way with a few replacement plugs, since the damn thing won’t even start now. The good news is, he’s bringing the bike part with him, so we could get that goin’ this afternoon.” He raised the marshmallowy mug to his lips, humming pleasantly as he tasted his own hot chocolate recipe you’d followed.

Your eyes lit up at his words. He’d been working on the bike hidden in the small barn since you’d arrived here six months ago, making its restoration his little personal project. He’d spoken to Todd before about acquiring replacement parts and had slowly been fixing up the motorcycle with each trip to the garage. All he needed now was the replacement brake calliper and it would be good to go. “I would have made a third mug if I knew Todd was coming round. That’s amazing though, crazy to think it’s taken this long.” You cradled the steaming mug with both hands, blowing slightly on the warm liquid before taking a long sip, licking at the remains left on your upper lip.

“I know right?” he agreed, tucking you against his side with an arm around your shoulders. “Startin’ to think I should have asked you for help since you can recognise a blown spark plug from a single misfire,” you snorted a laugh into your drink.

“Yeah well, in my completely fabricated past, I trained as a mechanic for a bit so I know a thing or two.”

“You’re only tellin’ me this now?”

“It didn’t seem important at the time!” You held your hands up in defence, your fingers still hooked around the handle of your warm mug. Logan rolled his eyes, unable to tame his disobedient smile.

“You’re a pain in my ass, ya know that?” He set his half-full mug next to his jacket on the stack of logs, taking yours and setting it down as well all so he could pick you up in his arms, your legs instantly circling around his waist, his hands settling on your thighs. Your fingers threaded through the soft strands at the back of his head as you looked down at him, your eyes dancing with mischief.

“Me? Little ol’ me? I’m heartbroken,” nothing about your current body language suggested anything of the sort, your faux innocence only serving to confirm his suspicions.

“Bet it’s just eatin’ you up inside, huh?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone and you threw your head back as you laughed, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck before you looked back down at him, wasting no time in taking his lips captive with your own, giggling into the kiss when he bit gently on the soft flesh of your upper lip. You inhaled a sharp gasp through your nose when he smoothed over the small hurt with his tongue, feeling your core respond to his actions, your blood heating with every languid brush of his lips against yours, every slight nibble of his teeth.

Logan groaned softly at the scent of your arousal building, his skin tingling as you returned every nip of his teeth with one of your own, sandwiching his lower lip between your front teeth and tugging slightly. Your hands returned to his hair, twirling the longer strands between your fingers and pulling tight. Todd’s imminent arrival forgotten, Logan swiped at the hood prop, slamming the lid shut and setting your down so his hands could roam up your waist to your breasts, kneading and groping at your tits over your hoodie.

His lips dragged a trail of soft bites down the side of your neck, his fingers deftly popping open the button of your jeans and pulling down your zipper, his entire hand disappearing down between your damp thighs, his fingertips grazing across the centre of your slick core over your underwear. He growled in response to your whimper, tugging the crotch of your briefs to one side and sliding the back of his finger up over your clit.

“So wet for me, what got you goin’, hm? ‘S it that book? Did they finally fuck? Make you miss me, hm?” He’d caught glances of you in the window, lip caught between your teeth as you devoured the pages in front of you, your legs crossed tightly. He’d laughed to himself at the time, but now he wanted to show you what the real world could offer.

You went to bite back at his condescending tone, opening your mouth only to inhale an embarrassing gasp as one of his thick fingers slid inside you, pumping and curling in the ways he knew would have you creaming in minutes. Your nails sank into his forearm, mouth dropping open as hot pleasure coursed through your veins. Humiliatingly enough, it was exactly why you’d come out to see him. The two characters in the book you were reading finally put aside their differences and realised they loved each other in a passionate display of tender fucking. And yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think of Logan at the time. But this wasn’t what you were expecting at all.”

“Logan!” you cried out to the blue skies as your head fell back the moment a second finger slipped inside your aching heat, your walls clamping down against his digits as if he would ever try to escape. With his one free hand, Logan dragged your jeans and underwear down just far enough to slip beneath them between your legs, keeping your knees over his shoulder as he pushed you back against the windshield. You clutched at the wipers as he rubbed his nose against your clit, moaning wantonly at the scent of your liquid nectar.

His tongue darted out to swipe a long line up the centre of your core, using his fingers to provoke more of your slick to drip down the apex of your thighs for him to drink like a man parched of water. Your hips bucked with each stroke of his tongue, gasping a pitched whimper of his name as his lips wrapped around your sensitive pearl and sucked until you screamed at the heavens above you, your orgasm splitting every nerve in your body with each slow caress of his fingertips against that delicious bundle of nerves nestled two knuckles inside you.

Your nails scratched against the hood of the truck, flaking off the paint job as wave after wave of your high crashed through your mind and body, your spine arching your hips further against his face as you ground against his tongue before the pleasure spiked into overstimulation and you squirmed away from his fingers, panting desperately.

“That’s my girl, y’allright?” he soothed, pressing soft kisses to the scar on your inner thigh, cringing in second-hand pain as the back of your head smacked the windscreen behind you, your tensed, shaking muscles finally relaxing. “Y’okay!?”

You giggled, still a little dazed from your orgasm, your hand lazily feeling the slight numbness at the back of your head, simply making sure you hadn’t cracked it open, or at the very least, split the skin. But you felt no blood. “Yeah, ‘m all good. But if you don’t fuck me on the hood of this truck I might pass away– whaaat’re you doing?” You asked as he ducked out from between your legs, pulling your underwear and trousers back up over your knees and to your waist.

“I’ll start makin’ funeral arrangements then. Todd’s here.” You didn’t miss his growl of discomfort, and your heart bled for him a little, knowing he was going to have to go the next god knows how long hard as a rock in his jeans. Pulling up the zipper and fastening the button at your navel, you hopped off the truck just as Todd’s beaten old 4x4 trundled through the tree line. He was one of the only people who knew you were even here, apparently, he was a friend of the previous owner and knew Logan fairly well. The two hadn’t kept in touch, but he’d given him a firm handshake when he first took the pickup truck to his garage.

Retrieving the two mugs of now slightly cooled chocolate, Logan smiled gratefully as he once again took the mug from you, placing a kiss to your brow as he held up an arm of greeting to Todd. The older man stepped from the car, slamming the door shut, a ziplock bag of spark plugs grasped in his broad hand. He had a thick, greying beard bushing proudly along his chin and jaw, bridging across his upper lip. A full head of salt and pepper hair slicked back from his brow, tied into a small bun at the back of his head. You couldn’t deny that he most definitely would have been a lady's man back in his prime, with deep-set blue eyes and a smile crisp as winter frost? You could definitely have seen yourself falling for his charms.

It seemed you had a thing for bearded men. And Logan also seemed to have noticed. He raised a brow as he looked at you out of his peripheral. “Stop eyeing up my mechanic.” He elbowed you lightly and you snorted a laugh.

“Not my fault,” your tone was hushed as you watched Todd head into the backseat of his car, retrieving the new brake calliper for Logan’s bike. “Clearly I like older men.” You sent him a wink and he rolled his eyes, smirking against his better judgement.

“What’ve you done to ‘er then? And I don’t mean to yer girl ‘ere.” Todd strode over with the self-assurance of a gold medal athlete, a winning smile parting his bearded lips to reveal bright white teeth. You flipped your hair over your shoulder, stepping forward to embrace the man who planted a kiss on your cheek. “Hello, gorgeous. He lookin’ after ya properly?” His faux seriousness had you casting a cheeky glance back at Logan, who narrowed his eyes in response.

“He’s doing his best.” You whispered loudly behind your hand, and Todd nodded in an exaggerated display of understanding.

“I’ll ‘ave a word with ‘im, don’t you worry.” He winked at you and you placed your hand against your heart dramatically, pretending to faint as Todd turned from you to Logan, who folded his arms across his chest with a thick brow raised. But he couldn’t keep up his irritated façade for long. It was a tradition ever since the two of you started visiting the garage frequently for Logan’s bike. Todd would flirt with you relentlessly, Logan would pretend to get irate about it for all of thirty seconds before breaking into a wide grin and firmly clasping the man in an embrace. And this time was no different, a solid clap to Todd’s back was all that was needed for you to know this wasn’t the time the men fought it out. The first time you’d visited, you genuinely thought Logan was going to slice his head clean off the second Todd looked your way. But he just stood back with an amused, almost proud smirk as you were flirted with relentlessly. It took you completely off guard at first, but now you were more than happy to go along with it.

“Didn’t surprise me, it’s an old truck,” you heard Logan explain as you returned from your memories, stepping up to lean against the raised hood of the pickup, your arms crossed against your chest, gesturing to the engine with the mug in your hand.

“Think the oil needs changing too. The mileage counter was going crazy the other day and I only went out to the corner shop. I checked the oil level when I got back and nothing was wrong so I think it’s most likely carbon buildup. Like Lo’ said, it’s an old truck.” The two men stared at you in disbelief as if knowing how to check the oil on a car wasn’t something they expected from you. You flipped them both off. “Oh fuck off the pair of you, I was the one to notice the faulty spark plugs thank you very much.” You placed a defensive hand on your hip, and Todd looked from you to Logan next to him.

“That true?” he asked with a bushy brow raised.

Logan released a long sigh, offering a low, reluctant “Yep…”

There was a beat before Todd howled with laughter, his hand clasping Logan’s shoulder with a loud clap. “Said it before an’ I’ll say it again, you got yerself a keeper ‘ere Logan. A woman who looks this good in jeans and knows ‘er way ‘round an engine? Tie ‘er down ‘fore someone else does.” Todd sent you a wink and you blew a kiss back at him. “C’mon then, gotta fix yer bike ‘fore I tackle this hunk o’ metal. Unless missy mechanic over ‘ere would like to do the honours?” he raised a brow and you held up your hands to decline.

“Cars I can do. Bikes are totally foreign to me, so you lead the way,” you gestured for him to head to the barn, which he did but not before offering you a chivalrous bow. You rolled your eyes as he turned away, falling into step next to Logan who slipped a hand to your waist. You elbowed him slightly. “See? I’m a keeper.” you shot him a shit-eating grin and he pursed his lips in a feeble attempt to suppress his smile.

“‘M stuck with you either way,” he shrug in mock nonchalance, and you poked his ribs.

“You like being stuck with me.”

“Shut up.” He breathed, smothering your face into the crook of his arm, muffling your maniacal cackles as the two of you followed Todd into the barn, watching as he pulled off the tarp sheltering the bike from any leaks in the roof.

“You’ve done ‘er up somethin’ great, Logan. Lookin’ good as new.” Todd patted the back fender the same way you would a horse you were proud of. Logan just grunted in acknowledgement, being truly terrible at receiving compliments.

“Think we can get her up and runnin’ today?” Logan asked, glancing as once again your eyes lit up. It had been since months ago since he promised to take you out on that date, and he wanted to stay true to his word. Todd nodded thoughtfully as if contemplating how realistic that was.

“We can certainly give it a go. If you an’ the missus wanna change those spark plugs I can start on replacin’ this break calliper and we can go from there.” You suppressed a grin at being referred to as Logan’s ‘missus’, a giddy spark pepped up your step as Todd tossed the ziplock bag to Logan who caught it in one hand.

“Sounds good. Absolutely no way I’m leavin’ you two alone together.” You snorted a laugh at Logan’s slight grumble, sending Todd a flirtatious wave as he steered you back out of the barn and towards the pickup. “Unbelievable…” he shook his head fondly as you all but skipped over to the hood of the car, removing what Logan only now realised was his jacket and rolling up the shirt sleeves of his flannel. Not that he was about to complain, but he must have been too caught up in your cunt earlier to notice.

Leaning into the hood of the truck, you peered around the side of the engine, finding the six plugs you needed to change. With deft fingertips you twisted the wire boot of the first plug instead of just yanking it free, a trick you’d picked up when you’d…

Oh yeah. That never happened. A trick they’d planted in your brain, you guessed. You extended a hand out behind you, barely needing to open your mouth before the socket spanner was placed firmly in your grasp. You looked over your shoulder at Logan who’d returned to leaning against the large pile of wood to his right, smirking shamelessly at your ass as you bent over the engine. You grinned, making a show of rolling your eyes, before returning back to the task at hand, unscrewing the first spark plug from the well. Discarding the old part to the floor, you accumulated a small pile of six faulty plugs when you’d removed them all.

Stepping back from inside the hood, you wiped a small bead of sweat from your brow with your oil-slicked hand, leaving a dark smudge just above your eyebrow. Logan handed you the ziplock bag, his smirk ceaseless. “I ain’t gonna pretend this isn’t the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.” He shrugged when you sent him a questioning look before bubbles of laughter rose from your chest.

“Now look who’s the freak.” You shot back with an equally wicked smirk, before eyeing up the toolbox to his left. “You got a torque wrench in there? Todd might have one actually–”

“Todd is not seein’ you like this, he’ll lose his damn mind. The man already worships the ground at your feet.” Logan rifled quickly through the toolbox as if speed would prevent you from heading back up to the barn and giving the poor mechanic a love-induced heart attack.

“And why shouldn’t he? I’m a keeper, dontcha know?” You responded haughtily, raising your chin with a dignity you couldn’t possibly hope to possess with your face smudged with engine oil. Logan barked a laugh, tossing you the torque wrench from the box and watching as you returned to your mission, fitting the new plugs in the wells and using the torque when you couldn’t tighten the screw any further with your fingers.

Logan slotted his hands in the dip of your waist, his front pressed against your back as he bent over you, teeth catching the sensitive skin behind your ear. “You’re a keeper, sweetheart. And you’re mine.” his breath fanned your ear as he growled lowly, the outline of his hard cock grinding against the seam of your ass as his hands pulled you against him slightly.

You gasped airily, teeth clamping down on your lower lip. “You been hard this whole time?” You asked, struggling to focus on fitting the remaining plugs as he trailed one of his hands down your front and between your thighs. He just released a gravelly moan in response as you pushed back into his crotch, moving your hips in a slow circle. Logan bucked with a sharp gasp, nipping at your earlobe.

“Not my fault. I got this gorgeous new mechanic. She’s hot as fuck and you wanna know the best thing about her?” Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as he rubbed your clit over your jeans, eyes fluttering closed as a smile split your mouth.

“What would that be?”

Logan inhaled your scent, a mixture of engine oil, wood smoke and sweet arousal, his fingers tightening on your waist. “She lets me do whatever I want to her after she changes my spark plugs.” It was a blackened promise filled with swirling lust, sucking the vow of pleasure into a bruise on the side of your neck before withdrawing completely to lean back against the stack of firewood, giving the both of you room to catch your breath.

You had to shake your head of the daze he’d left you in before you could continue, agile fingers reconnecting the ignition leads before you stepped away from the hood completely, swiping at your cheek with your forefinger and leaving yet another dark, greasy smudge.

“The oil still needs changing but at least we won’t be getting anymore misfires. At least, we shouldn’t.” You wiped your hands on the dirty rag still draped over his shoulder and he licked his thumb, rubbing at the dark smudge above your brow but to now avail. You waved him off, ducking out from his fussing with a look of irritation. “Alright, Dad, I’ll clean myself up later, Christ.” You folded your arms across your chest, before remembering exactly why he wanted to get rid of the smudges, and snorting a laugh.

“His blood is on your hands if he keels over at the sight of you.” Logan shrugged just as Todd emerged from the barn, wheeling the good-as-new bike along with him.

“A’ight Logan, she should be all ready for ya. Though I’d take ‘er steady to start, I don’t–” The man stopped the second his eyes shifted to you, and he clutched his heart dramatically. “Oh my lord this is it, I’ve seen the light! An angel! Here! Standin’ before me!” He sank to his knees and you chuckled madly, Logan shaking his head in disappointment. “Oh, nope, beggin’ yer pardon. It’s just yer girl.” Todd stood, dusting off his knees and sending you yet another wink, clearly having heard Logan’s comment. “Well, that’s me all finished up then. Comes to around fifty dollars.”

You and Logan exchanged a glance of knowing. You were both well aware Todd had been giving you both discounted prices. Hell, just getting the spark plugs replaced was around eighty, and he was only charging you fifty for both the plugs and the brake calliper? You and Logan had prepared for this moment. He gave you a subtle nod, and you pranced forward, hooking your arm around Todd’s shoulders. A perfect distraction. Logan stepped up behind the two of you silently, slipping the extra hundred-and-twenty into Todd’s pocket, listening to you ask about the difference in performance between the firing cylinders on a V6 and a V8 engine and not really listening to the answer.

“Well, I think that’s everything, right Lo’?” You asked and he confirmed with a brief nod as you pat Todd’s shoulder once, letting Logan take the lead and make a show out of counting out fifty dollars from his wallet. You left them to it, folding away the prop for the truck hood and slamming it shut, giving the side a gentle pat. The pickup really had served you well for the last six months, and you couldn’t quite bring yourself to either consider getting a replacement car. You’d grown kind of attached to it, developing a taste for the more rugged things in life.

You couldn’t help but look over at Logan alongside the thought. Rugged things indeed. You leaned against the car door as the two men made their way back over to you, and your ears picked up on their ongoing conversation as Logan stopped by your side.

“She’s a gem, Logan. Fuck knows how yer ugly mug managed to bag ‘er, but you look after ‘er, ya hear me?” Todd jammed a finger towards his aforementioned ‘ugly mug’ in an empty threat.

“Loud ‘n clear, Todd.” He sent the man a false salute, settling an arm around your shoulder and you instantly leaned into his side. Todd took both your hands in his own and Logan fought the urge to laugh.

“An’ if this one ever pisses y’off, you know where t’ find me.” He grinned and you chuckled heartily.

“You’ll be the first one to know.” You responded with such conviction Logan had to double take, though your partially imperceptible smile eluded to your sarcasm. You were incredibly good at that. At saying the very thing people wanted to hear. You were also incredibly good at saying the opposite of what people wanted to hear, one too many bar fights started because some handsy asshole decided you were a prime target. If it didn’t piss him off so much, he’d sit back and watch as you both verbally and occasionally physically beat a motherfucker down.

But unfortunately, handsy motherfuckers at bars did piss him off. Monumentally. And though he rarely threw the first punch, he would always throw the second. You didn’t need defending. He knew that. But that didn’t mean he was going to stop.

“Right. Well, I’ll see you both soon then. Best’ve luck with the bike, and my door’s always open for the both of yous, whatever ya need.” He nodded as you both waved him goodbye, standing in the driveway until he disappeared down the track and past the treeline. You hummed a contented smile.

“You’re gonna get a really angry text later, you know that. How much did you slip him?” You asked, stretching your arms high above your head and checking Logan’s watch on his wrist. The time had just gone midday, the sun still casting speckled shadows through the canopy.

“One-twenty. Brake callipers aren’t particularly cheap.” He admired the way your arms flexed as you stretched, that bruise he’d sucked into your neck blossoming a dark purple. He needed to control himself if he wanted to make good on his promise to you six months ago. “Fancy a drive?”

You spun round to him, eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’ll get my boots!”

Biting wind whipped your unbound hair, exhilaration flooding your system as you clung to Logan’s leather jacket, your cheek resting against his spine. True to his word, he’d taken you out for the day on the back of the bike, finding a secluded, forested cliffside for the two of you to perch on. It wasn’t quite the lakeside romance he’d planned for you before, but it still worked to perfection, watching the clouds pass by overhead, the view a palette of every shade of red, orange and yellow, trees igniting as the sun began to sink low in the sky, faded the bright blue to a softer pale pink as the daylight descended into twilight.

His hand secured your arm around his middle, caressing the sleeve of your jacket with his thumb with soothing swipes. Glancing over his shoulder, Logan smiled to himself as you nestled closer into his back, your arms tightening around his waist. One of your hands spread up his chest and over his heart, something he’d noticed you started doing absently, subconsciously. His soul sang along with the warmth you brought.

“Y’okay back there?” he called over his shoulder, returning to face the road. He felt you shift in what he could discern was a nod of your head, patting his abs twice.

“Perfect!” he caught your response over the roar of the engine and the whistle of the wind in his ears. Though you sounded alright, something had been off about you. You covered it well, playing around with Todd, nestling into his embrace as you watched the setting sun, but Logan had been seeing that faraway look on your face more often recently.

It started around a week ago when you were looking for a new book to read after finishing your old one. You were sifting through the bookcase, carefully removing old sketchbooks the two of you had filled and grainy photographs taken on a digital camera when Logan heard you stop abruptly. He’d been oiling a baking dish when eerie silence greeted his ears, and by the time you returned back down the stairs, that vacant look had returned to your eye, the shitty romance novel clutched in your hands.

He’d asked if you were alright, but you waved off his concern with a huffed laugh of dismissal. Though Logan could see it, he didn’t press you. You’d talk about it when you were ready. You always did.

Turning off the tarmac and down the track to the cabin, Logan took your hand over his heart in his own and dipped down to press a kiss to the top of your knuckles. He was rewarded with a squeeze of your fingers, kicking down the footstand as he parked up next to the truck. He couldn’t smell any rain on the air tonight, so he was happy to leave the bike out and just cover it with the tarp from the barn.

Swinging your leg over the back of the bike, you cupped the side of his furry jaw, stooping to mould your lips to his grateful kiss, your warm smile infectious. Logan sighed into your mouth, his hands tugging you closer by the waist until you stood between his knee and the bike. His palm moved to the back of your thigh as you swiped your tongue along the seam of his parted lips, your taste sweet honey on his tongue whilst he pulled you onto his lap, two steadying hands braced on the dips of your waist.

“‘M gonna fuck you on this bike… wanted to do it since I first saw the thing,” you breathed against his cheek before dipping below his jaw, suckling little nibbles against his skin. Logan groaned lowly. You’d been teasing him all damn day, from the way he ate you out that morning to the way he ground against your ass when you were changing the spark plugs. His cock twitched as he let himself hope he would finally find the relief he needed deep within your cunt.

You rolled your hips against his growing erection as he sat more deeply in the saddle, your legs perched daintily on the foot pegs on either side of his calves. Nimble fingers fiddled with the front of his thick belt, unlacing the buckle from the loop and pulling the two halves aside. Logan growled at your urgency, appreciating the swift tug of his zipper, your fingertips ghosting along the waistband of his briefs, causing his skin to prickle in anticipation. Scratching through the happy trail leading down beneath the elastic, you bit down into his throat, drawing a gasp from his chest.

He could do nothing but hold you tight as your hand finally sank beneath his briefs, curious fingers circling around the shaft of his cock and tightening your grip. His eyes screwed shut when you circled his sensitive tip with your thumb, his mouth falling open with heavy pants, his hips bucking up into your soft palm. Your nails clawed against the nape of his neck as he pushed you from his throat, turning the tide and sinking his teeth into the soft flesh behind your ear, licking and biting at the same bruise he’d left there earlier. You whimpered against him, and the scent of your arousal teased his nose.

You tugged his hard cock from his briefs, shoving the fabric down as far ar you could. Logan shivered slightly, the cold air caressing his raging length as you released him to fiddle with the buttons and zipper of your jeans.

Too long. It would take too long. Logan needed to be inside you yesterday. With a heated hiss, he slid his middle claw from his knuckle, using his other hand to grip both your wrists. “Stay still…” he murmured, bracing the tip of his claw over the clothed apex of your thighs. You gasped, promptly sandwiching your lower lip between your teeth when the ripping of fabric caused your gut to churn. Logan’s nose twitched as your quaking cunt gushed to soak the crotch of your underwear, and you both looked down, equally as surprised at your reaction.

“Yeah?” he queried with a raised brow, ever-so-softly dragging his claw down the inside of your thigh. You pitched an airy whine, tugging tightly at the hair on the back of his head. To see you like this, gaping and breathless because of his claws did something wicked to him. Instruments that had previously only been used for death had suddenly become something so much more, gifting you with sharp peaks of pleasure when he dragged the back of it over your throbbing clit.

You nodded desperately, breathing hard through your nose when he hooked that same sharp claw around the waistband of your underwear, slicing clean through the fabric and exposing your pulsing cunt. “Fuck…” you breathed as he retracted the silver claw, giggling slightly when he lifted you against him, pausing to tease your dripping entrance with the head of his cock.

“‘course you get off on knives…” he muttered, smirking wildly as you attempted to sink onto his cock, using your weight to push down on the hands holding you aloft. You groaned in frustration, dragging a wicked chuckle from his throat, before he slowly pulled you down, humming a low moan as your tight walls welcomed his thick shaft.

“Should… should do that again… sometime.” You panted into his mouth, barely able to form your words as you slowly roll your hips against him, earning yourself a gravelly grunt along with your movements. “So fucking hot.” You gasped as he thrust up into you, using the bike’s suspension to bounce you slightly as you clung to him, your fingers buried in his hair.

Logan looked down to where he rhythmically disappeared up into you, his breath hitching as you took one of his hands from around your waist and pressed your fingers into his knuckles, right where the slight hurt of his claw healed over. His cock twitched as you massaged his knuckles gently, finding just the right spot between each bone where his claws usually split. He couldn’t help the way his jaw fell open, his eyes rolling when you lifted his hand to your mouth and tongued one of the three surprisingly sensitive skin.

“Fuck… Fuck! D’do that again…” Logan fucking stuttered as you repeated the motion with your tongue the very same way he would when he ate you out. Pleasure surged through his veins at the newfound discovery of the erogenous zone, thrusting up into you deliciously and causing you to bite down at the bone of his knuckle as the tip of his cock brushed against that patch of ecstasy inside you.

You held his gaze as you made a show of dipping your tongue in the slits between his knuckles, closing your lips around the skin and sucking the same way you would against his cock. Logan furiously drove into you, still holding your waist with his one hand whilst you lavished the other. Eight months he’d been seeing you, and not once in that entire time had he ever come before you with his cock inside you, always taking extra care to make sure you hit your high at least once before he found his own. But with the liquid heat pulsing in his veins, he didn’t know if he could last.

He was thankful when your other hand left his wrist, skirting down beneath the waistband of your torn jeans to play with your own clit, throwing your head to the sky as the building pleasure wracked your body, only to bring his knuckles back to your lips.

Your walls clenched tightly around his thrusting cock, deft fingers toying with your own pearl when your thighs started to shake, your whimpers and moans climbing in pitch, the vibrations of your voice tingling against the skin of his hand.

Logan felt his own high cresting, his back tensing as his balls drew up, trying in vain to hold your failing gaze. Watching your eyes roll back into your skull was his undoing, feeling you coating his cock as you came around him, your teeth sinking into those little patches of pure pleasure shoving him over the edge of tension and into the honey-coated lightning storm of ecstasy. He cried your name, sharp pulses of fire shaking his system as he exploded inside you, coating your inner walls white.

Your brows pinched, mouth forming a perfect O as you struck your peak, his aphrodisiac cries of your name pulling you under as you simultaneously came with each other. You’d never felt him come so hard, and through your pleasure-addled brain, you assumed it was the result of being so pent up all day. Logan clung to you like a lifeline, nestling his face against the nook of your neck as he continued to twitch inside you, those overwhelming waves finally receding until he was basking in the full afterglow.

You panted hard, finally releasing his hand to grab at his shoulders, anchoring yourself against him to recover from just how hard your release had wrecked your body, barely able to laugh breathlessly and in utter disbelief into the little peaks of his hair. Logan grit his teeth together as you lift yourself off him to sit back on his sturdy thighs. How you managed to absolutely wreck him every goddamn time he didn’t know, but at least he’d been working on his self-control, and his claws didn’t slice your mouth open.

“That was fuckin’ dangerous…” he murmured, swiping his thumb along your lower lip. “Coulda hurt ya.” His brows pinched with genuine concern and you pressed your forefinger into the creases between them, easing his worries.

“How have we waited until now to use your claws? Such a good idea!” You were way too enthusiastic about that, and Logan simply huffed a laugh, looking up at you through dark lashes.

“Not a good idea. Sure it was good today–”

“Logan it was fucking great today–” he clamped a hand over your mouth, silencing your protests.

“But I can’t guarantee I’m always gonna have that kind of control. I could’ve done some real damage.” He knew reprimanding you was going to do absolutely nothing. Not when it had felt so fucking good, and you’d seen and felt what it had done to him. “Where’d you even get that idea?” He asked as you giggled a little mischievously, swinging your legs back over the bike and shimmying a little as you felt him drip from your cunt. Logan snorted as you squirmed awkwardly, tucking himself back in his briefs, not bothering to re-buckle his belt before scooping you into his arms and carrying you bridal-style to the cabin.

“Just came to me in the moment. I’m sensitive around my scars, so I guess it made sense to me that you would be as well. Or rather, if scars could be left on your body.” You shrugged, your arms looping loosely around his neck, your head resting against his shoulder as you reached into his pocket for the key, inserting the metal into the lock.

Logan nodded in understanding as if your explanation made sense. And, in a way, it did. You were sensitive around your scars. He knew that better than anyone. At any point he wanted to distract you from something, all he needed was to nip at the mark on your neck, swipe his thumb against any of the four bullet wounds on your chest, or even pinch lightly at the one on your inner thigh, and you’d throw your head back with a breathy gasp.

So it checked out that, if scars could be left on his body, he’d react similarly. Which he had done.

You tossed the keys into the bowl on the kitchen windowsill as Logan carried you through the cabin and up the stairs. You couldn’t pretend you weren’t enjoying the treatment, and at the very least it was preventing his cum from dripping uncomfortably down your leg.

Laying you on the bed, he pressed a sweet kiss to the top of your brow, before disappearing into the ensuite. “Why aren’t you pregnant yet?”

You choked on your spit, half laughing half coughing at his question as he returned to you with a warm, damp towel clutched in his hands. “Come again?” you asked, still in recovery.

“We’ve been fucking, unprotected, for months now, and you still regularly get your period. Sure, you’re ovulating at the moment–”

“Logan!?” You gaped, kicking him lightly with the side of your foot as he cleaned you up, tossing the towel to the side and innocently dragging down your ruined jeans.

“But I’m just curious. Surely something woulda happened by now, even just a scare,” he pulled open your drawer, rummaging around until he recovered your favourite dark grey sweatpants.

“You got a point. Maybe it’s my mutation? I guess my body sorta resets itself every time I shadow walk, almost like a default state,” You shrugged, sitting up as he handed you the pair of trousers to replace the ones he’d ripped. “I guess if we wanna know then we could always just…” You trailed off and Logan turned from where he was changing his own clothes, comfy loungewear pulled up to his waist.

Following your line of sight, Logan’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. He knew where you were looking, and if he was being truly honest with himself, he knew what you’d found a week ago. He wasn’t blind. The first month settling into the cabin, you’d cast fleeting glances at the bookcase where the folder was nestled, and he didn’t know whether you thought he wouldn't notice, but he did.

The months went by and you didn’t quite forget about it, but you learned to live with it. Until a week ago, when you were searching for a new book to read. Logan didn’t know if you were ready. Shit, he didn’t know if he was ready. He’d only scanned a few pages of the file and he was truly terrified of what he’d discover if he’d looked at the pages in more detail.

His blood turned to ice as you stood, approaching the shelving as if it would lash out and bite you. Steeling your nerves, you reached behind the first layer of books, parting them slightly as you retrieved the thick folder detailing every day of your life. Every horror you endured, every agonised second. You inhaled a shaky breath, returning to the bed and setting it down.

NLMO. Subject Eight. “Phantom”.

Logan slowly came to sit by your side, taking your hand in his own, a silent gesture to remind you he was here. You looked up from the file, uncertainty swirling in your irises.

“I have to…” you whispered, trembling slightly as you went to open the folder, only for Logan to stop you.

“No. You don’t. You’re safe here. Nothin’ can get to you, sweetheart. Only do this if you want to, not because you feel like you have to.” You squeezed his hand, gaze flickering from the sincerity in his face to the handwriting on the documents containing who you were.

“I do have to do this, but I have to do this for me. Not for anyone else. I still have so many questions, Lo’. I don’t understand why Rowan is still there and I’m here. I need to know what happened. To all of us.” You spoke with such conviction, that Logan knew you’d made up your mind. Covering your hand positioned at the corner of the folder, he nodded.

“Alright then. We do this. Together.”

“You don’t have t–”

“I promised you I wouldn’t leave you whilst my heart was still beating, yeah? Do I look dead to you?” You snorted a laugh, shifting to lie on your front. Logan waited until you settled yourself before he too shuffled about, lying almost on top of you so his cheek was practically pressed against your own.

“Dead gorgeous maybe.” You grinned, and he pinched your waist, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Just open the fuckin’ folder, freak.”

You turned your attention back to your past, once again inhaling a long, shaky breath. “Ready?” you asked, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

Logan nodded once in response. “Ready.” And the two of you turned the first page to your past.

For the some of the part, the documents within were mundane. It was incredibly creepy to start off with, knowing every moment of the life you remembered was being observed and written down, but it quickly became more of a story and less of a recounting. Logan would often crinkle his nose in confusion. “Wait, which one’s Subject Three again?” He’d ask, to which you’d respond with a sigh and a long look. “That’s Joseph, or Janus. He can teleport. Kinda like Kurt but less smoky.” And he would raise his head with understanding, before continuing to read in silence.

You were okay for the first few pages, Ex.3 shook you up a little, reading about a memory you simply don’t have where they pushed your mutation to the limit alongside your bother. Deprivation and indulgence indeed. You took deep breaths through the surge of anxiety, Logan holding you close to him, asking softly if you needed anything. You just shook your head. You were fine. There were worse things to come. If you couldn’t handle this, how would you be okay with everything else?

The first big obstacle arose in 1944. The day was usual, you’d woken up, made breakfast with Rowa, and visited Jade, before they took you out for experimentation. It was the shift at Shots Shack. The one where you’d been flirted with all night and ended up fucking one of the customers in the bin shed.

Except, that’s not what happened at all. It was an accident. The result of a guard getting far too handsy with you. You’d fought him off as much as you could, but Subject One hadn’t restored your memories yet, so your mutation was at its baseline. You clenched your jaw as you kept reading, nausea roiling in your gut as Kreva detailed his observations, from your agonised screams for him to stop to the way you couldn’t stop shaking after he was done. You could barely stomach another sentence before a particularly vivid description of what was left behind had you detangling from Logan’s arms, racing to the bathroom and throwing up the contents of your stomach. You were kept under extreme observation after the incident. Not to make sure you were alright, but to look out for any signs of fucking pregnancy.

Logan had to suppress his burning hatred, not finding enough justice in knowing that the guard was let go from his position. He should be torn to fucking pieces for what he did. But flying off the handle wouldn’t help you. He followed you to the bathroom, gathering your hair in his hands as you convulsed over the toilet seat, the acidic stench of pure bile burning his nose.

It was a fairly fond memory, what supposedly happened that night, only now for it to be tainted forever by the truth of what really happened. Your gasp echoed into the toilet bowl as you wretched again, your skin itching as if you hadn’t washed in days.

“What’d you need?” Logan asked, gently scratching down your spine as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your weak response of “Shower…” Had him moving instantly, opening the window before turning the dial of the shower, letting it warm before he helped you to your feet.

“Where d’you need me?” He asked as you swallowed hard, clinging to his arm.

“Here.” You whispered, before slowly removing your clothes. Logan helped you out of your sweater, leaving you to pull down your own sweatpants unlike what had been written in the folder, before he guided you into the steam. Stripping himself of his own clothes, Logan stepped in after you, his heart breaking in two as you instantly sought his embrace.

He held you beneath the warm water until he completely lost track of time, your face nestled beneath his chin, his thumb slowly caressing up and down your spine. Occasionally your shoulders would spasm with a stifled sob, and he’d whisper sweet nothings into the top of your head. You were safe with him. He was going to look after you. He’d never let them find you again.

Despite having read your previous experiences, his hands on your body felt clean. Pure. Nothing about Logan was tainted in the same way that memory was. You nuzzled your nose further into the hair on his chest, feeling the aura of comfort wrap around your heart. He had you. He wasn’t letting you go.

Promises and vows drowned by the hum of water left his lips until you took a deep breath, stepping back from his embrace and meeting his gaze with newfound determination. You were okay. You’d be okay. Reaching behind him, Logan turned the dial for the water pressure until it was off completely, barely separating far enough from you that you could wrap a fluffy, heated town around your shoulder before he was stuck to your back again like a limpet. You weren’t complaining. It was absolutely what you needed right now. His presence. His touch. Knowing he wasn’t going to leave your side no matter what. No matter how broken your past, or how ruined you may be. He’d be by your side through all of it.

Logan kissed the top of your head, stepping ahead of you to snap the folder closed and shove it somewhere out of sight, but you stopped him before he could.

“I’m okay…” you murmured, loosening your grip on his forearm a little. He tensed his jaw, looking between you and the file. The mere fact that you were alright to continue was a testament to your courage. If he was being honest with himself, Logan didn’t know how much more he could read before it was you holding his hair back. And you giggled as he said just that. “Big baby.” You teased lightly, threading your fingers through his dark strands, swiping the damp back from his brow.

“‘Scuze me if I’m not exactly thrilled to read all the agony they put the love of my life through…” he admitted with a soft huff, unable to meet your gaze as your eyes lit up. You rose to your tiptoes, moulding your lips against his in a soft, reassuring kiss, before pulling back. You chose not to mention it, how he’d never said anything like that to you in the last eight months you’d been together. You chose not to pinpoint the moment of vulnerability, opting instead to let his words settle in your heart.

You didn’t know the time and honestly didn’t want to. Making yourselves two cups of tea, you returned back to the folder on the bed, once again getting comfortable. “Well. That was fucking harrowing…” you commented flatly as if you’d read something in the news, and Logan grunted in agreement, raising his fresh mug of tea to his mouth. He’d never been a tea drinker in the past, but living with you had turned him to all kinds of interesting new habits. “Ready for more…?” you asked with a wry smile to mask your nerves. He shot you an exhausted look but nodded nonetheless as you flipped through the papers to return to the one you’d had to leave. “Yeah no okay we don’t need to continue that one, we get the gist of it…” you turned the page hurriedly, smoothing out the paper as you pushed the contents behind you.

Year by year you kept reading, huffing little laughs as Kreva noted down everything NLMO got up to. From stealing some man’s car in the 1950s to graffitiing a wall with a penis in the 1980s. And whilst you knew your entire life was a simulation, it was almost gratifying to see that half of the things you remembered really did happen. You really did cook food with your brother. You really did hang out with Jade, or Kaleidoscope, every day. Erin, or Wood-Nymph, really did teach you how to grow plants effectively. You used to sit with Morgana, or Sanguine, and sketch together. Atlas, or Harmony, used his mutation to heal you up every time you ‘got into a fight’. You refused to refer to them by their numbers, just as you would refuse to refer to yourself that way too.

Logan wasn’t expecting the moments of peace within the file. He’d only skimmed a few pages back in the med bay and hadn’t picked it up since, so he was pleasantly surprised every time you chuckled lightly at your old shenanigans. You would offer small anecdotes of what you remembered, providing further context to what he was reading.

It broke him apart, however, when you went quiet. When you’d turn the page and be faced with the reality of what was happening to you. Psychological torture to test your mind’s durability. Scans and tests that had you screaming in pain as they injected you with various drugs, just to see how your mutation would react, if at all. These were the moments when Logan would hold you tighter against his side, eyes flickering from the pages to your face to guage where you were mentally.

1962, your mouth fell open as you scanned down the experiment report. They were helping you develop your mutation. Logan too pinched his brows in confusion. You’d been able to call the shadows at will, conjuring various objects, weapons, and appendages without a sweat. “Wh– How?” you muttered to yourself, flipping back through the pages you’d already read as if to find some kind of answer. Logan stilled your hand, his eyes scanning furiously down the log before pointing to a paragraph roughly a quarter of the way down the page.

“There.”

Sub.8 only seems to access its mutation after we use Sub.1 to refocus its brain. Whereas 5 had access to its full range of powers at all times, 8 shows signs of regression when 1 replaces its memories. To combat this, I have 1 reassemble only the memories it needs to regain full control and access to its mutation. The reasons for this are, as of right now, unclear. However, it is suspected that, though subconscious, 5 retains muscle memory of utilisation. It could be that 8 is so resilient because it simply forgets even on a subconscious level. Further investigation is needed to yield an answer.

You rolled your eyes, muttering a sarcastic “Oh, very helpful.” Before you continued flipping through the pages.

Spending the next day in bed, Logan was up and down the stairs, mainly to stretch his legs every now and then, but also to grab snacks and drinks before falling back down next to you on the bed, offering you a bite of whatever he’d snatched. You’d continue reading the document in front of you, absently opening your mouth before sinking your teeth into what you learned was a block of cheese. Only then did you look away from the text, shooting him a look of bafflement.

“An entire block of cheese?”

“‘M hungry.” He shrugged defensively, and you snorted a laugh, shaking your head as you returned to the words before you.

Logan didn’t know how you did it. He’d seen you sit for hours, with a nose buried in a book, but this was on another level. In the last twenty hours, he thinks he saw you get up and stretch once, head to the bathroom maybe three times, and take a roughly two-hour power nap. He, on the other hand, had to stand every hour or so, his legs feeling like dead weights if he lay down for much longer than that. The stacks of pages evened out slowly before finally, the read side looked far larger than the to-read side.

Setting down another mug of sweetened coffee on your nightstand, a new secret recipe of espresso mixed with hot chocolate, Logan lay back down next to you, skim-reading the rest of the page where he’d left off before you turned it over. It was how he forced you to give your eyes a break. You couldn’t continue until he’d finished the page you shared, and you only looked away when you’d reached the bottom and he’d stood up to go somewhere.

You’d reached 2013 now, only seven years ago, and the two of you were coming to the end of the folder. Flipping over the final page, you were met with penmanship rather than the typeface you’d become used to. Glancing to Logan, he returned your look of trepidation, before you started to read it aloud.

6th April, 2013. Fuck fuck FUCK! He’s let them all fucking go. FUCK! I barely managed to save their folders before the stupid bastard blew up the whole FUCKING FACILITY! I don’t know how he managed to get 1 to alter their memories without coercing it, but they’ve all scattered across the fucking country. We need to start rebuilding. We need to get them back. Now. We cannot let this research go to waste. They need to be understood. If we are to create an army of these mutants, we need them to return and continue understanding their fundamentals. 5 was the easiest to manipulate, and 1 didn’t know how to run. I found it lying on the ground by the road. I will rebuild what he destroyed, I will find them all again. I’ll continue the work of my great-grandfather. But if anything should go wrong… I’ll have 5 eradicate all evidence.

That was the last entry in your folder, and you wondered if any of the other seven had a similar log. Blowing out a long breath, you folded the file closed, turning to look at Logan as he seemed stuck in his head. A palm against his cheek, you turned him to look at you, tilting your head to the side in silently questioning.

“Hundred-and-five.” Was all he said, and you squinted in confusion.

“Hm?”

“That’s how old you are. At the start, it said you were sixteen. The first entry was in 1931, and the last entry was in 2013. Add the last seven years to that, and you’re hundred-and-five years old.” You stayed silent, attempting to wrap your head around his calculations. Over a century, you’d been alive. And eighty-two years of it was spent in a simulation, your memories being replaced almost daily. It was like your brain was a computer software they updated every ten years, making sure the background to your memories matched the decade. Fucking hell.

“Guess I can’t really make fun of you for your age anymore, huh…?” You smiled a little sadly, genuinely upset that half your jokes were now completely voided due to the fact you weren’t that much younger than him. You still didn’t know his age for sure, and neither did he. “But, looking on the bright side… at least I won’t grow old and grey whilst you look gorgeous forever.” You elbowed him softly in an attempt to lighten the mood.

If this was how you chose to cope with it, then Logan would be happy to go along with you. “You were worried ‘bout that?” he asked, raising a thick brow as you nodded.

“It crossed my mind, sure.” You shrugged, before kicking the folder to the floor, its once imposing presence in the room was now little more than an inconvenience taking up too much of the bed. The silence settled as you contemplated that last page. A mutant army. It didn’t seem possible. Who would be willing to join something like that? And why would any mutant fight for a human doctor? But you couldn’t shake your growing fear. And now he’d gathered whoever was left of NLMO, minus yourself and Jade. And since Jade was dead, you were the last on his list.

The thought didn’t scare you. You knew what you needed to do. And you were pretty sure Logan knew it too.

“We need to get you back to Charles…” he whispered in defeat, being the braver of the two to actually voice what needed to happen. You needed your full mutation, and if the file was to be believed, the only way you could get it back, was if your memories were restored. Your real memories.

Closing your eyes, you tensed your jaw as you nodded in agreement, still too afraid to speak it into existence. Truth be told, you didn’t want your memories back. Whilst you weren’t exactly thrilled at what happened to you, it felt so far away, since you don’t remember living through any of it. “What if…” you started, trailing off almost immediately as you found the right words. “What if I’m not… me, anymore. If he can get them back, my memories… what if I’m different than I am now?” You asked timidly, avoiding looking anywhere near his face by fiddling with one of the tassels of his zipper hoodie.

Logan sighed through his nose, clasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger and raising your head so he could look you in the eye. Honestly, it scared him too, what those memories might do to you, but he also knew who you were. At your core. At the centre of your being. He knew exactly who and what you were.

“You’ll be different, sure. But you’ll still be you,” he urged you to meet his gaze, adjusting his grip on your chin every time your eyes shifted from his own. “No matter what happens. No matter who or what you are after you remember, I’ll be right here.” His fingers shifted from your chin to your jaw, sandwiching your face between his calloused palms, his thumbs tracing the shadows beneath your eyes.

Your head settled against his brow, simply feeling him close to you, whispering a quiet “Okay…” before he pressed a kiss of assurance to your lips. You smiled against him, your breath fanning his mouth and chin.

“Glad I changed the spark plugs now… shame about the oil.” You chuckled slightly, and Logan rolled his eyes.

“Think an oil change is the least of our concerns…” he mumbled, before you sat back, rubbing a tired hand down the side of your face. You looked exhausted, but then again, you always did. “Well, no time like the present, huh?” A rapid sigh flew from parted lips and you scrambled off the bed, pulling your rucksack out of the closet. Logan made to follow your lead, before halting as rhythmic, low vibrations hummed from the bedside drawer. His wry gaze slid to you, a brow raised in sly amusement.

You held your hands up in innocence. “Don’t look at me! My drawer’s on that side! Plus it has an off switch, thank you!” You huffed, folding your arms across your chest. Logan’s brow furrowed in confusion, wrenching the drawer open, various different objects clattering around with the force, including his unused mobile phone. It was rudimentary, barely more modern than the Nokia Brick, sporting large thick buttons rather than a screen. What small screen it did have illuminated as Logan chuckled at the name, holding up the mobile so you could read it.

TODD

You snorted a laugh, checking the time on the phone simultaneously. Had he really only found the sneaky money after almost two days? At two in the morning? “Told ya you’d receive an angry text or call!” You grinned triumphantly, Logan tossing the phone back down on the bed to let it ring out. He’d return his call on the road whenever you’d inevitably fallen asleep, and listen to whatever long-winded reprimanding he had coming his way.

“Stay in the car…” he’d growled, his nose twitching as he sensed something wasn’t quite right. Your heart thundered in your throat as he opened his door, claws sliding from his knuckles, surveying the treelines on either side of the road. The air beyond the cab was quiet. Too quiet. And Logan angled his head to the sky, inhaling deeply before exhaling a threatening snarl.

Something was very wrong.

You linked your fingers through the handle of your door, pulling against the mechanism. Logan whipped to look at you through the driver’s side, his eyes wide and panicked as you shot him a look back. You weren’t fucking defenseless for Christ’s sake. You were a powerful mutant even without the whole scope of your abilities.

You stepped out of the car despite his protests, waiting for something to happen the moment your feet touched the tarmac.

Silence.

You took a step forward.

Silence.

Casting a glance over to Logan, you watched as his chest heaved with adrenaline, and you didn’t fight the urge to cross the road with the intention of setting him at ease.

The second you were crossing the headlights, the dark road ahead exploded with light, shadows disappearing as a single gunshot rang out.

Logan’s world froze as blood exploded from your chest, spraying the hood and windshield of the pickup. A look of confusion tilted your head, before realisation dawned on your features and you staggered back, your breath strained in your throat as a dark line of crimson slid from the corner of your mouth. Pain wracked his chest as Logan roared, though his desperate attempts to get to you were in vain, finding his limbs sluggish and his brain hazy.

Your knees gave out as you collapsed onto the road, splitting your head against the tarmac. This is why you haven’t left for six months. This was the exact reason why he’d kept you safe in the cabin. Logan supported himself against the truck, dragging his stubborn legs across the ground, his vision swimming. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. All you needed was a shadow and you’d be okay. He’d deal with the rest. He just needed to get his shadow within your reach.

“The Wolverine. I’ve heard a lot about you.” A voice echoed around the trees lining the road, that pocket-sized sun moving closer to where you lay, gasping and bleeding, with no shadow to disintegrate into. “You’re extremely hard to get rid of. I never take Subject Two anywhere, yet here it was needed to keep you at bay. An impressive little mutant. It can manipulate blood cells. You see, right now, it’s slowed the beat of your heart to the point where you feel… drowsy? Sluggish? Exhausted? How’re you feeling right now?” He almost mocked, crouching down to where Logan had fallen to the floor, inches away from you. But the light had moved, his shadow now behind him and nowhere near where you needed it.

“Kreva.” He hissed, his claws slowly sliding from his knuckles and scratching along the tarmac. You gurgled weakly, making a subconscious reach for where Logan lay immobile, his eyes bloodshot. You’d read the file now. You knew all about NLMO and their individual mutations. Subject Two, Sanguine, could control and manipulate blood, whether it was her own or belonged to somebody, or something, else. And of course, that constant glow of sunlight belonged to Subject Five. Rowan. Solaris. Your brother.

Your body itched as you bled out, begging for the haven of darkness to dissolve and reform, it was taking all of your strength to hold together those threads.

“It’s been cute, watching our Phantom domesticate the great Wolverine. But it couldn’t last. I still need it, unfortunately.” Dr.Kreva patted his hand against Logan’s arm as if in consolidate him, but it did nothing other than fuel his rage. Logan struggled against Sanguine, looking up at her shrouded face, eyes burning a deep red as she continued to manipulate his bloodstream. “Everyone step back!” Kreva called out, resulting in the team around him shuffling back a few feet.

“Don’t… don’t you– fuckin’ touch her!” Logan’s vision tunnelled slightly, barely managing to ground out his threat between clenched teeth. Kreva simply laughed with bitter condescending.

“Yes, I suppose I could let her bleed out. Though considering she’s been shot in the chest before and lived, I wonder how long it would take for her to actually die. Maybe that’ll be our last experiment. Whaddya say, Eight?” He bent over you, and you mustered up enough energy to spit a globule of blood into his face. He swiped at your crimson spit, cracking a hearty smile. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you? Subject Five, if you could.” Rowan moved behind Kreva, his shadow shrouding you in darkness and you fought the urge to dissolve into it, knowing that if you did, there would be nothing you could do. He had intimate knowledge of your mutation, he’d already prepared by bringing along your brother, let alone whatever else he’d had with him. You greet your blood-stained teeth, shivering as your body pleaded with you to let go. “You’ll give in, Eight. You always do. You tried this before. Not that you remember. Those scars on your wrists? You’ve tried this before and your body wouldn’t let you. So just give in…” He urged quietly, and you balled your fists, your nails digging harshly into the soft flesh of your palm.

Your eyes slid to Logan a few feet away, his breath heaving in his chest, fear swirling in his wide hazel irises as he looked at you.

“I will find you,” he grit, the tendons in his neck straining. “I promise. I will find you.”

You offered him a weary, bloody smile, and his heart broke as he saw the hope fade from your face.

“I love you…” you barely managed a silent whisper, lingering just long enough to watch his whole world shatter through the windows to his soul, before you released the threads within your body, sinking into Kreva’s shadow.

“Splendid,” Kreva clapped his hands together as if he’d done nothing but lit a fantastic barbecue. “Subject Five, you can stop now.” Like a switch had been flipped, the daylight glow resonating from your brother cut out, the torch beams from the truck headlights now the only remaining light. Logan clawed at the ground, his eyes lingering where he’d seen you last. You weren’t dead. He needed to remember that. You weren’t dead. But the way you spoke to him like it was the last time you were ever going to see him…

A cry of anguish worked its way up his throat, splitting the air as Kreva turned back to him like he’d just remembered he was there. “Oh, I know, hurts, doesn’t it? Let’s ease your pain for a while. Subject Two, if you’d be so kind.”

Logan’s vision swam further, the pounding in his head growing to a crescendo as his heart rate slowed, knowing nothing more as his senses faded to black.

It must have only been seconds of unconscious, the sky still shrouded in black clouds when he came to once again. Though Kreva was nowhere to be seen, a pool of crimson blood left behind where you once lay dying.

You weren’t dead. You weren’t dead.

Raising to his forearms, Logan shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind of the cobwebs, hazy memories dancing just out of his reach. Staggering to his feet, he craned his neck as the hum of a jet hovered overhead, recognising the Blackbird instantly, the sleek design blending in seamlessly with the sky above before the beams from the truck headlights illuminated the cockpit, steam hissing with pressure as the feet extended to the ground.

The engine was still whirring when Storm sprinted down the ramp toward him, her stark hair flowing behind her in the breeze she kicked up. Logan shook his head numbly as she approached, in answer to the question she had yet to ask. “Gone…” was all he could say, eyes sliding from Ororo to the bloodstain on the tarmac. Scott jogged up behind her, fingers braced at the side of his glasses before he stopped, seeing Logan’s expression.

There was a moment of understanding between the two men, Scott swallowing hard, Logan shaking his head still, slightly helpless before Scott stepped forward and firmly enveloped him in a tight embrace.

“We’ll get her back, man. We will.”

Logan’s breath shuddered as Scott drew back, keeping a hand firmly clasped atop his shoulder as Ororo looked between the two of them. “Kreva, right?” she asked rhetorically, though Logan nodded nonetheless.

“Yeah. Ambush. Had this freaky blood manipulator. I couldn’t fuckin’ get to her.” he bared his teeth, running a hand through his hair.

“How’d he even know where she was? Where were you headed?” Scott asked, continuously glancing around as if someone was eavesdropping on the conversation. But they’d gone. Kreva and his subjects had gone.

And taken you with them.

“Headin’ back to you. We read the file. She needs her memories back if we want to use her mutation. I don’t have a clue how he knew. I just–”

The realisation struck Logan like a brick to the head, stopping abruptly as he absently removed his phone from his back pocket.

There, glaring in the low light, the sole reason for icy fury to flood his veins. There, the sole reason you weren’t by his side right now.

Logan gripped the phone in his palm, hearing the casing crack slightly as he read the text over and over, a name he thought he could trust. The only name he thought he could trust with you.

TODD:

Forgive me.

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

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wheneverfeasible · 6 months ago

Text

Ruin Me (part 6/Finale)

wc: 2.5k || rating: E || story summary: Steve shows up on Eddie’s doorstep with an offer he can’t refuse. || chapter summary: The boys realize what they want is more than just one night. || tags: omegaverse, alpha!Eddie Munson, omega!Steve Harrington, intersex omegas, explicit content (see ao3 for full tags) || posted in full on ao3

See bottom for commentary

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Previously…

Unthinkingly, Eddie dropped another kiss to Steve’s forehead and then he was all but escaping his room to get Steve a glass of water. Fucking tap water, nothing filtered properly because he lived in a fucking trailer and Steve…Steve was used to the nicer things in life.

Which wasn’t Eddie.

“Christ, Munson, if your old man could see you now,” he muttered to himself, picturing the Munson Doctrine just flying out the window, as he filled up a glass. Not even a proper glass at that, either, but one of those novelty promotional things Wayne had gotten at McDonald’s with the purple guy on the front.

Whatever. It wasn’t like he could impress Steve even if he tried.

Coming back into the room, Eddie took a moment to take in the sight of Steve. The boy had settled more fully into the bed, laying under the covers with his nose buried in the blanket, eyes closed.

He wasn’t asleep, that much was certain with how he was nuzzling against the material every so often, but Eddie could tell that it was a losing battle.

He tried not to feel too much pride at fucking Steve into exhaustion.

“C’mon, Stevie, drink some water and take your pill,” he coaxed, setting the glass on the bedside table to rest a hand on Steve’s shoulder. He gently helped the other boy sit back up, trying his hardest not to smile at the sleepy but content look on Steve’s face.

“I like that,” Steve murmured quietly.

Eddie let out a small hum as he got Steve situated back up to a sitting position. “Like what?”

“When you call me that. Stevie.”

Eddie froze. Steve, seemingly unaware, took the glass Eddie was now holding out and dutifully took the pill and drank down more than half the water. He made a little grimace at the taste, but didn’t make any comments about its lack of filteredness. Steve then set the glass down and reached for Eddie’s hand, tugging him down onto the bed with him.

Eddie went easily, still caught on Steve liking the nickname that, admittedly, had probably started out somewhat mockingly but now was anything but. Steve’s arm wrapped around Eddie, encouraging him to lay down with him, and then he was shoving his nose back into Eddie’s neck and inhaling his scent again as he pressed against his side.

“I like your scent too,” Steve quietly murmured, lips brushing against Eddie’s suddenly very overly sensitive skin.

“So you said,” Eddie said, voice tight. “Bitter and soggy, I remember.”

Steve just laughed, lightly slapping a hand to Eddie’s chest, before he just left it there. His fingers idly began playing along the slight muscle definition Eddie had from moving heavy band equipment around every week, before lightly playing with the chain around his neck holding his pick.

“You smell good, alpha,” Steve murmured, and Eddie felt a spark go through him at Steve calling him that again when not in the babbling throes of passion.

Swallowing whatever was lodged in his throat, Eddie carefully wrapped his arm around Steve’s back until the omega was curled tighter against his side, legs tangling up slightly. “Yeah? Well you smell absolutely sinful, omega,” he gently teased, bringing his other hand to lightly settle over Steve’s on his chest.

“What do I smell like? No one’s ever really told me before. Just that I didn’t smell like the typical omega. Not sweet enough.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. You’re plenty sweet,” Eddie said with a small snort. He considered Steve’s words, however, tried to find an answer for him to make him happy.

“You’re sweet, but not like sugar. It’s…warm. There’s something acidic there, but not…bad. More…citrusy maybe? And something spiced, not spicy.” Eddie lightly huffed. “I don’t know how you can name off specific things like you did. I can’t tell what smells are for shit. You’re lucky I could differentiate anything at all.”

Steve’s laughter at that brought that lump back into Eddie’s throat. The omega pulled his head back though to noticeably roll his eyes. “Tell me you’ve never stepped foot into a kitchen without telling me you’ve never stepped foot into a kitchen.”

“Hey!” Eddie protested, trying not to laugh at Steve’s snark that he was finding far more endearing than bitchy. “I can make a mean pot of Chef Boyardee, thank you very much.”

“I stand corrected,” Steve said with a small snort of his own. He shook his head before settling it back against Eddie’s shoulder.

“It’s my parents, honestly. Dad agreed to let me stay in sports after I presented as long as I took up ‘proper omega pastimes’ as well,” he said mockingly, and Eddie could hear the air quotes though Steve’s fingers stayed pressed against him.

“So I had to give up shop class for home economics, and had to start helping my mom with making meals and taking care of housework.” Steve let out a slight grumble. “Pretty sure he only agreed to letting me stay on the team because I was the captain, but with Hargrove gunning for the spot…”

Eddie frowned at that. It was obvious that Steve liked sports; even someone who avoided sports like the plague like Eddie did could see that much. The idea that Steve’s father would rip that away from his son just because of his secondary gender…it wasn’t fair.

“So you’re a good cook then, Stevie?” he asked, wanting to turn Steve away from more depressing thoughts.

Predictably, Steve brightened up again, burrowing closer against Eddie once more. “Yeah, I like to think so. Dustin and the others don’t really complain when I’ve cooked for them, and Joyce even complimented me on my ragù and asked for the recipe.”

Dustin again. Who the hell was this Dustin he kept hearing about? Another alpha? Then why didn’t Steve just go to Dustin for help?

“You’re starting to smell weird again,” Steve complained.

Forcing himself to let it go…mostly…Eddie tightly asked, “Who’s Dustin?”

Steve brightened even further, and it might have made Eddie’s smell even worse, if Steve’s next words didn’t immediately throw Eddie for a loop. “He’s one of my pups!” He laughed a little at that. “He hates it when I call him that, though. He’s a friend, one of these kids I…babysit sometimes.”

Steve “The Hair” Harrington was a babysitter??

“You babysit?” Eddie couldn’t help but ask, befuddled at this new development into just who exactly this boy in his arms was.

“Unofficially,” Steve said, and though he grumbled it, Eddie could feel the smile pressed into his shoulder. “I don’t get paid for it or anything. I just help watch this rabid pack of middle schoolers. They start high school in the fall and I don’t know if I’m happy or disappointed I won’t be with them when they do.”

Steve watched middle schoolers???

“You’d actually probably like them. Don’t you run that Dipshits and Dingbats game? They’re big fans of that. Well, most of them. El and Max don’t play.” Steve tensed slightly. “Max is actually Billy’s little sister,” he murmured quietly. “He’s an asshole to her too.”

Eddie’s mind was in a whirlwind with all this new information. Steve babysat. Steve babysat middle schoolers. At least one of these middle schoolers he considered an actual friend. This middle schooler friend introduced him to Star Wars. And, apparently, also played Dungeons and Dragons?? And Steve knew Eddie ran Hellfire???

Oh yeah, and one of Steve’s pseudo-pups was apparently Billy Hargrove’s little sister. Fantastic.

Lost in thought, Eddie unthinkingly brushed his lips over Steve’s forehead. “Baby boy, I feel like I don’t even know what is going on anymore,” he mumbled.

“Join the club,” Steve said with another snort. He tilted his head up to press a soft kiss to Eddie’s neck in return, causing Eddie to jolt slightly. Which then, in turn, caused Steve to flinch slightly and draw away.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, moving as though to pull himself out of Eddie’s arms, prompting Eddie to hurriedly reach out and grasp the other boy’s chin, pulling him back in for a soft, gentle kiss.

Steve tensed for a brief moment before fully relaxing against Eddie with a content, happy sigh against Eddie’s lips. When Eddie released him, he snuggled back in against Eddie’s neck.

Eddie realized, with a horrifying certainty, that he wanted to keep him. Forever.

Fuck.

“Who’s Joyce?” Eddie asked in what was only a slightly strangled tone, trying to distract himself and possibly Steve from the realization that Eddie couldn’t hide from anymore.

“Hmm?” Steve asked sleepily around a yawn. “Oh, that’s Will’s mom. Will’s and Jon’s.”

Wait. Jon? As in Jonathan Byers???

“You’re friends with Zombie Bo—OOF!” Eddie wheezed out from where Steve had solidly smacked his diaphragm with the side of his fist.

“Don’t call him that,” Steve said fiercely, practically a growl, suddenly much more awake as he sat up to glare at Eddie. “He’s a good kid and what he went through was traumatic. That’s a stupid nickname and I don’t want to hear you use it ever again, understood?”

Eddie stared in awe at the fierce omega before him, all righteous fury for one of his pups, and Eddie realized with even more certainty that he didn’t just want to keep Steve Harrington; he wanted to be kept by Steve Harrington too.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “I didn’t realize. I think it’s a pretty metal name, but I promise it won’t ever cross my lips again.

Steve narrowed his eyes at him, as though looking for deceit, before huffing and laying back down. He squirmed a little, still obviously aching from their activities, before settling once more. Eddie wrapped both arms around him until Steve was practically laying on top of him and pressed a kiss to his hair.

“I am sorry. I didn’t think. Sometimes I say things with no filter. Obviously it would be traumatic. I promise none of the boys will call him that either when he joins Hellfire.”

Steve shot his head up again at that, mouth slightly agape. “Really? You’d let him join? And the others?”

Eddie grinned. “Well, only if they want to. Anyone can be in Hellfire if they wanna be in Hellfire. Even you, sweetheart,” he gently teased, booping Steve lightly on the nose.

Steve scrunched up his nose before letting out a soft laugh. “I doubt I’d actually be welcomed there. Dustin would blow a gasket if I ever actually played though,” he said with a small wicked grin. “He’s been asking me for ages. Even tried to get Nancy to play again to entice me. She’s Mike’s sister.”

Wheeler? Nope. Not happening. Wait…Steve was friends with his ex’s brother and the brother of the guy his ex left him for????

“Stevie, baby, I just don’t know if I can take any more of your secret lore tonight,” he muttered, earning a confused look from the boy in his arms.

He sighed, shaking his head against the pillow slightly before drawing Steve into another soft kiss. Steve’s cheeks were pink when he pulled back. “Come to Hellfire during our next meeting. We’ll teach you how to play and then you can make this Dustin kid blow all the gaskets.”

A shy smile curled at Steve’s lips. “Yeah? You’re not just looking for an excuse to get into my pants again are you?” he teased.

Eddie, risking it all to be as brave as the omega in his arms, grinned back. “Do I need an excuse?”

Steve chewed his lower lip once more in obvious hesitation, a brief flash of vulnerability bringing uncertainty to his expression, before he dropped his gaze.

Eddie gave him time to process it all, however, gently rubbing a thumb over Steve’s shoulder, mindful of the hickeys he’d left scattered there. He wanted to lick them. Despite his own anxiety, he tried to pretend like his heart wasn’t racing a million miles a minute.

Finally, after what seemed like forever to Eddie’s poor rattled nerves, Steve glanced up again at Eddie through his lashes. “Is it just my pants you want in?” he asked quietly.

Eddie felt a surge of hope. “I would really like to meet your pups too. Get to know them. And…get to know you better. Whether or not you ever want to do this again, I’d still like to see you again after tonight. But I won’t deny that I really want a repeat performance,” he added with a gently teasing grin.

Steve lightly huffed, rolling his eyes as though that could hide how his face flamed a soft pink. “Knothead,” he mumbled.

“Only for you, sweetheart,” Eddie breathed, taking Steve’s hand in his again to lift to his lips where he brushed a kiss against Steve’s palm. He then trailed his lips down to Steve’s wrist, nuzzling at the smaller scent gland there, causing Steve to suck in a soft breath. “Didn’t I tell you earlier I was going to make you mine? Ruin you for all other alphas?”

Something almost fragile flit across Steve’s expression at that, and Eddie realized this wasn’t biology. This wasn’t his secondary gender latching on to the biological imperative of claiming Steve now that they had coupled; this wasn’t his alpha trying to take Steve’s omega because that’s what nature dictated should happen.

No, this was merely Eddie wanting to make certain Steve never has to be that desperate, scared, or alone ever again because Steve didn’t deserve to be. Whether Steve was omega, beta, or even another alpha, Eddie knew that he’d be right back here, wanting Steve by his side.

Steve, who was so much more than Eddie had ever realized a person could be.

Steve, who was staring at him now like he had never seen him before, or like…he had never dared to hope how Eddie could be.

“Yeah, Munson?” Steve quietly asked. “Whatcha gonna do? Make an honest omega outta me after all?”

“Maybe I will, sweetness. Maybe I will,” Eddie smiled, because Steve’s sweet scent was there, full of tentative hope. “That is, if you can handle my bitter and soggy scent for more than one night,” he grinned.

Steve let out the most beautiful laugh Eddie had ever heard. “Oh, you are such an asshole,” he groaned, but then Steve was leaning in and answering Eddie’s question with a smiling kiss. Which was all good and all, but…

“I need your verbal confirmation, precious,” Eddie whispered against his lips, though he couldn’t stop his own lips from smiling either.

“Take me on a date first, alpha, and maybe you’ll get it,” Steve teased, and Eddie could only let out a small whoop of happiness, Steve answering it with his own laughter, as he wrapped his arms around Steve and rolled them over in bed, kissing Steve deeply where he pressed him into the mattress.

And no, things weren’t miraculously perfect. He knew they would need to worry about Steve’s parents, and he’d have to explain to Wayne why Steve would probably have to move in with them for a bit if things soured with the Harringtons, and they were technically still in school and Eddie was probably going to have to repeat senior year again, but…

In the morning, Eddie would find the perfect first courting gift. They might have rushed into the start of things, but they could take their time now. They would get to know each other properly, would take the time to test this thing between them, because there was a thing between them after all. A real thing.

A thing that Steve wanted just as much as he did, judging by his enthusiastic, smiling, laughing kissing.

“My alpha,” Steve breathed so prettily once they parted, rolling to curl against each other after Eddie reached over to turn off the light, nuzzling under Eddie’s chin to settle in for the night.

“My omega,” Eddie whispered back, pressing another gentle kiss to Steve’s hair as he held him, safe and protected.

Eddie fell asleep to Steve’s purring, his own chest rumbling with happy adoration and contentment.

By the time the sun rose on a new day full of promise, the storm had broken.

fin

Author commentary:

And it’s complete! But the story isn’t over yet 😉

Short and hopefully sweet, there isn’t too much commentary left here that won’t be answered in the upcoming companion piece featuring Steve’s POV and the morning after.

That being said, I did want to discuss scents again. I’ve mentioned before that Eddie isn’t really able to get specific scents because he’s not familiar with them, like most people. Steve, however, is able to get more specific with his scent recognization because he’s familiar with the components.

Steve’s parents are traditionalists, as previously stated. Especially his alpha father. He would definitely force an omega child into a “traditional omega role” which is basically the role women have been expected to be in for years in our reality. General misogyny still exists in this omegaverse as well, even against alpha women, but there’s more leeway for secondary genders.

Due to this, Steve is familiar with cooking and baking and thus familiar with the scents of food items and ingredients. It’s why he can tell that Eddie smells of molasses and dark chocolate, because I wanted Eddie to smell a little sweet while also being something earthy and rich.

And then I love the smell of petrichor (thank you Doctor Who for informing so many what it is called) and generally the smell of rain in the air, and wanted to give Eddie that scent as well. Something similar to Steve, but heavier.

While Steve doesn’t smell as sweet as other omegas, Eddie also smells sweeter than other alphas. Their differences are thus what connects them in similarity. The same by being different. I just thought that that would be a little poetic, a little wink wink nudge to show that these two belong together.

Now, these two have realized that they want more than just this single night together, both realizing that they like the other more than they initially intended to, though it won’t be entirely smooth sailing from here on out. They have Steve’s parents to deal with, of course, but also their own insecurities.

I’m not certain how short or long the next part will be, or even when it will come out, but I am currently working on it, so….we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?

Thank you everyone who has read and enjoyed this little story with me, and I hope to see you again!

Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife

@everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes

For those just hanging out for this particular story, I’ll tag you whenever I post the companion too unless otherwise asked not to!

Fic tag:

@amerikanskaya-krassavitsa @estrellami-1

#fic: ruin me #with commentary #omegaverse steddie #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #plot thots

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my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction · 1 month ago

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L x Reader pt. 4: The Billionaire and the Prostitute

I think I'm going to make every other chapter a mini about L's thoughts, and post them more quickly than the bigger, meatier chapters. we'll see!

L is pleased. He hasn't felt so contented since...well, since the last time you visited. His work has improved, almost as much as his mood. Even Watari has commented on L's brighter disposition. Sure, it was the sort of thing only Watari could notice, but it's still a sign of his bliss.

He has also learned new things about you. He's learned you're a good listener, given the fact that you arrived the second time with a lipstain instead of a lipstick, indicative of how you retained his distaste for the sticky texture a month later. He's learned that your pride is the most apparent of all your negative personality traits, though he doesn't find it to be discouraging. he rather likes the way you stiffen at any hint of condescension, or how you make a point to emphasize your stamina.

And he's learned some things about himself. At first, he assumed the thing that distinguished you from his own hand was the contact of another person. The way you kissed, the way you touched, the way you rode him. It was all quite nice, of course, but it wasn't the root of his pleasure in you.

It was your sounds.

He was at his happiest when you were moaning, or whimpering, or breathing out his name. He can't place why, that would require more research, but he does know it's an integral part of his enjoyment.

Another new piece of information has to do with your nails. Specifically, how they felt ripping at his skin. He had taken a look at the marks in the mirror as best he could, the thin streaks shallow and pink. It was a show of passion, of fervor, of euphoria. That he had elicited something more than tempered pleasure from you. Something about it made him feel odd. This wasn't about sex, it didn't arouse him, exactly. He couldn't place it, but it must be investigated.

These new feelings had him thinking, as most things often do: if something like the scratches down his back gave him delight, what else would?

First and foremost, however, he had to be sure this would continue to happen in the future. Your nails, he had noticed, weren't as elegant and flashy as the rest of you. They were unpolished, well trimmed, and clean. Neat, but not remarkable. Thus, you didn't really care about nail length, which meant he wasn't guaranteed a repeat of this. Not yet, anyway.

You had just gotten out of the shower, when you received a call. This time, the number was saved. With a sharp sigh and an annoyed groan, you picked it up.

"Didn't we agree on emails only?"

"We agreed you would rather me email you about booking appointments. I'm not calling about an appointment."

"What is it, then?"

"It's your nails. I'd like you to get them done."

You pause. What kind of request was that? "Why?"

"I have a theory."

"You always seem to have theories." You put him on speaker and set your phone on the bed, preparing to put on your pajamas.

"You scratched me the other night."

"I did," you respond nonchalantly. So what? It wasn't that bad.

"I'd like you to do it again."

"Kinky." you pull on a tank top, the fabric nice and breathable.

"...I wouldn't call it that. In any case, I'd appreciate it if you would lengthen your nails."

"What, like with acrylics?"

"If that's what you'd prefer."

"If I scratched you last time without long nails, I probably will again."

"It would be best if I had absolute consolation that the instance will repeat...and I want to know how length will be a component in sensation."

"well acrylics are kind of expensive. And my other clients won't like them." That's why you kept them fairly short, it was the neutral option.

"I'd be happy to fund the excursion, as well as cover the pricing of any clients lost."

"...Y'know, you're supposed to save your money, that's how you stay rich," you scoff, yanking on your panties and pajama shorts.

"I'm well aware of how to stay rich. I have been for quite some time."

You shake your head and pick the phone back up. "I'll do it, but you have to tell me when your next appointment is so I can get them a few days before."

"October 31st, 11 PM."

He was quick with that answer. "Miss me already," you tease, leaving your bedroom to find your calendar.

"Not necessarily."

You find your little calendar and pencil him in. "any preference for color or shape?"

"No. Get what you like."

"Cool. see you then," you sigh, preparing to hang up.

"See you then," he parrots calmly, hanging up before you can.

That feeling is swelling up again, at the thought of purchasing something for you. What a curious reaction. It was hard to place the why or how. It didn't illicit lust, as the sound of your voice did, but something softer. As stated, he would need more research.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Special section because this chapter is so short I actually feel like I'm robbing you- L's current notes in no particular order:

What does miss (l/n) smell like without perfume? What does miss (l/n) look like without makeup? ask Watari to contact [redacted] about the next pastry shipment. investigate DNA test samples of blood in the [redacted] case. Does miss (l/n) have any companions? request interviews with leading psychiatrists about symptoms. has miss (l/n) had any romantic partners? research the erogenous zones- focus on clitoris. research new activities to do with (y/n) Le Monde Gourmand Fraise Fouettée Eau de Parfum contact FBI about acquiring files for suspects strawberry-pistachio creme cake in France Where does miss (l/n) get her clothing? What does she wear in her personal life? appointment with UN at 1700 Get separate notebook for thoughts pertaining to miss (l/n)

#fanfic #fan fiction #l lawlight #l lawilet #l lawiet #l x reader #l death note #death note #death note l #death note fanfiction #death note smut #l lawliet smut

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linkons-most-wanted · 1 day ago

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Passionate Bloom

Valleydream Bloom Extended Ch 4

Sylus PoV It’s getting harder and harder to hold back. Especially when she looks up at me with that greed in her eyes, when her whole body responds to me, when her touch is always begging for more, more, more. It feels dangerous. I remember how I craved her when she sat upon that throne, eyes brimming with desire, power dripping from her, chin tipped up in pride, voice ringing with utter command. That craving drove me mad. With the crown of flowers on her head, she’s utterly royal. I taste the salt and liquor of her soul now, mouth watering, muscles coiling and thrumming with need.

Read on AO3

A/N: Indulgent Sylus PoV and spice in the same chapter?! you betcha 🤩 cannot get enough of lover boy poet Sylus. I think this is my first spice from his PoV, and it was a delight~

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fangweaver2099 · 11 months ago

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A Minor Slip-Up Chapter 4

Miguel x Reader 18+

MDNI / NSFW 18+ CHAPTER

You've been working for Dr. Miguel O'Hara in Alchemax' R&D department for 2 years. For those two years, your crush on the gigantic, handsome man that just happens to be your superior has only gotten worse with time.

When you notice him alone at Alchemax' Christmas Gala, you take your chance. A one night stand.

You two agree it was just once, but it seems life has other plans.

It became clear to you that you both were in a desperate need of some clean up. Miguel’s face was soaked – visible remnants of your lipstick on his plush lips and chin, while your face was flushed, mascara dripping down your soft features.

You both looked absolutely fucked.

“We - um, we need.. to…”

“Sure,” Miguel said as he stood up, finally slipping himself back into his boxers. You watched Miguel in a slight disbelief as realization of what just happened and what was going to happen came to you. Your gaze remained glued to his muscular chest as he moved to button his shirt back up.

You could still feel his spend dripping across your ass and thighs. Gross. You clenched your legs together and cringed at the squelch. You resorted to slowly slipping off the table, feet flat on the floor while Miguel left the last few buttons of his shirt open. You could see the shine of sweat on his brow.

Truthfully, you couldn’t have picked a better person to take your virginity, even if Miguel would never know that.

You scanned the room for your panties, finding the black thong discarded on the floor. You attempted to stand only to instantly sway, knees like jelly. Miguel noticed and grabbed your arm, keeping you on your feet.

He wore a prideful grin as you swayed, and you could see he enjoyed what he had done to you, cocky bastard. Anxiety crept up – how would either of you return back to normal? Still, you couldn’t lie, you wouldn’t mind if this was the new normal.

It wasn’t as if you didn’t enjoy it.

“Sit,” he commanded, moving you into the massive chair and pressing on your shoulder. He released you, letting you fall back into the chair with a gasp. Your hand purchased on your shivering thigh as you watched Miguel’s massive body dip down and retrieve your panties. He kneeled before you, gaze reverent as his massive hand grasped your ankle.

As Miguel rose, you caught his neck with your hand and pulled him into another kiss. You could taste your own tang on his lips and tongue, but it didn’t matter.

It was a forceful thing, Miguel's kiss. Rough and passionate, as if fighting to subdue you into submission. Not like he’d face much of a fight. His teeth scraped against you as he pressed himself into you, his conquering grip tightening. He had caught your arm mid-reach, not stopping you but displaying that he could, if he wanted to. He could have stopped you - or have done something else entirely.

Being alone with a man who could overpower you so easily made your heart flutter, the danger only sparking excitement into your masochistic core. If he could grapple you this tight, what else could he do with those hands? That mouth?

As if on cue, his lips pulled away to break the kiss, a hiss escaping his teeth as he stared invigorated at you, his gaze half-mad with lust. Another kiss, slower this time, his teeth biting your lower lip and pulling lightly, leaving you to gasp until he broke the embrace again.

Once more he leaned forward, stopping just short of joining your lips together again, his gaze watching you carefully. You were impatient, inflamed with desire, and when you chased after him to close the gap he pulled away once more, hand tightening on your arm almost painfully. Only when you stopped to flinch did he return the kiss again, a slow rhythm starting.

It was like a game of cat and mouse, disciplining you as he reminded you that he was in charge. He would initiate, unless he told you otherwise. You were to pout and beg until he deemed you ready, squirming uncomfortably as you learned to rely on his generous touch and not your own boldness. It was… admittedly more comfortable that way, letting him take the reins like this. The catholic prudishness buried deep inside you reasoned your scandalous exploits could be forgiven if he was the one pushing things and not you.

Before things got too heated again, His hands curled around your back as he forced himself away, still wearing that grin. You looked starstruck, eyes wide and almost smiling.

“We should – we should head back now,” you managed out, gripping Miguel’s strong arms. You swore he felt like steel with his body tensed. The towering man nodded in agreement, releasing you.

“You should clean up, querida,” he motioned to your face, you reached your fingers up and wiped at your eye, pulling back to see black smudges. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn so much makeup.

Your eyes drifted to the berry kiss marks on Miguel’s lips and neck.

“You too.”

You grinned.

Miguel scoffed and wiped his chin with his hand as you took a few shaky strides, swaying gently until you got your footing. Truthfully, you were impressed with yourself that you could even walk, especially with those damned heels.

You missed Miguel watching you sway as you made your way to the doors of his office, quite pleased with himself.

You poked your head out as if expecting a security guard or something, jumping when Miguel opened the door wide and strode casually in a straight line for the bathrooms. He slipped in the main one- gender neutral.

You followed behind him.

You gasped as you saw yourself in the mirror. Most of your lipstick was gone, what was left smudged around your lips, even a touch of berry on your nose. Your mascara and eyeliner were mostly on your cheeks, eyes still watery. Blissfully fucked, you supposed.

Luckily, most of your hair was still in place – which would not be the case if you had been laying down.

Miguel fared far better than you, hair slightly mused from your touch and marks of your affection clear on his face. He waved the touch-reactive sink on and leaned forward to wash you off his face.

You knew you couldn’t do much, waving on the sink and using your wet hands to wipe at your ruined makeup. It was quiet and oddly domestic, despite the previous debauchery.

You didn’t notice Miguel staring as you reached a hand into your velvet green bodice, right in between your breasts. You pulled out a small tube of lipstick, using your hands to reposition your dress back into place.

“Are you sure you want to put more on?,” Miguel questioned, eyes still on your bust. “It won’t last long.”

“I’d rather not look like I just got fucked on the subway,” you replied as you twisted the vial open, leaning forward with your mouth in a small ‘o’ to reapply the dark lipstick. Miguel snickered, reaching down into the sink to finish washing off his face.

You wiped away what you could of your ruined mascara and eyeliner, flecks of glitter still on your cheeks and eyelids. You just looked a bit drunk, good enough.

“Did you drive?” Miguel asked, you shook your head.

“I figured Amara would try to help me with uh… wine.” You couldn’t help but grin.

Miguel nodded. “Metro it is.”

So, you and Miguel made your way to the elevators. You two walked close, Miguel’s hand lingering on your waist for a moment. You pressed the button for the elevator this time. Thankfully it seemed you two were the only ones who got the idea to disappear from the party.

“Where do you live?,” he asked as you two descended to the parking garage.

“Babylon towers, got moved into it once I got promoted to a senior,” you mumbled, feeling the chill in your fingers. You heard Miguel scoff.

“Hey, I don’t have to pay rent,” you remarked with furrowed brows.

Miguel shook his head, hand going over his mouth.

“I live in the same building. I’m surprised we haven’t passed each of you.” He glanced down at you, having your brows raised.

“Huh. I live on the east side,” you thought aloud. “I also don’t usually drive. I don’t like driving.”

“Ah. I live in a penthouse in the west. Now it makes sense.” He nodded, leaning back as the elevator dinged.

You and Miguel walked through the chilly parking garage, knowing it was not even a block to the subway station.

Standing on the platform, Miguel noticed your arms were crossed – it wasn’t snowing anymore, but the frost still stuck to the ground. He took off his jacket and slipped it over your shoulders.

You stared up at him for a moment, eyes wide. “...Thanks.”

“You looked cold.” He smiled down at you. You loved seeing him smile. A mix of your inebriation and affection burned in your system in a hopeful mix that had you lean into him, head resting down on his shoulder. His hand returned back to your arm.

The subway ran on auto - always on time. So it was a quick and quiet ride back to Babylon tower. You both played it surprisingly cool as you unlocked the door with your keycard and invited your boss turned temporary lover inside.

“So uh.. welcome to mi casa-” you began as you opened the door, slipping inside quickly with a nervous excitement.

Like a bull in a china shop, Miguel was on you before you could finish. He didn’t come to you to play games, he came to you to sate himself. He didn’t look at the decor to try and dodge it on the way to the bedroom, his hands scratching at your dress with hunger as he grabbed for the laces on the back of your dress. He worked quickly, the laces undone within seconds, the dress abandoned somewhere between your living room and your bed.

He didn’t delay in dragging the fabric down your form, his greedy gaze wanting to feast in the sight of your naked skin. He seemed hungry, ravenous to see more of your frame, drinking it greedily.

Now that you were home, he was careless with your dress, his rough grasp dragging the fabric down your form with impatience and greed.

You cringed, pulling back as the dress fell down in a pool at your feet, looking down at the ruined material with a mournful little sound.

“No thinking about that dress. Where is your bedroom? I want to fuck you proper, querida.”

You felt the blush rise to your cheeks, as you wordlessly pointed in the direction of your door. This was really happening. This man had taken your virginity, and not an hour later he was going to fuck you again. In your own bed. This stupidly handsome man you’d pined after at a distance for years, now in your apartment. Your bedroom. Pawing at you with reverent, worshipful hands, as if he’s desperate.

Starved for you .

It felt good to be wanted, so good.

You felt fragile in his grasp, like he could break you at any moment. Still, there was thrill in the danger, the faith that he wouldn’t dueling with the potential that he could . He probably thought the blood from before was just his roughness. That suited you just fine, as long as he didn’t hold back this time out of fear of injuring you.

You could take it. You always were a bit of a masochist.

Your thoughts were interrupted as he pulled away from your neck, taking a moment to admire your naked form.

Him with his button up and jacket still on, your boss, a man that could ruin you with a single word. Who could call you up to his office and force you on your knees during his break time, blinds in his office shuttered to avoid prying eyes. The thought was exhilarating, even if a part of you would loathe the distraction from your meticulous work.

Maybe you could follow through after today. Sync your breaks, your lunches. Have him bend you over his desk and ruin you -

If he even wanted you after this. It was okay if he didn’t, if he wasn’t interested in pursuing, even if the thought had your throat closing up with discomfort. Your mind stumbled, stuttered, strained to process with how quickly he was moving, frankly, literally, as - Abruptly, he lifted you, hauling you into arms that felt like iron and delivering a firm spank onto your ass that should not have felt as good as it did.

The breath in your lungs flew from you as he dropped you down onto your bed, your eyes blowing wide and your smile wider. He'd thrown off his overshirt by the time you recovered your breath, button by button. Your hands clamber for them as you pull yourself up, helping him from the bottom and meeting him in the middle. Once he'd thrown the shirt into a loose pile, his hands went for his crotch, unbutton and unzipping the slack, shoes coming unceremoniously off not soon after.

Your hands were on the hem of his pants in an instant, forcing a smirk from Miguel.

"So eager, Princesa. You want me that badly? Show me," the man encouraged you, and you dragged his pants down his legs before he stepped out of them with a shake of his feet.

Bending down, he rolled his socks off his feet. His hand found his hip, the other on the back of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair in encouragement.

He wants me to...

You blush, averting your gaze as you hands go to him, one stroking his bulge through his underwear while the other rested on the firm plane of his thigh.

"I haven't-" you whisper quietly, stopping yourself. The less he knew, the better. You probably shouldn't have even said that . If he knew he took your virginity, you weren’t sure what he would think. You like the way things are right now. You don't want to ruin that.

To your relief, his hand gathered and grabbed you by your hair, smiling as he pulled you closer to him, forcing you to pepper kisses across his length, the prominent bulge growing more rigid. You let out a hot, ragged breath. It felt big before, but up so close... It was intimidating. Would it even fit in your mouth? You swallowed hard.

"That's okay, just don't bite - I'll bite back." He teased you as he lifted the hand on his hip to brush his hair back, letting out a low groan from your touch. You knew he was joking, but a small part of you wanted to test that theory. Would he really punish you? That hardly sounded like a punishment, really.

"Of course." You smiled back, looking up at him briefly and giving your best puppy-dog gaze. It seemed to drive him mad, the grip on your hair tightening, his forceful grapple pressing you against him. You gasped, taking in his subtle musky scent as your nose was pressed against him. You let your eyes fall shut, feeling the fabric of Miguel's underwear drag down until skin touched your cheek.

You could smell it before it registered. The scent of a man, raw and masculine, heady, infectious, and you couldn’t help but open your eyes, taking in the sight of his manhood.

With a hand now finding the base of his cock, he pulled you back by the hair, aiming his length towards your mouth, letting it drag up your face until your nose pressed against his shaft. You let out a sigh, shaking off your nerves as your lips pressed softly against his balls, hands running up his legs.

Letting out a quiet growl of pleasure , he tapped the head against your lips, once, twice, three times.

"Good girl. Now lick up the shaft, around the tip, then put it in your mouth," he instructed, letting you gather yourself for a beat. Your tongue ran up and down his undercarriage, flicking back and forth in a winding motion before you ran it back down with the flat of your tongue.

Up again, the tip of your tongue found the bundle of nerves beneath his head and began to circle it, wetting it thoroughly as you took in the taste of his pre-cum. It wasn't entirely unpleasant like you had expected, even if it didn’t taste good . It was acceptable, and that was enough. Certainly a small price to pay if it meant he'd fuck you half as good as he did on his office desk.

So you wasted no time, your tongue swirling around the tip and taking him in your mouth. It's larger than it even looks, underestimating the size of your mouth as you tried to take more inside. You stop an inch down his shaft, pulling back to focus on his head and coat it with saliva.

Your attentions force Miguel to tighten his grip, the hand on his cock releasing it in favor of digging into your shoulder with his nails. The pain is encouragement, bobbing your head forward as you licks his tip with dutiful submission.

When you start to feel him twitch like he had inside you, he pulls back to stop himself, leaving a line of drool dripping from your mouth as you took deep breaths.

"Damn, querida. You learn quickly." He massaged the back of your head, praising you like a well-behaved pet.

"I try," you replied with a smile, looking at his slickened cock with curiosity, "So... Now wh-"

You let out a little gasp as he shoved you onto your back, his hands finding your hips to push you fully onto the bed. Climbing after you, he smiled, mounting you with a twitching, bobbing cock in hand. By the time he was straddling your stomach, you felt too stunned to move, fingers simply grabbing at his legs to hold onto him, all too eager for whatever he planned.

What was next, it seemed, was to take charge.

"I'm going to use your throat, not just that pretty mouth." He declared with a confident stare before lifting himself closer. You opened your mouth wide, silently in obedience, nervous but excited to return the favor for his earlier pleasure. It was only fair, and he knew better.

With his cock lined back up for his mouth, he lifted himself with the strength of his knees, thighs tightening as he grasped your bed frame with one hand to balance himself. The other hand went to the back of your head, fingers twining with your hair, holding you steady and secure.

With his cock lined back up for your mouth, he lifted himself with the strength of his knees, thighs tightening as he grasped your simplistic bedframe with one hand, the other cradling the back of your head to hold it in place.

He entered you, the daunting girth of his length stretching your mouth wide as you worked hard to trying to avoid touching it with your teeth. Your lips folded over your teeth protectively, tongue squirming at his undercarriage and lapping at his sides as he lowered himself deeper. His grip on your skull used as leverage, he began a slow pace of rhythmic fucking. Your nose flared as you took in air and adjusted to him shoving himself down your throat. Even halfway down had you gagging, straining against the intrusion.

Mercifully, he didn’t hilt himself with any sudden thrusts, but gradually lowered himself more and more, surprising you as you relaxed to accommodate him. He filled you so fully, just like he did in your aching cunt. Each pull back left you wanting, like something had been taken from you.

As your eyes teared up, he gave you a scandalous grin that made you blush and choke, coughing and forcing him out.

Ceding, he hummed, pulling out and leaving you a gasping mess.

With the hand on the frame lowering to his base, he slid his cock across your cheeks, wetting you with your own saliva as you recovered. Your eyes shut tight when he let out a satisfied hum, clearly enjoying the sight of you, submissive and supreme. Butterflies twirled in your stomach at that, only intensifying when he told you how pretty you looked with his cock in your mouth.

"But I have what I needed, querida. Nice and wet, ready to fuck your sweet cunt," Miguel growled eagerly, shifting himself off of you as he repositioned.

Your muscles relaxed, easing into the familiar sheets as you let yourself be taken by fantasy and lust. This was all so much better than you ever could have imagined.

Terrifying, but… fun .

No wonder catholic girls were taught to avoid sex, they'd never pay attention to their studies for confirmation. So many years of your parents warning you what happened to whores without ever acknowledging how much fun a girl could have. Dress this way, act like that, never let your boss cum inside you on top of his desk at a Christmas party.

You happened to enjoy getting bred on top of his desk, thank you very much. It beat small talk with your hungover coworkers.

When you opened your eyes again he was between your legs, one hand parting your thighs while the other reache

d up to grope you roughly. His touch was thorough, as if he didn’t want an inch of your skin he hadn’t held between his calloused fingers. You jolted instantly, the touch electrifying and forcing a dramatic jerk from your arched back. The force of his hand quickly shoved you back against the sheets, pinning you down beneath him as he massaged your chest needily as he stared hungrily at you.

"Princessa, you were hiding such pretty tits from me for so long. I wonder how I'm ever going to be able to focus in the lab when I'm thinking about them," he hisses, teeth clenched as he teased you. Your cheeks darkened a few shades, a smile forming on your wet lips.

"Then.. Maybe you should do something about it now that we're alone," you suggested, eyes shutting as you grinned with pride at yourself.

"Gladly," he all but groaned , launching himself at your left breast as his other arm snaked underneath your back, holding you still. His tongue danced across your skin, hand grabbing at the edge of your breast to raise your nipple to his mouth. His touch was rough, a bruising grip that sent shivers of excitement through your spine. You could see the red marks of his fingers forming, skin dimpling as he groped you harshly.

And then his tongue flicked across your sensitive bud, your nerves setting on fire. Having never been touched like this was both overwhelming and cathartic. But him? Miguel had no qualms, no off switch. He could keep going, keeping you pinned to the sheets and rocking your nerves til they numbed.

And he did.

Thoroughly. Mercilessly.

His growls were dangerous, warning you of his displeasure when you writhed beneath him. His grip tightened, nails threatening to break your skin at your back and dragging across your bare skin to leave red lines. Your whimpers, gasps, and moans seemed to spur him on more, pushing him forward harder and harder. He sucked, he flicked, he bit and scraped, and then his fingers found your cunt.

As he worshiped your neglected breasts, his fingers began to circle your throbbing clit, rubbing the hood raw and forcing your thighs apart with a knee pressed against your slit. Desperately, you grinded against him and left his skin slick with your arousal. Impatiently, you broke through your gasps to manage a single word.

"Please," you begged before biting your lip, trying to stifle your noises in a futile attempt at not fully surrendering your shame.

"Patience," Miguel whispered, mouth raising from your wet nipple to place a peppering of pecks up your chest and against your neck, trekking all the way to your ear as he gave it a playful nibble.

"I have to stretch you, princesa. Don't want to hurt you again," he explained, lips journeying back to your breasts.

And he did, two fingers delving inside you, pressing against your walls and slowly easing your cunt for his insertion. It was a slow, torturous process, but after what you could only assume were several minutes (that felt, really, more like hours, brain straining to process time in such a state), he gave a satisfied hum.

"Ready, querida?" he questioned, already pressing his tip against your folds and mixing the saliva you had coated him with the lubricant of your slick cunt.

Ella’s hand reached up to grasp the back of his head, fingers digging into his hair before she pulled him into a deep kiss more worthy of lifelong lovers than a quick fuck. She was utterly smitten… And it didn’t help that the drinks loosened her inhibitions. There was an acknowledgement, his eyes growing wide in surprise but too consumed in the tide of lust to stop if he thought to do so. There was no going back now, not for either of them. She bared her entire self to him - heart and body alike underneath him, cock ready to impale her.

Once again, the danger of it all thrilled her. The scandalous gossip that might rise behind closed doors, the power dynamic between them and how he could take advantage in playful ways, the risk of pregnancy. She’d take a pill in the morning of course, but for now she’d let the fantasy live.

“Fuck me like you want to put a baby in me. Please .” She whispered, biting her lip as she stared up at him.

In a quick motion, you felt his hands grip your thighs, hoisting them up with your hips as he pressed himself into your heat. You let out a surprised gasp at the new angle, reaching out to find purchase on Miguel’s chest. Your palms brushed over a lattice of scars and coarse hair as he pressed down into your hips.

His restraint dissolved, a serious glare taking over his expression as he entered her. It was much easier this time, their preparation working wonders for his daunting size. That she was no longer a virgin helped as well, the awkward motions and testing of her muscles having passed their first encounter without a hitch. She was more confident now, picking up skills quick. To speak more to her boldness, his thrusts began to intersperse with quick kisses, locking lips in hungry surges or teething each other’s throats as they let out their most carnal groans.

His breathing was heavy, labored almost. Ella could still smell the wine that lingered with it, pressed up against your neck and face, hot and heavy. Her mind spun, dizzy from both intoxication and pleasure. It was all consuming, and achingly delicious. A sense of bliss she had never allowed herself to taste before.

The wine had long rinsed away any sense of shame that still lingered within her mind. There was no need for that anymore, he'd fucked her once before, no sense in getting embarrassed again as his thrusts only seemed to quicken in tempo. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off her bedroom walls as she could do nothing but moan, and scream in overwhelming ecstasy - damn the neighbors! She was trapped beneath him, pinned like prey beneath a cat's claws with no respite from the beating her aching cunt was taking with greed. She knew she would be sore tomorrow and she didn't care.

He seemed unsatified still, and she was confused on what to do further. It seemed like there wasn't much for her do to despite lay there and take it, eyes dazed as they looked up at him.

“Trust me?” He practically growled into her ear; she could only mewl in response, blunt nails raking over his chest. Her mind was too gone for words, he knew this. Yet he took her pleasured moans as a yes, lifting his body up for a moment and nearly pulling his cock from her. She nearly cried from the sudden emptiness, bucking her hips in a pitiful attempt to pull him back to her. He ignored her, pressing her thighs together and upward, resting her knees over his broad shoulders. His hands pulled at her waist as she was pulled off her pillow.

You were trapped beneath him, pinned like prey beneath a cat's claws with no respite from the beating your aching cunt was taking with greed.

You knew you would be sore tomorrow; you didn't care.

“Trust me?” He practically growled into your ear; you could only mewl in response, blunt nails raking over his chest. Your mind was too gone for words, he knew this. Yet he took your pleasured moans as a yes, lifting his body up for a moment and nearly pulling his cock from you. You nearly cried from the sudden emptiness, bucking your hips in a pitiful attempt to pull him back to you. He ignored you, pressing your thighs together and upward, resting your knees over his broad shoulders. His hands pulled at your waist as you were pulled off your pillow.

He forced your thighs till they were shoved against your stomach, practically bending you in half as he pressed himself back down into you. It ached, but there was a sweetness to it.

The new angle forcing him against a certain spot you hadn't known existed within you that caused sparks behind your eyelids. Eliciting a choked, needing gasp from you as he started rutting into you once again with far more intensity than he had displayed before.

It was savage, his merciless pounding. He was a man driven mad by your welcoming canals, contracting around him in a desperate attempt to milk the orgasm from him. You could feel the bruises that would form on your thighs from the force of his thrusts, your arms reaching for him, for the sheets, for your pillows, for anything to grasp onto as he hammered into you.

Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, days felt like years, time stretching under his attention. It was easy to disconnect from reality when he devastated your mind with pleasure, leaving it, and your thighs, numb. And then it came, like a dam being burst and flooding a valley. He twitched violently inside you, spurred on by the lightning that rocked your own orgasm. It was hard to say who started it first, but when it was over it started right back again.

Twice.

Three times.

You lost count after the fourth, skin slick with sweat and head dizzy from the pounding of your body into your bed. You swore it wouldn’t be able to take more, as if the frame itself would bend or snap as he devastated you, but he kept going, and the bed stayed, miraculously, intact. A wet pool of sticky white had formed beneath you, cum dribbling out of you with each quaking thrust. He filled you to the brim and then some, thoroughly breeding your womb.

Fuck me like you want to put a baby in me.

You almost regretted the words. He would ruin every man, woman or otherwise lover in your future, you were sure of it. No one could live up to this. It was why you felt so empty without him inside you, why your longing cunt craved the fullness he provided. He was a key that had unlocked something terrifying inside you. It felt inevitable that you would be chasing this high for the rest of your life.

As another orgasm rose and fell, your already half-lidded eyes shut, your breathing strained. Above you, Miguel’s chest swelled with his breath, his dark eyes wide and muscles taut and heaving from exertion. He looked like he could go another round, maybe forever, but you were clearly spent.

The high of ecstasy and serotonin slowed as he slipped out of you and lowered you back down to the bed, cock twitching and shrinking by the moment as blood finally rushed back to his other extremities.

His voice was more rasp than words, but he made do with them.

“Buena niña,” he managed, his energy fading. “Beuna.”

As your vision and consciousness faded, he leaned forward to kiss you, a soft peck sending you to the lands of the dreaming as you felt his limbs snake around your body in a protective, warm embrace.

When you finally came to the next morning a low groan left your lips – your entire body was aching. A headache thumping against your skull wasn’t abnormal for drowning yourself in wine to settle your nerves the night before, but the uncomfortable throb in your groin and legs was new. You could feel Miguel’s warmth on your back, his breath fluttering across your shoulder and into your hair.

You glanced back, seeing Miguel pressed up behind you, arm laid over your body in a spooning position. The morning sun highlighted his muscular arm and the hint of his toned back. You found yourself surprised at the white scars over his shoulders and arms, gaze landing on one you could have sworn looked like a bullet wound.

You tried to not think about it too much.

For a moment you just watched him, enjoying the fact that he wasn’t scowling. It made him look younger – you always assumed he was nearing his 40’s, but you weren’t so sure that was the case anymore, especially with the nearly superhuman stamina he seemed to have. Most of his dark waves were hanging in his face, soft lips parted as he slept.

Your hand itched to run through his curls, but you didn’t want to wake him. You could imagine he didn’t sleep often with how deep he slept.

Tossing the blanket off your legs, you moved to sit up with another gasp of pain. Abruptly, you felt something sharp at your hip, causing you to yelp and jerk away.

Miguel woke with a start, instantly sitting up and shoving his hands into the bed. His eyes were noticeably bloodshot, and his dark hair was rustled, hanging across his features. Most of the lipstick marks you had left were but hints on his tanned skin.

Your eyes drifted down to your hip where a few small scratch marks were freshly bleeding. Your own fingers pressed at your flesh as little drops of blood fell down your hip.

Confusion was obvious on your features, and Miguel reached out carefully.

“You okay?,” he asked, voice more gravelly than normal. If it wasn’t for the pain wracking your body and the sudden wounds without cause you would have been flustered by it.

“It feels like you beat my cunt and I have a hangover… and…” You brushed away the blood with the back of your hand, desperate to ignore how sore your throat was. “I don’t know how that happened.”

Miguel’s hand went to your hip, touch light as he squeezed your flesh, inspecting the thankfully shallow scratches.

“No idea,” was all he said. You shrugged it off, planting your feet down on the floor, toes curling in the rug. You stood with surprising ease, that ease dissipated immediately as pain shot up your spine. You yelped and fell to your knees, legs shivering.

In your peripheral, Miguel rose, your bed creaking its protest beneath him.

You felt your face flush, remembering both he and you were still very much naked, but you didn’t protest as you heard his footsteps approach from around the bed and his rough hands around your waist. He hoisted you up with ease, making you squeak at the view of his bare chest you were given as he settled you back onto your feet.

His hands released you slowly, only for you to sway the moment his hands left your waist. You gasped and grabbed his forearms, arching your head back to look up at Miguel. He smirked for a moment, creases around his dark eyes. When you blushed, the smile faded, replaced with the usual indifference you were used to from him.

“You should sit back down,” he remarked, moving his hands back to your waist as you took one shaky step.

“N-no, I’m fine,” you brushed him off, forcing yourself to look away. Miguel gave in, releasing you as you took a few shaky steps as you made your way to your dresser. You heard the clink of Miguel’s belt and rustle of his pants.

You two didn’t speak at all as you finished dressing yourself, tossing on an oversized t-shirt over your underwear for now. You’d grab a shower once you knew if you had the time. Often, when you woke up to get ready to work the sun hadn’t crested over Nueva York’s skyline.

Miguel was pacing. You noticed it as you turned to see him staring out at the view from your bedroom, the muscles in his back tense and running hands through his dark hair in an attempt to slick it back to its usual state. It was clear the reality of what you both had done last night was coming back to him. You had no plan to make a big deal out of this – you liked your job, your coworkers, even he was a better boss than any you had before. You’d been forced to be around your exes before in high school and you and Miguel didn’t really hang out.

You walked to the door of your bedroom, opening it and motioning for Miguel to follow with a jerk of your head. You lead him out into the rest of your small apartment.

The apartment was almost too organized – everything in the kitchen was labeled, the living area was organized, and everything was a mix of futuristic silvers with warm creams and pinks. Of course – this didn’t include the singular tall bookshelf that was filled with books that were like a shadow compared to your girly apartment. Most of the covers were black and reds, the occasional monochrome.

Miguel followed after you, but paused as he finally took your little home in, eyes lingering on your old posters- Phantom of the Opera, Alien and Nightmare on Elm Street’s movie posters framed pleasantly in a trio. You circled your kitchen island, pulling out an extra mug from the cabinet as you noticed Miguel’s dark eyes on your little collection.

“I- uhm. I’m a fan of horror,” you tried to explain. He quirked a brow and walked closer pulling a singular book off the shelf. You instantly recognized it as your secondhand Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice. You had to keep yourself from running over and slipping it back into its place.

“Not what I expected from you,” he remarked, gently slipping the book back where it once was. You shrugged.

“It’s never come up. I try to keep work to…Well, work,” you explained as you turned and started your coffee maker. He hummed in agreement, and walked back over to your kitchen counter, lingering and rubbing at his dry eyes. You glanced back as the coffee maker hissed, biting down on your lip.

Both of you didn’t look exactly great. You pretended like you didn’t smell like sex and sweat and him .

The coffee maker dinged, finishing pouring the dark drink into the pitcher. You strode to the island, pitcher in hand.

You forced yourself to pour a coffee, grabbing your favorite mug and whichever creamer touched your fingers first. You left Miguel’s undiluted – you remembered he always drank it black.

You yawned and turned to the kitchen counter, seeing the massive man looming over the butcyou’s block. You held the cup out for Miguel, an olive branch, and he took it. It looked child-sized in his hands.

“So,” you spoke first after pouring in your vanilla bean creamer.

Miguel glanced up at you. “I don’t regret it – but this is a one-time thing.”

Your brows furrowed, eyes wide. You knew your expressions gave how you felt away, even if your voice was calm. “T-that’s fine.”

“I… I’m sorry – but… Er...” Miguel felt his voice clam up – should he mention Dana? Maybe telling you he was cheating was a bad idea. As Miguel saw your big doe eyes seem to droop, he shoved that concept down.

“I’m not really up for anything serious – and I don’t want to lead you on. We were both drunk,” Miguel tried to explain, waving a hand as he took a long sip of the black coffee, expression tightening for a moment.

“Ah. Yeah – no I understand. This isn’t really normal behavior for me.” Your voice was all back to formality. You were good at business and keeping it separate from your own selfish pleasure until last night.

“Good. You’re a good scientist, I’d hate to lose you.” Miguel’s tone was genuine, the towering man hunched over to look less intimidating. He placed down the coffee cup, moving to take the creamer from beside your own cup and pouring in a bit. You raised a brow.

“You don’t need to shower me with compliments Mig- can… should I still call you Miguel?” You questioned, hands moving to your own cup as you took a sip of your coffee, leaning on the counter.

“In private- like this it’s fine.” He explained, snapping the creamer lid closed. “It’s nice to not get called Mike .”

You raised your brow, remembering that a few of the higher ups called Miguel… Michael – especially Mr. Stone. You didn’t like it, and clearly Miguel didn’t either. You kept your nose out of higher up business, knowing better than to trust most men in a position of power.

“Kay,” You managed out, taking another sip of your coffee. You could see Miguel was going back to his usual stoic demeanor, at least he wasn’t brushing you off or acting like a total asshole.

“I shouldn’t stay much longer, thanks for the coffee.” He picked up the coffee cup, practically chugging the thing as you watched his adam's apple bob.

You forced yourself to look away, walking over to the small two-chair table you dubbed your dining room. “No problem, we both gotta get back to work, yeah?” You mumbled into your cup.

“Mhm,” Miguel grunted as he placed down the cup, scratching at his three-day old beard. You watched him stride back into your bedroom, assumingly to retrieve his shirt and jacket.

You couldn’t help but listen in the quiet apartment.

“Lyla?” Miguel’s voice rang out, the hiss of a hologram.

“Nice to see you awake, boss. You usually don’t sleep in this late.” Lyla’s voice rang out. The AI was so oddly human, playful even.

“You put me on do not disturb, but it’s already 7am and you’re projecting to be an hour late to work,” Lyla explained as you heard Miguel groan, mumbling in Spanish to himself once again. Suddenly his quiet movements became rushed, and you watched him stride out of your bedroom with his long legs. His shirt was half buttoned but his jacket was on and visibly wrinkled. You gave him an awkward grin as he made his way to the door.

“Sorry – I’ll clock you in. See you around.” His voice was frustrated, teeth clenched as he disappeared through your front door, leaving you alone. You took another sip of your coffee, you’d take a shower then head in.

#miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara smut #A Minor Slip-Up FIC

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mounthuatruther · 1 year ago

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I read a review that said that Chung Myung is a flat protagonist with no real depth to him and I'm just like????? ???? What?? lol like were we reading the same thing? What really hooked me in this story was Chung Myung's motivations. It was chapter 4 of the webtoon. After seeing Mount Hua in ruins and being super angry he slows down for a minute and wonders if this is all his fault. From there, he begins to take responsibility for the fall of Mount Hua and feels immense guilt that is touched upon more and more as you continue to read. This webtoon is so precious because it makes Mount Hua a sect that you root for and want only the best for in the end. The novel really compels you to feel Chung Myung's rage, guilt, sorrow, regret, loneliness, joy, pride, etc. and it makes me so emotional. I read mostly while I'm at work and I've straight up cried. The beauty of it is that it is not a hard read either! Like I don't have to decode through layers and layers of implications and subtext. Put some respect on my boy's name. Excluding the novel, the webtoon does pretty well with his character and story telling.

I took creative writing and major in film and to me, he is the perfect protagonist. When creating a story with a narrative and a protagonist one of the first questions you want to ask yourself is, "Why should the audience care about them?" The Return of the Mount Hua Sect answered this question from EVERY ANGLE. The first three chapters of the webtoon are pretty much like every other reincarnation manhua: person is killed awfully, wakes up back in time, restarts but knows how to get stronger faster, and then pursues this path. As I previously stated, they start to change it up when we reach chapter 4. We see Chung Myung start to take responsibility AND blame for what happened to his sect. We start to see how he viewed his sect as his HOME. His home is in RUINS. The side and supporting characters help to add to this as well. Chung Myung feels deep sorrow for the elders who have been taking care of the fallen Mount Hua for so long. We see Chung Myung go from the angry old man who is mad that things have changed to the grandpa who wants his home back and to get back at everyone who had a part in its ruin. HE COUNTS HIMSELF AS THE MAIN PERPATRATOR. He truly wants what's best for the kids of Mount Hua and cares deeply and is very passionate all while shouldering these burdens alone. AND THEN HE LEARNS TO OPEN UP AND GROW AND CHANGE

As we keep reading, we see Chung Myung's character development!! I don't want to spoil it because it is mostly stuff from the novel but talks about his past self like he was a different person, he makes multiple notes on how he acts differently or thinks differently, he is trusted by those around him when he wasn't in the past

Overall, Chung Myung's story is very compelling and he is MY HEART

#chung myung #rotmhs #rotbb #return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #my post

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kentobb · 5 months ago

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hiromi higuruma x female secretary (AU).

chapter 24 < chapter 25 (here)

chapter 25

[ 4 years later…]

Four years had passed, and as the sun began to set on this special day, you and Higuruma were dressed to perfection, preparing for an occasion that would mark the start of something beautiful. The soft glow of the setting sunlight filtered through the window, catching the subtle shine of your elegant dress and Higuruma’s perfectly tailored suit.

Higuruma stood in front of the mirror, his tie slightly askew as he adjusted it with a bit of difficulty. You walked over to him, gently taking hold of the tie and fixing it with delicate care. As your fingers moved, you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked. His usual cold demeanor had softened over the years, but today, as you stood before him, his eyes shone with a warmth that made your heart flutter.

He caught your gaze in the mirror, his eyes filled with admiration, love, and a touch of wonder. You giggled softly at the way he looked at you, feeling the familiar rush of love. The emotions between you two had only deepened since you first met.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, his voice full of adoration.

You smiled, reaching up to caress his cheek, your wedding ring—a reminder of the promises you made to each other—gently brushing against his skin. The cold metal felt like a token of the warmth you both shared.

He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a deep, loving kiss. The kiss was soft but filled with a passion that never seemed to fade, and when you finally pulled back, your giggles filled the air.

“Come on,” you said, pulling back slightly, “We don’t want to be late to the wedding.”

Higuruma smirked, clearly not wanting to stop the moment. He kissed your neck, and his actions made it clear that his intentions were shifting.

You chuckled, pulling away with a wink, “I’ll finish getting Amanai ready, and then we can have all the time we need later.”

Higuruma reluctantly let go, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes stayed as he followed you down the hall towards your daughter’s room.

As you reached Amanai’s door, you both smiled at the sound of her small giggles echoing through the room. She was on the floor, playing with her toys, completely absorbed in her little world. Higuruma’s heart melted every time he saw her—his little girl, his pride and joy.

“Amanai!” he called softly, crouching down to her level.

The little girl’s head perked up at the sound of her daddy’s voice. With her tiny feet padding against the floor, she eagerly ran to him, her arms outstretched.

“Daddy! Daddy!” she squealed, her face lighting up with pure happiness.

Higuruma scooped her up into his arms with a gentle strength, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. “We don’t want to be late to Uncle Geto and Uncle Gojo’s wedding, sweetheart,” he said with a warm chuckle, his voice full of affection for his daughter.

Amanai giggled, her little hands resting on her father’s shoulders. “Uncle Gojo! Uncle Geto!” she repeated excitedly, already thinking about the fun of the wedding. It was clear that she, like her parents, was looking forward to the day.

You smiled as you watched the two of them, your heart swelling with love. It was moments like these, when you saw Higuruma with Amanai, that you realized just how much your life had changed for the better. The man who had once been cold and distant was now a loving, devoted father, and you couldn’t imagine a more perfect family.

You reached over, carefully parting her hair to style it, your movements soft and gentle as she wiggled a bit in Higuruma’s arms.

Once her hair was finished, Higuruma placed her back on the floor, his hands lingering on her shoulders as he straightened up. “You’re all ready for the wedding now,” he said with a grin, his voice full of pride.

Amanai giggled again, twirling around in her little dress. “I look pretty!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up with joy as she caught her reflection in the mirror.

“You always look pretty, sweetheart,” you said, walking over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Higuruma smiled softly, his gaze filled with pride as he watched his daughter. He looked at you, a quiet affection in his eyes. “Our little girl is growing up so fast.”

You nodded, your heart swelling at the thought. “She’s perfect,” you whispered, the words full of love.

As you all made your way toward the door, Higuruma took your hand in his, his fingers intertwining with yours. Amanai, now standing confidently in her dress, held on to her father’s hand, ready to go to the wedding. You couldn’t help but feel grateful for this life you had built together—filled with love, laughter, and the promise of more memories to come.

With a final smile, Higuruma leaned down to kiss you, soft and slow, his hands resting gently on your waist. “Let’s go,” he whispered, his voice full of warmth.

As you and Higuruma arrived at the wedding venue, the atmosphere was filled with a sense of elegance and excitement. The soft glow of the chandeliers illuminated the room, casting a warm, golden light on the guests who were seated in anticipation. Rows of carefully arranged chairs lined the space, and delicate floral arrangements adorned every corner, setting the stage for the beautiful ceremony that was about to take place.

Amanai, dressed in an adorable little dress that mirrored the elegance of the day, was led by Utahime toward the front of the room, holding a small basket filled with delicate flower petals. As the “flower girl,” Amanai’s task was simple, yet so significant—her innocent, joyful presence made the moment even more magical.

You and Higuruma made your way to your seats, where you sat side by side, your heart fluttering with excitement and love. Higuruma, ever so attentive, held your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as he leaned over to kiss your cheek. His love for you was as clear as the gentle touch he gave you in that quiet moment.

As you both looked around, you noticed Amanai, excitedly talking to Utahime. Her words were a mixture of gibberish and adorable, childlike excitement, and Utahime, with her usual flair, pretended to understand every word, nodding along with the utmost seriousness. You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at the scene.

Higuruma leaned closer, his lips brushing near your ear, his voice low and filled with a hint of mischief. “Giving Amanai a sibling wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze with a playful smile. “We could discuss that tonight,” you replied, your voice light with affection. Higuruma chuckled softly, his fingers caressing your hand gently as he leaned back, watching the ceremony unfold with a satisfied look on his face.

The room grew quiet, the soft notes of a delicate melody filling the air as the guests shifted their attention to the door. All eyes were on the entrance, where Amanai was making her way down the aisle, her tiny feet skipping with every step as she sprinkled flower petals along the path. The soft petals danced in the air, adding a layer of innocence to the atmosphere.

Higuruma’s eyes softened as he watched his little girl perform her role with such joy. There was something about seeing Amanai so happy, so full of life, that made his heart swell with pride. The music swelled with the moment, and as she reached the front, she carefully set her basket down beside Utahime, her face lighting up with a proud smile. She was so eager to be a part of this special day, and it was a sight that made your heart skip a beat.

Once Amanai had settled beside Utahime, the focus of the room shifted to the entrance once more, as the groom and his best friend made their way down the aisle. Geto and Gojo appeared, hand in hand, as everyone rose to their feet, their gazes filled with admiration and joy. The room seemed to hold its breath as they walked, both men standing tall and proud, but there was an undeniable tenderness in their eyes as they looked at one another.

Higuruma’s gaze softened as he watched his friends. He was genuinely happy for them—these were two men who had stood by him through so much, and to see them walking toward this new chapter of their lives, hand in hand, made his heart swell with pride. He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving the couple.

You looked up at him, your own heart overflowing with warmth as you smiled. “They’re finally here,” you whispered, leaning into him.

Higuruma nodded, his smile softening as he made eye contact with Nanami, who was sitting a few rows away. Nanami gave a small nod, a silent acknowledgment between old friends, and Higuruma waved back at him. It was a small moment, but one that spoke volumes about their bond.

Geto and Gojo reached the altar, where the officiant stood, ready to begin the ceremony. The guests sat back down, and a hush fell over the room, the anticipation thick in the air.

The officiant, a gentle yet firm presence, began to speak. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of two wonderful individuals—Geto and Gojo. Today, they stand before us to commit to one another, to share their lives, their love, and their futures. Marriage is not just a promise; it’s a partnership, a foundation built on love, trust, and respect. It is a journey of growth and discovery, of joy and challenges.

“Geto, Gojo, do you take one another as your lawfully wedded partner, to love and cherish, to support and uphold, in good times and bad, for as long as you both shall live?”

Geto, with a calm and steady voice, answered, “Yes.”

Gojo, always the one to bring a little humor into every moment, grinned widely before replying with his own, “Yes.”

The officiant smiled warmly at them. “Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may kiss the bride.”

Gojo wasted no time, pulling Geto into a kiss, soft and sweet, yet full of emotion. It was a kiss that held the weight of years of friendship, of shared experiences, and of a future now intertwined. The guests erupted into applause, their joy filling the room as they celebrated this beautiful moment. Higuruma, his heart swelling with happiness, clapped along with the rest, a proud smile on his face as he watched his friends begin this new chapter together.

You squeezed his hand again, your heart full as you whispered, “They’re perfect for each other.”

Higuruma nodded, his eyes never leaving the newlyweds. “They are,” he said quietly. And in that moment, as the cheers and laughter filled the air, Higuruma realized that everything had led to this. A beautiful day, a beautiful love, and the promise of even more happiness to come.

The drive home was quiet, the only sound being the soft hum of the car engine.

Higuruma's hand rested gently on your thigh as you sat beside him, looking out the window at the passing streets. But your eyes occasionally shifted to the backseat, where Amanai slept peacefully, her small form curled up in the blanket you had tucked around her. You couldn't help but giggle at how adorable she looked, her little face relaxed and innocent as she dreamt.

Higuruma glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips, his hand giving your thigh a reassuring squeeze. "She looks so peaceful," he whispered, his voice calm but full of warmth.

You nodded, still smiling at your daughter in the backseat. "She does. She's such a good sleeper."

As you arrived home, Higuruma carefully unbuckled his seatbelt, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to disturb Amanai's slumber. He gently lifted her from the car, cradling her in his arms like the precious little one she was. His steps were light as he made his way to her room, a soft, loving smile on his face as he placed her carefully onto her bed. He kissed her forehead, the tenderness in his touch unmistakable, before quietly closing the door behind him.

You had already gone inside, your soft footsteps echoing in the hallway as you made your way to the bedroom. You were putting on your nightgown, the fabric flowing smoothly over your body, your movements graceful in the dim light of the room.

Higuruma stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him. His eyes caught you in the act, and a warmth spread through his chest as he watched you. He crossed the room in a few steps, his presence enveloping you as his arms wrapped around you from behind. His lips brushed against your neck, soft and lingering, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I love you," he whispered softly against your skin, his breath warm and intimate. You leaned into him, your body naturally melting into his embrace.

Turning around, you faced him, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow, tender, and full of love. The world outside seemed to fade away as you lost yourselves in each other. His hands caressed your body, gentle and eager at the same time, as you slowly began to pull at your nightgown, inching it down your body.

The air between you grew thick with desire, and in one fluid motion, you pushed him gently onto the bed, your eyes locking with his. There was a hunger in his gaze, mixed with admiration and a love so deep, it almost overwhelmed you. His lips parted as he looked up at you, waiting, wanting, and yet, always respecting the love you shared.

The room was filled with nothing but the sound of your heartbeats, a quiet understanding between the two of you as you both embraced the moment, lost in each other's presence.

To all our lovelies! <3

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for reading and loving our series. Whether you’ve been here since the first chapter or just stumbled across our stories, your support means the absolute world to us. Seeing your comments, tags, and reactions brings so much joy and inspires us to keep creating.

You’ve turned our little ideas into something so much more special, and we couldn’t have done it without you. Here’s to many more stories, laughs, and moments to share together. You’re the real MVPs, and we adore you endlessly. 💕

With all our love,

A & D

#jjk #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk smut #angst #fluff #smut #higuruma hiromi #hiromi higuruma

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0bticeo · 1 year ago

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may the odds be in your favour | coriolanus snow x fem! reader

series masterlist.

part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4. part 5.

chapter summary: blood will have blood.

“what makes you think that, put in the same circumstances, we wouldn’t turn ourselves into beasts to survive?”

there’s silence. there are twenty four gazes pinning you down to your seat. there’s coriolanus snow, blue eyes a shade darker than they were before you started talking. you meet his gaze and sense something shifting. it’s in the way he leans a tad bit closer, lips parted as though to speak – no. to taste.

wc. approx. 2000 words.

cw. sexual tension. probably innacurate anatomical description. manipulation. reader and coriolanus being assholes. death threat (implied). religious imagery. sleep deprived author.

weeks pass. snow greets you every morning at your front door and extends his arm to you until you have no choice but to link it with your own. occasionally, he brings a rose, gently tucking it in the lapels of your coat. in your hair, fingers gently brushing your cheek. in your breast pocket.

you know it to be a blatant claim. here you are, proud descendent of the ash dynasty, allowing him to own you. you tell yourself it’s only for a few months. that, whatever the outcome may be, there’s no way that damned prize will escape you. you ignore the growing ache between your thighs, the way you lean into snow’s touch when he leads you back home.

let him think he’s playing you like a fiddle. let him think he’s turned your own game against you. let him think, and weaponize the truth to your advantage.

you have very few things left to your name. pride is one of them. you won’t discard it for his name.

what you will do is this. you will sit next to him in class, head held high, legs crossed under your skirt. you will not pretend you’re not enjoying the way his gaze burns into you whenever you turn one of his arguments against him in rhetoric class. oh, rhetoric.

etched in white remnants of chalk against the blackboard is the question you’ll have to treat today. there’s silence in the class, as you all take it in.

what are the hunger games for?

date’s fourth of february. in five months, maybe, you’ll get an answer that doesn’t rely solely on theory. that doesn’t rely on the minds of know-it-all, privileged bastards whose only experience of life has been luxury. for now, your only choice is to take your seat next to coriolanus snow and lean back ever so slightly, trying not to roll back your eyes.

they talk, all of them. felix ravinstill, arachne crane.

the hunger games are a proud display of savages from the districts—to remind us that we are better than them.

clemensia dovecote. lysistrata vickers.

the hunger games are a reminder of what befalls the districts. that they should not stand against the capitol.

sejanus plinth.

it’s barbaric.

at that, your attention shifts. you focus on him, the one from district 2. the one whose father’s wealth was enough to bring to the capitol. the one with the dark curls and passionate fire in his eyes—he dreams of justice and fairness. interesting.

he doesn’t talk. no, he argues. finally someone who understands the noble art of rhetoric.

“putting them in an arena to fight—they’re doomed the moment their names are chosen! it’s inhumane, having them slaughter each other for our own entertainment!”

you watch him, cheek cradled in your palm. he’d make a good lawyer, you muse. the naive, righteous type.

you watch the others. the way arachne crane rolls her eyes so far back in her skull you think they’ll stay stuck. the way felix ravinstill snickers, barely conceals his disdain for the district boy, for daddy’s precious boy. it’s palpable, the way they all disregard him. doesn’t matter if he’s wealthier than half the class—he’s district.

“what about you, ash?”

fucking snow.

you glance at him, from the corner of your eye. he’s been watching you, too. wonderful mise en abîme. you watch them, he watches you. who watches him? are you all being watched?

ah, he’s waiting. they all are. as if your opinion matters to them. as if it matters at all. but you have to put on your usual show, display your wit. so you lean back against your chair, lips drawn in a sharp, sharp smile, and say:

“why, it’s a dreadful reminder of human nature is all.”

there’s silence, then. twenty-four gazes are on you, and they’re waiting.

what are you, a messiah?

snow smile, judas dressed in red.

“go on, ash.”

you do, martyr thrown to the lions.

“so far, the general sentiment has been that we’re better than them, those savages from the districts—don’t look at me like that ravinstill, i’m only quoting you.”

you pause. you can’t outright tell them they’re influenced by a centuries-long tradition of countless philosophers. you’ll lose their interest.

“we think they’re savages. we see what we think is proof—footage of the games, of how they use anything at their disposal to slaughter themselves for our own entertainment, as plinth wonderfully put it.”

you nod in his direction and watch the glint of confusion is his eye, perceptible even from afar. poor boy will be torn to shreds if he doesn’t learn to conceal his emotions better. this is the capitol—worse arena known to panem.

(you think of your father’s flesh being torn by a man-beast’s bloody teeth in what was supposed to be a beacon of civilisation. you think of the dark abysses of his eyes, of the silent promise in them – you’d be next.)

you intend to make that fact known to those oblivious to it.

“what makes you think that, put in the same circumstances, we wouldn’t turn ourselves into beasts to survive?”

“those are bold words from such a young lady, miss ash. you shouldn’t speak so lightly of such grave matters.”

you realise that in the brief time your gaze met snow’s, your classmates have looked up. up towards esteemed casca highbottom who stares you down, short silhouette all-encompassing. there’s something in his tone that makes your blood boil.

you smile, sweet and sharp.

“then maybe we shouldn’t brooch the subject in rhetoric class, sir.”

the odds switch and twist and turn with each passing second. you might get a glimpse of what’s in store in the way the dean’s hand trembles as it reaches in the recesses of his robe – morphine.

he gulps down the contents of the small vial in one go.

“class is dismissed for today.”

when you leave the room, you feel the weight of his gaze like a knife between your shoulder blades.

you don’t like the feeling of it.

philosophy’s only worth it if you’ve got someone to discuss with. unfortunately, you don’t. rhetoric class doesn’t count. after the dean’s impromptu interruption, you don’t get to debate. not anymore. instead, he makes you pour over law texts – capital punishments for traitors. you think of it as a warning and keep your mouth shut.

what you do enjoy is anatomy class. which is why you’re currently in the library, pouring over a heavy tome, nibbling on your lip as your fingers trace over the shape of a drawing. it’s beautiful, an inked figure detailing the different veins in the neck. jugular. internal. external. carotid artery. dorsal scapular artery. your finger follows the pattern, lips parted in an inaudible murmur as you stare ahead. inferior thyroid vein-

“what are you doing?”

fucking snow.

you have half a mind to throw him an annoyed glare and go back to your drawing.

“what does it look like?”

he raises an eyebrow. inquisitive bastard, that one.

“studying. badly.”

this time, you raise your head.

“and does the great coriolanus snow have a better way to memorise the anatomy of the cervical region? enlighten me.”

he slides on the bench next to you. close. close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him. to smell him. roses, as usual. the same fragrance of the roses he gives to you each time he notices one withers away. (you don’t tell him you’ve kept them. each of them, pressed neatly between the pages of what books remain of your family’s once grandiose library.)

he unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his neck. pale as snow. how very fitting.

“well? Where’s the external jugular?”

you let out a chuckle and move closer to him, until your fingers trail down his neck, following the path of his vein.

“what’s next, snow?”

he gulps, adam apple bobbing up and down ever so slightly. Leans into your touch as he glances down at the book – your fingers dig into his neck, until you feel his pulse, quick as the fluttering wings of a jay bird.

“inferior thyroid vein.”

there’s no pattern to the veins he’s asking you to map out on his skin. your fingers move slightly to the left. if you squint, you can make out its contours, faint blue line under the pale, pale skin. You wonder if you’d see it better if you’d blow on it. you do, softly, until you feel his breath catch in his throat – he coughs.

“next.”

“anterior jugular vein.”

you chose to start your path from the bottom, lightly pressing your finger over the button of his shirt – not yet undone, this one. you trail up.

“next.”

“external carotid artery.”

you chuckle at that. Ssomehow, you’ve moved closer to him. His hand has come to rest on your hip, steadying you as you trace the patterns that make up his life. you look up at him. he meets your stare, stark blue eyes darkening. pretty, deadly eyes.

“do you know the difference between the jugular vein and the carotid artery, snow?”

you move to his jaw, pressing your fingers lightly against the bone, until you’re all but cradling his face between your hands, a breath away from his lips.

“tell me.”

“the carotid’s harder to reach with a knife.” you lean forward. his eyes dart to your lips. “however, If i were to succeed, it would take you two minutes to die.”

when you lean back, you’re the one smiling.

"thank you for helping me study, snow. it's been most... enlighting."

#obticeo writes #tbosas #coriolanus snow #president snow #the hunger games #sejanus plinth #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you

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johnwickb1tsch · 11 months ago

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A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline that's turning into a fic Part 5 ~

Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle

You grow up at Las Nubes vineyard, and have to go home to your dying father. You take your fake new husband, Sgt Paul Sutton, with you... Warnings: His Hotness don John being a bully 🙃 <----Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 chapter map

-Life moves at its own pace at Las Nubes. True, it is a vineyard, but it is also a working farm, a self-reliant symbiosis of the land, the beasts, and the men and women who tend them. There are sheep and chickens and pigs and of course, the pride of the land owning Californio: horses. There is always something to be done, when you are not tending your father, so when the chance comes at the siesta break you pounce on it to write a little in your diary. Everyone else is asleep, or at least resting during the hottest part of the day, and its almost as though you have the place to yourself by the duck pond in the shade of the courtyard. You throw them little morsels of stale bread, smiling at the happy way they wag their tails and mutter as they nibble.

The hens enjoy themselves, at least, until the drake decides yet again that it’s time to bestow his special attentions. There is one hen in particular he favors, and you wince as it looks more like he’s trying to drown her than make love. The poor thing has a little bald patch on the back of her head from him biting her to hold on as he rides her.

“Leave her alone,” you say, poking at him with a stick to dislodge him from the poor girl. She shakes it off and goes back to her bread. He makes his complaints to you, but retreats to the far side of the fountain.

“Poor bastard. You didn’t even let him finish.”

You jump a little at the sound of don Juan’s voice, not having expected to see anyone around. Warily you watch him as he takes the seat next to yours, his long legs sprawled out before him. He wipes his face with a handkerchief; he’s been doing something in the fields, perhaps, or out with his prized stallion. He seems tired, but content; whatever chore he labored at must have gone well.

“He’s too much of a pest,” you say. “He needs to be sent to the cook pot.”

Juan smirks over at you. “But then where will my ducklings come from?”

You make a sound between your teeth at that, and he goes on, “I like him. He is exactly what God made him. He does not have to apologize for it.”

It’s true, that he’s a handsome fellow, with his iridescent emerald green head and the proud curl of his drake feathers on his behind. “He looks like pato asado to me.”

“You would take his life?” poses Juan, clearly enjoying playing the foil. He was always like this, even when you were children. Always taking the opposing side, for the sake of being contrary. “For being a man of passions?”

“For hurting his females for the sake of indulging his passions. He’s supposed to protect them.”

“Ah, well. Everything comes with a price.”

You look over at don Juan, devastatingly handsome, even in a dusty work shirt open at the collar, his long legs encased to the knee in well-worn leather boots. Once you might have sold your soul, to possess this man for yourself.

Now you realize, some prices are too high.

“What do you want, Juan?” you ask cautiously. You can tell that strangely he’s in one of his more playful moods. That doesn’t mean you’re safe by half.

“Just to talk.”

“About?”

He leans in across the table, his dark eyes raking over you. You hate it, how that still gives you such a guilty thrill. “I have a proposition that may interest you.”

“Is this a proposition you would not like my husband to overhear?”

Now it is he who makes the frustrated hiss between his sharp teeth, sneering. “Come off it. You are no more married to that man than I am the Pope.”

“Señor, how you offend me.”

He narrows his eyes to slits, but a smirk pulls at the corner of his proud lips. He is enjoying himself–and that worries you. “I understand you, y/n, better than you think.”

You’re afraid that might be true.

“Oh?”

“I have always known you have a heart not easily tamed. Perhaps it is why I have always loved you.”

“Juan…”

“Marry me, y/n. Be the mistress of this place. Of your own destiny. I will give you your room with your typewriter in the tower, overlooking this.” He holds his arms wide, encompassing the entirety of Las Nubes. “There is no better view, no better place to be on this Earth. Your only master shall be me.”

Many things can be said of don Juan. If there is something you know he does truly love, it is Las Nubes. He is a man of this land, and you understand he truly cannot fathom wanting to be anywhere else.

Then, you realize that he must have been spying on you and Paul in the pool that night, and that maybe he really does know everything.

Once, being crowned reina of this estate might have been your fondest dream, something so far out of your grasp there was never any sense in even thinking of it in the light of day. Now…you know that binding yourself to Juan would be like offering your ankle up for a gilded ball and chain.

He would destroy you, little by little. Maybe not even maliciously, but in spite of himself. He is what he is, and you are what you are.

It would be war.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you say, tracing a finger over the edge of your little diary, unable to meet his burning eyes while your heart beats too fast in your throat. “I’m already married, and you are engaged.”

“To some girl I’ve never met, two-thousand miles away? What is she to me, but a dowry? We don’t need it. The harvest was generous; the land blesses us as always. We take care of Las Nubes, and she takes care of us.”

You can feel his eyes boring into you, and it sends an uneasy thrill down your spine.

“I’m sorry, señor. You’re too late. Don’t marry her if it displeases you. But you must find yourself a different bride–I am taken.”

You physically feel the change in the air, as his jovial bonhomie shifts to blackness, like a thunderhead looming. Yet somehow it surprises you when he moves like lightning, snatching you up in his unforgiving arms, his grip on your wrists bruising. “WIllful girl. I offer you this highest honor, and you throw it back in my face? I will prove that you are lying to me,” he tells you, his voice low in your ear. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your fear. “And then, I will claim what is mine.”

“Let go of me.”

“What if I don’t?” he demands, delighted by the thought of a fight. You can see the spark in his eyes. Despite his anger; this is fun for him, and you know a marriage to this man would never know peace. He would terrorize you for nothing if not his own amusement. Maybe he would give you a room in the tower–but its more likely he would lock you in it.

“Y/n?” Again, Paul rides to your rescue, approaching from somewhere beyond the wall.

Before you can answer this time, don Juan presses his mouth to yours in a punishing kiss, your teeth clashing in his furious bid to claim you. This time, he remembers to retreat before you can bite him too, releasing you so abruptly you fall back into your chair. With a dramatic sweep of his arm he knocks your diary into the fountain before stalking away on those long legs. “How clumsy of me!”

You shriek, diving for the little book.

That is how Paul finds you, on your knees by the water, crying over your inked words now obliterated.

“Y/n?” He falls to his knees beside you, at first not understanding, searching you for injury. “Are you alright?”

You hold up the little book, half the pages now more resembling a watercolor painting. “It’s ruined.”

“Oh.” He frowns, not wanting to belittle this thing that clearly distresses you, but not understanding nonetheless. “Can’t you…write it again?”

You know you’ll never be able to recreate exactly what you’d put down there. You won’t be able to remember what you wrote, in the throes of feverish inspiration, the manic fugue of the cosmic muse whispering through your writing hand.

Amidst your own daily musings, you’ve been writing a story about a spirited young lady who meets a handsome veteran on a bus.

You shake your head, crestfallen, and Paul’s frown darkens for you.

“What happened?”

You don’t know if he saw the tailend of don Juan turning the corner before he made the scene, but a part of you fears that if you tell on the master there will be a fight. “I dropped it,” you say meekly.

For a moment, you can tell he wants to argue, but because he’s a better man than anyone here, he lets it go. “Ok, sweetheart. Let’s go see if we can get it dried out.”

You are beginning to see this miraculous thing about Paul. When you are dead set that a thing is doomed, he still finds hope. Although you’re mostly certain the diary is ruined, you still feel better returning to your room with his arm around your shoulders.

Maybe you can rewrite it after all.

#a walk in the clouds #don john x reader #don john #paul sutton #paul sutton x reader #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #my farmgirl is showing 😆#this is why drakes get eaten pty quick at my house...#stinkers #🙄

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strawberrymira · 29 days ago

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To Watch The Sun Rise

Summary: After yet another night of intense passion, Amphitrite finds herself rising surprisingly early- meaning she has plenty of time to reminisce and to indulge in her favorite morning ritual with her husband.

Characters: Poseidon x Amphitrite

AN: Another fun one shot!! Couldn’t get these two out of my head since chapter 3 of Love & Other Lies (chapter 4 is next, I promise!) so enjoy a more in depth look at their relationship <3

Word Count: 2700+

Read it on Ao3!

The heavy scent of sea salt and sin still hung in the silent, pitch-black air of the royal bedchambers, the hidden sanctuary deep beneath the sea no longer lit by even the faintest glow of candlelight. They’d all burned out hours ago by now, the soothing scent of lavender long since disappearing into the night as the Lord and Lady of the seas remained quite preoccupied with one another’s company. Amphitrite had little sense of precisely when hypnos had lulled herself and her husband into its embrace rather than one another’s, but she was certain of the hour approaching now.

She could sense it, as surely as she felt the weight of her husband’s sleeping form in her arms. The sea was beginning to awaken.

Deep below the waves, there was always something awake and aware, in search of either prey or protection. But above the depths where Amphitrite herself resided, she could feel the shifting energies as the first of her subjects steadily awoke from their slumbers, and others began to hide from what was fast approaching.

The Ocean Queen smiled to herself, her gaze resting upon the all too rarely peaceful form of her husband. Sunrise would be very soon.

With eyes naturally well-suited to the undersea darkness, Amphitrite found it easy to study Poseidon’s sleeping form as he rested by her side, even with the total lack of light. The way their pale, sandy-colored sheets draped across his tanned olive skin, littered with faint scars she often requested her husband remind her the stories of as they laid side by side awaiting sleep. Amphitrite had done the same only hours ago as they finally collapsed onto their wedding bed, just as exhausted and satisfied as ever, tracing an old battle scar along Poseidon’s shoulder– if only to see the way his chest puffed up with pride as he regaled his wife with the familiar tale.

“You’ve forgotten this one already, my jewel?” Poseidon had wondered aloud as he drew his love into his embrace, each of them still basking in the afterglow as well as the warmth and softness of one another’s body. “I’m surprised at you.”

At the time, Amphitrite had only shrugged and smiled as she pulled the covers over herself and her husband, stroking his silky, pin-straight hair as he rested his head upon her breast and began his story. With the way Poseidon had stared at her lips, Amphitrite recalled briefly thinking some of her husband’s ichor was still lingering on her pointed, pearly teeth.

The way he kissed her brought no clarity.

…It had been the sound of Poseidon’s voice that drew her to sleep, as it so often did. Whether it be an old war story, an account of the day’s events, or one of Poseidon’s endless diatribes about his most favored four-hooved creations… Amphitrite could not help but find herself soothed into restfulness by the sound of that smooth, lilting voice. The content simply wasn’t of her concern– she knew all his stories by heart. Of course, her dear husband needn’t know that.

Recalling the memory now as she laid in the dark, Amphitrite lightly trailed her fingertips along Poseidon’s shoulder— following the arc of the scar she had asked about hours before.

The goddess’ piercing eyes followed the same arc as that particular scar lead up, just barely onto Poseidon’s chest, near his collarbone. Hesitantly withdrawing her hand so as not to wake him, Amphitrite trailed her gaze up the column of his throat, so often hidden from sight and decorated with heavy silver jewelry. Now, it was instead decorated just as Amphitrite saw fit. It was undoubtedly true that her husband vastly preferred to drape himself in silver. …But laying here, the Lady of the seas found herself inclined to believe that the subtle golden stain of ichor lingering on his throat suited him far better.

Finally, trailing upwards, the goddess’ gaze rested upon the relaxed, sleeping face of her love. Amphitrite was intimately familiar with each and every detail… and yet she found her husband just as strikingly handsome as the day they’d first met.

…They were so young back then.

The two of them had grown so much, both together and apart, that at times Amphitrite struggled to recall precisely what they’d been like before. Which one of them did their shared mannerisms originate from? Had she always loved the smell of lavender, and Poseidon had taken notice? …Or did she begin loving it only because he gifted it to her so often? And yet, Amphitrite recalled the first time they’d been introduced with as much clarity as what she saw before her eyes now.

The very first time the warring Olympians had been able to visit Oceanus’ palace to rest and recuperate, the excitement buzzing throughout the halls that Amphitrite paid no mind to. The sea goddess would have left to escape the noise if Hera, only newly considered a dear sister of hers back then, hadn’t insisted Amphitrite stay to meet her siblings— as well as the newest addition to their group, Zeus. Amphitrite recalled wondering why Hera never called him her brother, even if they’d just met— she supposes she knows why now. She had just been about to ask Hera about the matter when the shorter goddess linked their arms, eagerly escorting her to socialize with the siblings Hera had missed so dearly.

At the time, Amphitrite puzzled over the fact that Hera led her right past Hades and Hestia— given how highly she spoke of them, it seemed more than a bit unusual. Instead, Hera brought Amphitrite directly to her younger brother so she could introduce them. …The moment Poseidon turned to greet them, Amphitrite should have known. Damned goddess of marriage. Amphitrite could find it in herself to despise Hera’s matchmaking if only it wasn’t always eventually proven right.

…His eyes had been the first thing Amphitrite noticed. Intelligent, overconfident, and… strikingly blue, as the ocean on the brightest and hottest summer day in a year long since past. The very essence of her beloved home, captured in those eyes.

Poseidon’s features, still young and unmarred by time and tragedy, were angular and elegant— far closer to Hera’s than to any of his other siblings. Amphitrite faintly recalled wondering if the handsome young soldier standing in front of her had lined his eyes with makeup, or if his eyelashes were simply that thick and dark. During their eventual courtship so many years later, she would come to learn the answer was both. His cascading, inky black hair- almost blueish in its depth- had been so much shorter then, falling only to his shoulders rather than its current floor-length glory. …It was amusing to think that Amphitrite found it excessive back then, but utterly adored it in its current state.

Carefully, Amphitrite captured one of the cascading locks that fell across Poseidon’s face with one of her long, painted nails. …It really was beautiful worn this long, even compared to the admittedly flattering shorter styles he’d been forced to adopt during their youth. Tucking it behind his ear, Amphitrite expertly avoided allowing the strand of hair to be caught in any of the many silver earrings decorating it, left in their shared haste to fall into bed together. The goddess smiles to herself in the darkness, the face of her love finally unobstructed.

There he is.

…As vehemently as he liked to deny it, strands of Poseidon’s brows and beard were beginning to appear lighter now. Subtly enough that it could be denied, but still noticeable whenever he and Amphitrite were close like this. Amphitrite was all but certain that once it reached his hair, the seas would be in no way calm for some time. For now, though… it was something she could admire in their quiet moments, the subtle touches of silver– moonlight over a dark sea– only bringing further attention to his handsome features.

In the centuries passed since they’d first been introduced lifetimes ago, Amphitrite still found it difficult to say that those features had aged much at all. Poseidon had grown into them, certainly, but in so many ways he never ceased to resemble that young soldier.

Admittedly it was now, deep in the embrace of gentle sleep, that the resemblance was most uncanny.

Poseidon’s shapely jawline, prominent cheekbones, perfectly angled brows, dark lashes, and invitingly plump lips all remained just as they had been so long ago. Only slightly altered by the furrow of his brow that seemed to linger even in sleep. Perhaps a consequence of the stresses of ruling over such a tempermental domain for so long, perhaps only the result of his own wicked temper. …Not that Amphitrite could speak on such things.

Of course, there was one thing that would always remain, constant and comforting, no matter how many centuries had passed. The Goddess of the Seas smiles, a warmth stirring in her chest at the very thought of what’s to come— a rare indulgence, given the early hour she’s found herself unexpectedly awake for. Within herself, Amphitrite could sense the sea’s continued awakening, the moment at hand fast approaching.

It was time.

Reaching out, Amphitrite smoothed the furrowed brow of her husband with the pad of her thumb, catching and brushing away another lock of inky, dark hair with the same motion. The Lord of the seas stirred from his sleep at his wife’s gentle caress, pulled even further upwards from the depths by the brush of her lips against his own. Even captured by the spell of Hypnos, Poseidon chased Amphitrite’s addictive kiss, pulled as though by the tides. Subtle though it may be, Amphitrite is graced with a glimpse of a boyish, cocky grin that seemed much more suited to the face of that young soldier she met than the fully matured king whom she now shared a bed with. Mercifully, that smile remains as Poseidon’s dark lashes flutter open.

By the gods, just look at those eyes.

Even in the utter darkness of their bedchambers so early in the morning, Amphitrite found herself utterly captivated. As they fluttered open, Poseidon’s eyes were still tinted a deep muted shade of blue. Though not quite the endlessly dark, all-consuming black they had been as the pair drifted to sleep. The Lady of the seas grinned as she studied the eyes of her husband– she hadn’t missed it yet.

Poseidon groaned almost inaudibly as he stretched his well-used muscles– as effectively as he could without so much as bothering to lift his head from the pillow he’d claimed for the evening. Rather, he pressed his face further into it as he rolled his right shoulder, simultaneously wrapping his muscled arm firmly around his wife, pulling her close and soaking in the warmth of her body against his. Poseidon’s voice emerges from his throat as more of a groan as well, a deep baritone as his voice is dragged low in his chest from the weight of sleep.

“…It’s still dark out, jewel.~ We don’t need to be awake for hours.” Poseidon drawls, the smug grin on his lips still lingering as his warm hand pressed against the bare skin of his wife’s back. “…Unless you’ve something else on your mind, Amphi?”

“Later,” Amphitrite mutters the promise against her husband’s lips. She lingers, only breaking the steadily deepening kiss once she was good and ready. Amphitrite relishes the way Poseidon chased her lips a second time. “…I’d like to watch the sunrise this morning.” She whispers as though she’s making a confession, her hushed tone seemingly enforced by the veil of darkness surrounding them.

The momentarily hungry expression on the face of Amphitrite’s husband near instantly dissolved into something unspeakably tender– typically reserved exclusively for his doting wife and their precious children. “…It’s been some time, hasn’t it?” Poseidon questions softly, lowering his own voice to a whisper.

“…We’ve just been kept so busy lately.”

“I know.”

“…I’ve missed it.”

“I know.”

“So, may I?”

“Always.”

As Poseidon whispered this final affirmation, he gingerly took hold of his wife’s hand, guiding it to cradle one side of his face. “I’m yours to view, my jewel.” Amphitrite’s husband cooed softly, turning his head to press a tender, lingering kiss to his wife’s palm as he refused to break her gaze.

“However,” the Lord of the seas began again, taking on a playful tone. “If you can possibly find it in your merciful heart to forgive me for neglecting you in such a way, my love–” Poseidon reaches over, brushing one of Amphitrite’s thick curls behind her ear before motioning to their nightstand, where several candles lit the night before still rested. “…I’d appreciate the privilege of viewing you properly.~ …I presume you’d not prefer I be squinting to admire you through the darkness?”

Amphitrite snickered, fondly rolling her eyes both at her husband’s words and at Poseidon’s steadily widening grin– the one he always had when he was trying to make her laugh. Still, she obliged his request, momentarily leaving his embrace so she could sit up properly and relight the lavender scented candles on their bedside table.

“…It’s a privilege, is it?” The ocean queen questioned with a smirk, glancing down at her king lounging in their rumpled sheets– all pulled out of place from the previous night’s activities.

“Everything you give to me in our marriage bed is a privilege, my jewel.~”

“That it is.” Amphitrite hummed approvingly, lighting the last of the candles as the scent of lavender steadily creeped into the air once more. “Is that alright?” She questioned with a glance over her shoulder, finding Poseidon’s eyes lingering on her.

“Utter perfection.” Poseidon praised, not entirely remarking on the much more practical lighting their bedchambers were now cast in.

With no need for any further words, Poseidon simply opened his arms to invite his dearest Amphitrite to return to his embrace. She accepted his invitation eagerly, sinking back into the plush comfort of their marriage bed as her husband wrapped his strong arms and their soft sheets around her bare form. Yet Amphitrite pulled Poseidon closer still, wrapping her arms around his neck and toying with his hair, pressing their bodies together until she was practically nose to nose with her dear husband.

“..Has it begun yet?” Poseidon questioned after a minute or so, smiling fondly at the rapt attention Amphitrite was paying him. Her momentary silence provided him the answer he sought before her voice had the chance.

“Yes.”

Amphitrite paid no mind to how breathless and quiet her voice sounded as it spilled from her lips, nor to the way her husband softly chuckled at the obvious adoration laced within that single word. There was nothing that could steal her attention away from what was in front of her. The thing she adored most about her infinitely beloved husband.

Ever since she and Poseidon had begun their courtship, Amphitrite found herself openly laughing at those who dared to compare their lover’s eyes to the color of the sea. Whether they be god or mortal, the color dim or bright, gleaming blue or stormy grey– they were all wrong. Laughably wrong. In truth, there had only been one soul in all of the vastness of eternity who’d been given eyes that were truly the shade of the sea, as far as Amphitrite herself had ever seen or ever known.

Not a single one of those poets and pompous romantics had ever been blessed with this sight.

It still stole Amphitrite’s breath from her lips, no matter how many times her husband allowed her the joy of watching it each morning. …Watching as the impossibly dark shade of his eyes was steadily invaded by ripples of a deep red hue, slowly giving way to glimmers of vibrant orange, fading out into softer shades… then finally cut through with brilliant, gleaming, golden yellow. Those gentle ripples shone bright as the sun as Poseidon’s eyes reflected its light in the very same way his waters did in that precise moment.

On the first morning after they’d been married, Amphitrite had awoken Poseidon to walk along the beach with her as they watched the sun rise. Tired though he was, not to mention far more uncoordinated in the dark than Amphitrite, he had obliged without question. That had been the day she fully discovered this treasure of hers.

Each morning of their honeymoon after the first, and any morning since, neither Amphitrite nor Poseidon make any move to leave the comfort of their bed and rush to the coastline when she asks him to let her watch the sunrise. As far as Amphitrite was concerned, that’s not where the sunrise is.

#Poseidon #Amphitrite #Poseidon x Amphitrite #Amphitrite x Poseidon

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peachiejeongin · 5 months ago

Text

The Phantoms Part 3: Bright | Bang Chan

Synopsis: With a regained passion for music, y/n decides to take it upon herself to get back into her high school's music program. Of course, she needs a little help from a certain three phantoms...

Pairing: phantom!Bang Chan x fem!reader (Reader takes the place of Julie Molina from Julie and the Phantoms) [Occurs somewhat in this chapter]

Genre: Julie and the Phantoms/3RACHA AU, Crack, Angst, Fluffy Moments

Warnings: Grief of a lost parent, slight mentions of negative home lives, slight mentions of homophobia

Notice: Hello, my loves! I have been feeling a bit ill the past couple of days, but I still want to update this story as much as possible :) I want to go ahead and preface that in this chapter, there is mention of Han being gay since he takes the place of Alex in the original show. I would like to follow this up by stating I do not actually believe Han is gay in real life; I do not know Stray Kids personally, therefore I do not know their sexual orientations. I wanted to get that out of the way so there was no confusion! Additionally, like the other chapters, I hold no rights to 'Julie and the Phantoms,' nor any of its characters! Enjoy part three! Fair warning, it is LONG lol!

You clutched the song in your arms, holding it in a tight embrace as if it could escape you at any moment. Tears fell down your face as your saddened gaze shut tightly. In the aftermath of your powerful performance, you felt a swirl of emotions, including pride, grief and even a twinge of haze.

Despite the confusing plethora of moods, one thought stood out in your mind: you had rediscovered your love for music, the hobby that made your soul sing, and with it, you had found pieces of yourself you thought had passed on with your mother.

You were unaware of the presence of Chan, Han, and Changbin stood behind you, their expressions flickering between sympathy, awe, and uncertainty. As Chan had stated prior, the song was a demonstration of your mother's extraordinary talent in songwriting, and they were absolutely mesmerized at how effortlessly you had performed the ballad; however, admist their admiration,the boys remained confused about one lingering aspect.

Why did you lie?

In spite of telling them you did not play the piano, the melody they witnessed moments earlier significantly debunked your claim. They were perplexed as to why you would feel the need to fabricate your talent.

Those thoughts were immediately pushed aside when the boys heard you lightly sobbing; they felt their hearts twinge at the soft noise, their expressions softening into ones of condolence.

Han instinctually stepped forward to give you a hug, forgetting both that he could not make physical contact with you and that you did not know that he was behind you; however, Chan grabbed onto his shoulder to stop him, shaking his head as if to say, "Don't." Chan shot a glance at Changbin before moving his finger around in a circle, symboling for them to make their leave.

The three warped outside of the garage, Han immediately making his way over to Chan. The sun was fully beaming over the earth, its translucent rays highlighting the band; there was a freshness in the air, which conflicted with the rigidity of Han's footsteps.

"Dude, why'd you stop me?" Han asked the older boy, befuddlement wrapping around his demeanor. "Y/n needed a hug!"

"Bro, a ghost hug isn't the feel-good moment that you think it is," Chan responded, adjusting the hem of his blue, sleeveless jacket; his tone was understanding yet firm. "Trust me. What she needs right now is just a bit of privacy." Han clicked his tongue, his gaze hardening slightly.

"You know, I think you poofed us out because you can't handle when other people cry," Han retaliated in a surprisingly stern tone of voice, causing Chan to widen his eyes in shock. "I should know. I cried in a room for 29 years, and I didn't get a single hug from either of you!" His dialogue had now shifted towards both Chan and Changbin as he motioned his pointer finger between the two guys, his voice breaking as he complained. The vicinity was silent, almost tense for a moment, broken only by Changbin releasing a sympathetic sigh.

"Alright, bring it in," Changbin spoke softly as he opened his arms to embrace the younger male; however, Han quickly threw a back-hand up in protest.

"Don't touch me!" he yelled. Changbin stepped back, the gentle beam fading from his features as he slowly lowered his arms.

"This is why no one hugs you!" he mumbled aggravatedly to Han, eliciting a quiet yet frustrated sigh from the latter.

"O...kay," Chan commented, extremely bewildered at what had just happened. "Look, I think the first thing we should do, once we get the courage to go in there is ask y/n..." Chan paused to look back at the garage, letting out a perplexed breath, "why she lied about playing the piano."

"Yeah," Han agreed. "Maybe tell her how amazing she is," he added onto Chan's proposition, earning an, "of course!" from the Australian.

"She's legit!" Changbin exclaimed. "I got ghost bumps." Changbin rubbed his arms in order to harp upon his play on words. Suddenly, the soft creek of the gate echoed behind them, followed by the sound of quiet sobs. Flynn appeared, her steps unhurriedly striding and her head hung in sorrow. The boys' gazes snapped to her as she entered the studio, their expressions morphing from surprise to concern then forming into panic.

"Was she crying, too?" Han asked meekly.

"Yes!" Chan threw his hands down anxiously, and he dragged out the affirming word alarmingly. "And the only thing worse than one girl crying is two girls crying!" He held up the respective amount of fingers for both numbers he enunciated upon; his voice was laced with dismay.

"He's right," Han told Changbin in the audibility of a whisper.

"Guys, we definitely can't go in there now!" Chan's voice came out in a panicked rush, his usual composure cracking.

"But!" Changbin suddenly perked his head up, a light-bulb brightening in his head. "We can listen." The three guys nodded and made their way over to the garage doors, Han giving Changbin a pat on the back for his clever idea. The three heads peered into the thin windows of the studio and listened in on the girls' conversation.

"Your dad said you'd be out here," Flynn got your attention, her hands shoved in the pockets of her black jacket. You flicked your head upwards to face her, which caused Chan, Changbin, and Han to duck down out of view; they could not see the two of you anymore, but they could still hear you.

"We need to talk," she bluntly continued as she approached the piano.

"Are you okay?" you asked while readjusting your sheet music so it leaned neatly against the front of the sleek, wooden instrument.. Flynn shut her eyes tight in response, an expression of dejection etched onto her face.

"No, I'm not okay!" she shrieked out. "You just got kicked out of the music program!" Her words were full of sorrow, yet they had a hyper undertone. "I've been up all night thinking about what I was going to say! I may have drank seven sodas in the process, but I need to get this out."

That explained the hyperactivity.

"Wait, I have something to tell you." You threw your hands on top of each other in a criss-cross fashion, your fingers brushing lightly against the sleek wood of the piano; you were anxious to tell her both about 3RACHA and about your consolidation in your music.

"No, it's my turn to talk," Flynn stressfully interjected. "You can't give up music! Your music is a gift, and wasting your talent would be a tragedy! You're basically cancelling Christmas, and I love Christmas!"

"Flynn, I-"

"Nuh uh!"

You pressed your lips closed, your eyes having a glint of humor within them as your best friend continued her caffienated ramble.

"When we were six, we promied to be in a band together! Double Trouble!"

"I never agreed to that name," you breathily countered, causing Flynn to roll her eyes and come around to your side of the piano.

"That's not the point! Y/n, if you leave the music program, we'll be apart forever!" Flynn's hands waved in front of her, accentuating her words as they shifted around nervously yet matter-of-factly. "That's just what happens! Sure, we'll see each other in the halls sometimes, but..." Flynn halted her words to let out a deep exhale and shake her head, "we'll have different lives! Make new friends!"

"That's not true," you reassured Flynn with a tone of soft certainty. Flynn pursed her lips together.

"You're right," she agreed, and you felt relieved. However, the ease only lasted for a moment, before she continued. "I won't be making any new friends! And the only time we'll contact each other is when we like each other's social media posts! Everytime I tap on that digital heart," Flynn's eyes began to lightly well up with tears, "my real heart will be breaking because my best friend left me and...ugh, do you have any soda? My head hurts." She clutched a hand over her forehead, bringing attention to her point as you tilted your head.

"Can I talk now?" you asked calmly in contrast to the girl's hyper demeanor. She dropped her hand down and sighed.

"Fine."

"I just played the piano and sang again," you explained, making her glance towards the piano then back at you.

"What?! Why didn't you just say so?!" Her tone had shifted from the previous depression to a present joy.

"I was trying before your seven sodas kicked in!" you teased, using your hand to motion up and down towards her. Flynn looked as if she was about to cry, scream, or alternate between the two out of joy.

"I'm so happy for you!" She grabbed your shoulders and shook you excitedly. "And me!" You giggled at your best friends words as she released you in order to move her hands down in victory.

"Look at you," she remarked, her tone lowering by several octaves, "looking all, I don't know, alive again?!"

Flynn carried an unshakable sense of pride within her heart for you; after all, the two of you had been inseparable since elementary school, and she had been the first to notice the cracks forming in your spirit after your mom passed away, watching helplessly as you began to drift away from the character she knew and loved. Thus, she could not be more pumped that you were back to normal; it was like she was meeting her best friend all over again.

"Right?!" you concurred happily. "It's like I drank seven sodas!" You pointed to yourself, your comment making her smile brightly; the holly was brief, Flynn's expression turning into one of intrigue.

"What made you decide to play again?" she asked, originating a solemn yet serene expression from your end. You grabbed the sheet music you had arranged as she arrived and slid it towards her.

"I found this song my mom wrote me." Flynn took the plethora of papers, skimming over the lyrics; reading the song alone made her own heart twinge.

"Woah," was all she could muster.

"I know," you replied in a low voice. "I was so scared to play it. Anything involving music reminds me of her." You glanced up from the keys to look at Flynn, a bright manner overtaking your dignified stance. "Then I woke up this morning, realizing that's exactly why I should play it. To keep her memory alive."

"Awe, bring it in!" Flynn opened her arms, hugging you tightly. The moment only lasted for a few seconds, however, as Flynn quickly jerked away while gasping.

"We need to tell Mrs. Jeon you can play so you can stay in school, and my life won't be that sad picture I just painted for you!" She took your hands in hers, smiling fondly. "My girl is back! Double Trouble lives on!" She held her hand up in a fist, turning around as if she was a superstar on the red carpet.

"Not our band name!" you reminded her as you went to grab your backpack from the corner of the studio.

"I gave you a t-shirt in seventh grade that says otherwise!" Flynn retaliated as she followed after you. As the two of you made your way out of the garage, the 3RACHA boys began to panic; they quickly scrambled into positions that made it look as if they had not just been listening to every detail of the conversation. Han propped his arm on the ledge beside of the door and began to fiddle with the lightbox, Chan put an arm behind his head and whistled at the wind, and Changbin sat down on the ground crossing his legs and looking downwards.

"Oh, hey!" you greeted them as you walked out of the studio; you caught Chan's attention first, the latter nodding in a 'sup motion. The action was miniscule, yet it made your heart flutter. The other two flashed brief, guilty smiles towards you. On the other hand, Flynn turned around as if you had called her attention; you had forgotten she could not see the boys.

"Hey! Let's hustle," you quickly covered your tracks, making it seem as if you were talking to her and not not the invisible band. "Don't wanna be late!" You ran to link arms with Flynn, waving goodbye to the boys and them reciprocating the actions.

"Bye, y/n!" Changbin yelled. "Have a great day that we have no idea what's going to happen in because we weren't listening!" Chan's eyes narrowed as he landed a kick to Changbin's leg; your eyes furrowed at the action, but they quickly relaxed as Chan gave you another toothy grin, your cheeks going red at the action.

This dynamic was going to be strange. You could feel it.

Chan's eyes lingered upon you as you walked away, his heart feeling a weird type of twinge within; it was not negative by any means, but he did not understand it.

"Guys, weird question," Changbin began as you had vanished from their line of sight. "Can we uh, can we go see my family?"

"What?" Chan's head motioned backwards, his eyes still fixated on where you had once been.

"My family," Changbin repeated. "Can we go see them? Y'know, just check in on them?"

"Yeah, man, of course," Chan replied as he, Changbin, and Han transported themselves to Changbin's family home.

Or so they thought.

---

"Believe me, y/n, I think it's wonderful that you're singing again." You and Flynn stood awkwardly as your teacher spoke; you had decided that you would ask her if there was a chance at getting back into the music program.

"I always hoped the day would come when you would get back into music," she continued as she set up a composition on the piano. "I'm afraid it's too late, though. You knew the deal."

"Please, Mrs. Jeon, just listen to her play!" Flynn pleaded with her on your behalf. "You know y/n is amazing when she plays! That's gotta count for something!"

"I wish it did," the older woman spoke with regret in her voice. "There's a new student set to take your spot tomorrow." Upon this realization, you nodded your head sorrowfully, looking up at the ceiling in attempts not to cry.

"You know there's only-"

"So many spots," you finished the motto of the program for her as she nodded in agreement. "If I don't play, I don't stay. I know." Mrs. Jeon approached you, taking her glasses off before talking.

"I tried, y/n," she confessed, nearly on the brink of tears. "I fought tooth and nail to keep you in this program. I can't change the director's mind. Yesterday was your last chance. Your only option from here is to reapply next school year." You looked down at the ground, feeling silly at pushing your passions to the side and letting your fear overtake you. At that moment, the bell rang to dismiss class; your teacher gave you one final glance as you walked away.

"I'm truly sorry, y/n."

---

"A bike shack right where my house used to be." Changbin stood dejected, Chan resting his arm on the former's shoulder and Han staring longingly at the sandy ground. The three had teleported on the beachside where Changbin used to live; lively residents played volleyball and swam in the background as the unseen bandmates stood sorrowfully.

"I'm sorry man," Chan apologized as Changbin's eyes welled up, patting the latter's chest.

"They made the Yangs' house into a restaurant," Changbin commented, pointing to the aforementioned diner. "Why couldn't they have made mine a pizzeria or something?"

"They tore down the whole neighborhood," Han had looked up from the ground, motioning to the entire empty lot; when they were kids, the bayside was filled with life. Houses lotted every corner, a park stood in the centerfold for the kids, and multiple small businesses were scattered around the empty spaces.

It was all gone, just as they were.

"I guess that means my parents are gone," Changbin sighed.

"Everyone's gone," Han responded as Changbin turned to face him. "Twenty-nine years gone like that," Han snapped to emphasize. "Our parents, our friends, Hyunjin, everyone!"

"Hyunjin, that's right," Changbin thought of their rhythm guitarist for the first time since they had rematerialized. "I guess he got lucky. What ever happened to him?"

"He probably aged like everyone else and moved on," Chan stated matter-of-factly while kicking his feet at the ground; he had moved from standing beside Changbin to sitting on a park bench across from his two friends. "No one wants to stay in a town where three of their best friends died."

"Dude, how are you so cool about all of this?" Han asked Chan, confused at how calm the older had been acting this entire time. "Don't you want to figure out what happened? To Hyunjin, our parents, anyone?"

"Han, let's be real for a second," Chan retaliated. "It's not like any of us were that close to our families anyways! My parents always regretted buying me my guitar, and my sister never bothered to come see me once I left. Changbin, your parents were one fight away from divorcing, and Han, your parents were never cool again once you came out to them." Han and Changbin fixed their stares upon the ground once more, sadness overtaking their features.

"Okay, none of us had it great," Han replied while huffing. "But at least we had something! You know what we have now? Nothing. And before one of you says cool teleportation skills, just know that I am not necessarily a fan of that! It tingles," Han squirmed uncomfortably. "In really weird places!"

Changbin pursed his lips in confusion, narrowing his eyes judgingly at the younger bandmate; on the other hand, Chan tilted his head as he fought back laughter.

"I'll tell you what we had," Chan rose from the park bench, taking a few steps towards the other two. "It's what we've had since the day we met! Since we formed 3RACHA!" Han and Changbin looked at each other, perplexed at what Chan meant; the oldest of the three sighed. "We have each other! We are the only family we're ever gonna need. And there's one more thing we have!"

"Death breath?" Changbin inquired, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Our music, you dork," Chan chuckled as he pointed towards Changbin; Han and Changbin still seemed wonderous. "People, actual people, can hear us play! Sure, we can't be seen, but we can be felt! It's like I said outside of the Orpheum that night: our music connects us with people! I just wish I had my guitar!"

As if an invisible genie were floating beside Chan, his guitar suddenly appeared, causing him to spin around from the impact, barely catching it in his grasp. His eyes widened in awe as he stared down at the instrument.

"Woah!" Changbin explained. "That was awesome! How'd you do that?!"

"I don't know!" Chan answered honestly. "I mean, I wished for it, and then it appeared!" Upon finishing his statement, Changbin squatted down and held his hands open.

"I wish I had a puppy!" He winced, expecting a puppy to appear in his hands as Chan's guitar had; he opened his eyes slightly, feeling disappointed yet trying again. "A hamster?" Nothing. "Pizza?!" he sighed exasperatedly on his final attempt, kicking at the sand and plopping onto the ground frustratedly whilst pouting.

"Hey," Chan leaned down to teasingly smack Changbin's shoulder. "I think I know something that'll cheer you up!" Chan began strumming at his guitar, playing the tune to a song Changbin had wrote a while back. Han added on to the beat, alternating between patting his knees, snapping, and clapping as if he was drumming.

"Come on, Binnie!" Han encouraged as Chan continued to play; Changbin jumped up as Chan began to count down:

"One, two, three, four!"

Can you, can you hear me? (Yup) Loud and clear We gotta get, gotta get ready

'Cause it's been years

Oh, this band is back Oh, this band is back"

And so, the three friends wandered down the beach, their laughter blending with the sound of claps and strums as they played their hearts out under the warm afternoon sun. Just like before, the music echoed across the shore, drawing the attention of those nearby, who could not help but dance and nod along to the rhythm. Though the crowd could not see the boys behind the melodies, 3RACHA didn’t mind in the slightest. They skipped and hopped, carefree in their joy, their playful teasing filling the air as they made their way down the path, smiles stretching so wide it almost hurt.

---

You returned home from school, trekking up the stairs dejectedly and still feeling bummed about your conversation with Mrs. Jeon. You opened your bedroom door, looking forward to resting after a despondent day; however, walking into the room revealed an unpleasant sight.

"What are you guys doing in my bedroom?!" you yelled at the three guys, who all perked their heads up out of shock; Han was attempting to pick up a photograph, although his hands kept passing through, Changbin was nearly half asleep on your bed, and Chan stood on a stepstool peering at the items you had collected on your shelf. Instantly, they all began stammering and tripping over words as they attempted to come up with a reasonable explanation.

"We were looking for the kitchen?" Chan asked more than answered; Changbin immediately nodded and pointed to him in a, 'Yeah, what he said,' type fashion.

"This," you moved your pointer finger around to gesture to all three of them, "can't happen! It's creepy!" You then fixed your gaze upon Changbin. "Off the bed, please!" you commanded, causing him to immediately jump off and mutter an apology.

"Hey, y/n," Chan raised his hand as if he was in class trying to signal a teacher. "What's in the box?" he pointed to a small, painted chest on one of your shelves.

"None of your business," you bluntly replied.

"Oh, okay!" Chan let out a laughter-esque breath. "Girl stuff. I got it."

"Oh, like unicorns and glitter?" an oblivious Changbin inquired.

"Oh, come on you guys!" Han exclaimed. "I am sorry about them."

"It's fine," you replied to Han's apology. "And yes, there may be a little bit of glitter." Changbin nodded approvingly. Han went back to attempting to pick up the photograph on your nightstand, his attempts futile as his hands once again passed through.

"I don't get it," you responded to his actions. "You guys can mess up my bed, pick up your instruments, but you can't make contact with other objects?"

"Right," Chan agreed. "It's hard, but holding our instruments is easy!"

"Yeah, super easy!" Changbin added emphasis to Chan's statement, beaming in excitement as he remembered a trick. "Oh! Check out what I learned!" He held out his hands, and his red bass guitar appeared into them, knocking him to the ground due to the force of the instrument.

"Yeah, that looked super easy," you smiled as you teased Changbin as he groaned in pain and attempted to stand back up.

"I guess it's like Chan thought," Han beamed. "Our instruments are attached to our souls!" Speaking of Chan, he had began to wonder back over to the mystery chest; however, you quickly caught him in the act.

"Chan! I thought I told you to leave that alone!"

"I know you did!" he responded, looking antsy. "You shouldn't have said anything thought because now I can't stop thinking about it!" Chan threw his hands down in exasperation. "What's in the box, y/n?" Your first thought probably should not have been, 'He’s curious about me?' Yet, before you could overthink it, you snapped yourself back into reality, shaking off the distraction. With a deep breath, you grounded yourself, reminding your racing mind to focus.

"It's my dream box," you finally admitted. "Whenever I get a thought or idea I think is cool, I write it down."

"Like lyrics?" Chan raised an eyebrow as he glanced back towards you, his curious gaze making your brain go numb for a second.

"Y-yeah, kind of," you stammered, folding your arms over your chest. "I guess they would be if I still wrote music. Now it's just full of things that don't make me sad." The room was silent for a moment, the boys looking at you and nodding with sympathy; suddenly, Han rose up from where he had taken a seat.

"But, you do play!" he told you without thinking. "We heard you this morning!"

"You guys were in the garage?!" Your outburst made Chan walk over and gently smack Han on the back of the head, causing the latter to flinch and rub the afflicted spot. "Hello?!" you added on, not getting a response the first time; as if on cue, all three boys began stuttering and mumbling again, this time saying things about how Han had misspoke. In order to distract you, Chan walked towards you, laying himself in front of you on your bed and propping his chin up on his arm.

"So, where is your kitchen?" he quieried, a dazed look present in his eyes. You were almost swayed by the adorable stare.

Almost.

You sarcastically smiled before answering: "Okay, we need to set some boundaries." Chan nodded adoringly as you moved your stance down to meet his before continuing. "For starters, stay out of my room!" The last part of your sentence came out louder than the rest as you gestured towards the door impatiently. All three boys scattered to make their way out as you commanded, saying things such as, "Yes ma'am!" and "We are out!" as they departed, passing through the door as if it was not there.

---

After an eventful day between school, explaining your heart-held dream box, and a prior conversation convincing your dad not to sell the house, you had worked up a late-night appetite. You hustled down the stairs to the kitchen. You almost screamed at the sight of someone standing by your fridge, but the tension in your body melted away as you realized it was just Chan.

"I am never going to get used to that," you muttered, eliciting a quiet giggle from Chan.

Awe man! Even his laugh was cute.

You shook your head as you approached the fridge behind him, peering over his shoulder.

"Do you guys even eat?" you genuinely asked. Chan shook his head; he and the boys had not had anything to snack on since their arrival.

"I just want to see what you have." You nodded, shutting the door through his ghostly figure.

"Hey!" Chan immediately protested. "You know how long it took me to open that?!"

"Sorry, I don't believe in wasting energy," you retaliated, grabbing some peanut butter and two slices of bread from the pantry.

"Perfect, because that's exactly what I want to talk to you about," Chan optimistically commented, his metaphor stunning you slightly.

"My electricity usage?" you spoke slowly as you rattled your brain for what on Earth Chan could be referring to,

"No, the energy that you have," he elaborated. "Your voice, your piano playing. Mate, you're a human super-weapon!" He spoke with a certain fondness in his voice.

"Is this supposed to be a pep talk?" you inquired, turning your attention back to your sandwich.

"What I'm saying is you have the power to move people," Chan replied, his Aussie accent thick in his voice. "To knock them off their feet. There is no way your teachers would kick you out for good if they could hear how well you played this morning!"

"Yeah, well I asked her, and she said I have to wait until next school year."

"That was your first mistake," Chan scrunched his face in disapproval. "Asking. 3RACHA booked gigs by doing," he opposed as he hopped up to sit on your kitchen counter. "We went into ambush mode! We played in front of clubs, behind clubs, we even played book clubs."

"Book clubs?" you questioned, a tad intrigued.

"Yeah, not a lot of gigs from those old ladies but we did get some gnarly snacks," he chuckled, but you remained stoic. "I'm just telling you to not ask for permission. Use your ultra super-weapon powers and smash the stupid rules out of their brains!" Chan beamed; however, you declined his suggestion at first.

"It's not a club, it's school. And your plan sounds violent!"

"It's a closed door, and you gotta bust it open!" You moved away from Chan, smirking at his comment as you made your way to the fridge to grab a glass of milk. "Sorry. Once I start metaphor-ing, I can't stop. I learned that in book club."

"They're not just gonna let me back in." Your words faltered as you turned around, unintentionally passing through Chan. A strange flutter of nervous energy stirred in your chest as you quickly spun back to face him. Both of you stood there, exchanging a sheepish smile, the awkwardness of the moment hanging between you.

"If getting back into music is what you want, then you gotta go for it!" Chan further encouraged you, putting a hand on your shoulder briefly before it fell through. "You never know what life has in store. Learn from me! Your tainted hot dog could be right around the corner," he whispered as you leaned down to take a bite of your sandwich; however, you lost your appetite from the warning, slowly removing the food from your mouth and setting it down on the counter.

"I don't even have a song prepa-"

"Thought you'd say that," Chan cut you off as he held up a piece of paper, conclusively with a song written on it. "It's called 'Bright.' It's a 3RACHA song I wrote that we never got to record, but it's perfect for your range," he expounded as he unfolded the paper. "Check out the chorus for a second. If you add a bit of piano, I'm telling you!" Chan then began to sing the chorus; you jumped in halfway through, with Chan encouraging you to, "go a bit higher!" on the final note. Internally, he jumped for joy as you turned to him, his smile widening with every step you took, silently cheering you on. You glanced up at him, a longing flickering in your eyes, aware of what you were feeling—and, judging by the soft flush of dusty pink on his cheeks, what he was feeling as well. Yet, you pushed those thoughts aside with a simple, 'Thanks,' masking the weight of the moment with casual words.

He bit his lip, a playful glint still shining in his eyes as he nodded, his smile filled with quiet joy. The two of you locked eyes for a brief moment, the air thick with unspoken understanding, before both of you chuckled lightly, the sound tinged with the shyness that neither of you could quite hide.

"Yeah, yeah, now get some sleep," he rolled his eyes playfully while looking down at you. "Big day tomorrow!" You beamed at his words before saying goodnight and walking away. Chan glimpsed at you the whole way through, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms. The unfamiliar feeling was back in his chest, and he felt himself unintentionally smiling.

In such a short span of time, you had already gotten Chan wrapped around your finger.

---

Your initial plan to play for Mrs. Jeon was foiled the instant you walked into the music room; all of the students and teachers were down in the gymnasium for the spirit rally. You had missed your shot.

Or so you believed, until Flynn, who you had walked in on blowing aimlessly into a trumpet, had an idea spark into her brain.

The two of you walked into the gym in the midst of Carrie's group, Dirty Candy's performance. The crowd was abuzz with cheer and hollering as the group danced and sang energetically.

"Look who spent all her daddy's money on costumes and Katy Perry's choreographer," Flynn remarked sarcastically as you shoved your hands in the pockets of your camo jumpsuit.

"Well, it paid off," you replied as you fixated on Carrie's performance.

Abruptly, the guys appeared, with Chan instantly making his way over to you.

"What are you guys doing here?" you inquired silently so that Flynn would not hear you and assume you were talking to yourself.

"We came to see you stick it!" Chan pumped his arms up and down, an energetic grin plastered upon his face. Han nodded in agreement, a smile playing at his own lips; however, Changbin's eyes instantly glued to the colorful ladies cascading across the gym floor.

"Man, I miss high school," he muttered. Han and Changbin turned to see the performance he was referring to, with Han joining in on the lively choreography; he managed to earn a cut it out gesture from Chan, who had noticed your dejected expression.

As Dirty Candy ended their performance, the director and Mrs. Jeon stepped onto the floor for some announcements, with the director making an awful pun about how the show was, "Sweet."

"Now's your chance!" Flynn hyped. "Go talk to her! See you in music class!" Before you could respond, Flynn ran off into the bleachers. You, however, stayed still, a feeling of anxiety bubbling in your stomach.

"What are you waiting for?" Changbin questioned. "This is your time!"

"Yeah, you look really nervous!" Han commented. "Like, you're about you yack in a bowl nervous!" You sighed fearfully, turning to Chan for comfort.

"I don't think i had enough time to work on the song!" you confessed.

"Hey, listen! I wouldn't have given you the song if I didn't think you were gonna rock it," Chan turned towards the stage and gestured towards it. "There is a piano on that stage with your name on it. So, are you gonna act or live your life in fear?" Something clicked inside of your head, and you beamed at Chan, nodding thankfully towards him.

You dashed towards the stage, approaching the piano nervously as you made it up; all three guys had their eyes fixated on you, two out of curiosity and one out of admiration. You sat down as the students began to exit, playing the keys you had stayed up all last night learning; however, your movements quickly faltered as you noticed everyone leaving.

"You got this!" Chan encouraged you from the gym floor; that was all you needed to begin to play. You precisely plucked every note you had memorized, taking in a deep breath as your fingers moved on their own. The sound guy, although he had no idea what was going on, went along with it, placing a spotlight upon you and heightening the audio of the keyboard and microphone as you began to sing:

"Sometimes I think I'm falling down I wanna cry, I'm callin' out For one more try To feel alive And when I feel lost and alone I know that I can make it home Fight through the dark And find the spark"

The students and teachers paused in there tracks, drawn to the sound of your playing. their chatter fading as they gathered to listen. Out of the corner of your eye, you took account of how Mrs. Jeon had gestured towards you, unmistakably signalling the director. Flynn sat on the sidelines, silently cheering you on with her hands clasped in encouragement; not far from her, Han, Chan, and Changbin watched intently, their quiet support radiating from their smiles.

"Life is a risk but I will take it Close my eyes and jump Together I think that we can make it Come on let's run and"

As your voice soared into the climactic high note, Chan, Han, and Changbin suddenly appeared behind you on stage, seamlessly joining in with their instruments. The unexpected sight startled you at first, but gratitude quickly replaced your surprise. Their presence, steady and unwavering, infused you with a renewed surge of confidence, propelling you to pour even more emotion into your performance.

"Rise through the night you and I We will fight to shine together Bright forever And rise through the night you and I We will fight to shine together Bright forever"

It was during this verse that you noticed something unusual. Students were rushing toward the stage, their excited murmurs breaking through your focus. Snippets like, 'Who are they?' and 'Whoa, she has a band!' reached your ears. Confusion flickered through you as you continued to sing, your gaze darting between the crowd and the guys behind you. Then, like a lightbulb flickering on, realization dawned:

They could see the boys.

The bandmates had noticed the commotion as well. Changbin and Han exchanged uneasy glances before scanning the crowd, their concern evident in the furrow of their brows. Chan, however, stood steady, his eyes sweeping over the audience with a quiet pride that seemed to radiate from him, as if he knew this moment was meant to be one in the spotlight.

"Uh, is this really happened?" you questioned Chan with a false smile towards the crowd plastered on your face.

"Just go with it!" he nearly screamed out of excitement as he began to belt out his own verse.

"In times that I doubted myself I felt like I needed some help Stuck in my head With nothing left I feel something around me now So unclear lifting me out I found the ground I'm marching on"

You were fully in sync with Changbin as Chan took the spotlight, his performance captivating everyone around. Both Changbin and Han had found their groove, their earlier tension replaced by ease as they settled into their parts, now fully understanding the shift in the moment. As the song built, Changbin, with a confident grin, made his way over to Chan's microphone stand, ready to harmonize with him and add his voice to the mix.

"Life is a risk but we will take it Close my eyes and jumpTogether I think that we can make it Come on let's run and"

The four of you belted the chorus together, the energy between you palpable as all three of your bandmates leaped onto the stage, bringing a burst of vitality that electrified the crowd. The student body erupted in cheers, their excitement vibrating through the air. Amid the chaos, you caught sight of Carrie forcing her way through the crowd, her eyes blazing with fury as she glared at you. But the intensity of the moment quickly swept her from your mind, as Chan’s voice filled the space once more, grounding you back in the performance.

"In times that I doubted myself I felt like I needed some help Stuck in my head With nothing left"

Midway through Chan's verse, you crept up behind him with your microphone, a playful glint in your eye as you gestured for him to follow. Without missing a beat, he did, and you brought the mic to his lips, mouthing the words along with him as his voice seamlessly joined the melody. The crowd responded with a chorus of 'oohs' and 'aahs,' the energy building with each passing moment. Chan, bathed in the electric purple lights, flashed a wide, radiant grin that made him look almost otherworldly, his presence as mesmerizing as the music itself

"And when I feel lost and alone I know that I can make it home Fight through the dark, and find the spark"

You took Chan's advice to heart, pushing your voice higher on the final note of your verse as the last chorus soared. When the song came to a close, all four of you took a bow, Han adding a dramatic flourish by tapping his cymbals. You raised your fist triumphantly into the air, a wave of pride rushing through you. But then, a sudden shift in the crowd’s energy caught your attention; gasps replaced the earlier cheers, the once exuberant audience now hushed in surprise. Taken aback, you turned quickly, your heart racing as you searched for the source of their reaction. As you turned around, you felt your stomach drop.

The boys were gone.

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