#quietly while thinking other people are cool

[misty-moth]

I’ve amassed a bunch of tumblr ikepri follows in-game (if I followed you and you thought “how tf”, just uh… lol and also hi), but I just realized I followed one person on here completely by chance and I find that p funny.

So I think I’m at around 6 or 7. That makes it less weird for sure.

[d1stalker]

Origin [Logan Howlett]

Summary: Two people, one shared past, and decades apart.

Warnings: fem!reader, angst, fluff, longing, things get bad before they get better! WC: 14k - MASTERLIST

A/N: there are plot points that are inspired by Logan's origin story (thank u marvelwiki), but they are so non-canon compliant its funny so don't call me out tyyy 😙

----

Before he was known as Logan, or as Wolverine, he was James. 

Your James. 

—

It’s quiet in the Howlett estate, the kind of stillness that only comes when everyone has long retired for the night. But while the rest of the mansion sleeps, you remain wide awake. Dressed in your nightgown and nestled under the blankets, you glance at the small, brass pocketwatch resting on your bedside table. The hands read 10:22 PM. Any minute now, you think to yourself. 

Then, like clockwork, you hear it—a faint knock on your door. Three slow, deliberate taps, followed by two quick ones. The secret signal never fails to make you smile. You spring from the bed, feet softly padding across the floor as you hurry to the door. You open it as quietly as possible, your grin widening the moment you see who’s waiting on the other side.

James.

He stands there, dark tousled hair and that familiar mischievous smile that always manages to light up the dim hallway. You’ve known him your entire life, growing up together under the roof of the Howlett estate. Your parents, both loyal servants to the Howlett family, were fortunate enough to be granted permission raise you alongside their son.

From the moment you could walk, you and James were inseparable, sharing countless adventures in the woods, running across the estate’s gardens, and whispering secrets to one another under moonlit skies.

"About time," you whisper, teasing him with a playful glint in your eyes. "You really know how to keep a lady waiting, don’t you?"

A soft snort escapes his lips as he grabs your hand, pulling you gently into the hallway. "My deepest apologies, M’lady," he replies with mock formality, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "I had to... attend to urgent business in the necessary."

You snicker, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "Ah, I see. Was it a fulfilling experience, sir Howlett?"

He glances over his shoulder, rolling his eyes with exaggerated exasperation, though you catch the small smirk tugging at his lips. He doesn’t respond, but his silence confirms everything. It was.

The rest of the trip is quiet, the two of you moving stealthily through the darkened corridors, careful not to disturb anyone or draw unwanted attention. After all, your mother would certainly disapprove of such late-night rendezvous. It is improper, she would say.

But what choice did you have? The day offered no time for moments like this. You were busy training to take over as the next chief maid, learning the endless routines of the household, while James spent his time with his family or other highborn friends. It was only after hours, when the mansion finally settled, that the two of you could steal away for these secret meetings.

Finally, you reach the gardens. The crisp night air greets you as you slip away from any prying eyes. There’s a familiar sense of peace here, among the fragrant flowers and the towering trees that shield you from the world. James leads you to your usual spot, a stone bench tucked beneath the shadow of the hedges. Wordlessly, he slips off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before taking a dramatic bow.

"To keep you warm, M’lady," he says softly.

"Hush, James," you laugh, finding his antics endearing. 

You’re grateful, especially as the cool night air nips at your exposed skin. The nightgown, while comfortable, offers little protection against the chill. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself, then pat the empty spot next to you, gesturing to him to sit, to which he does.

“How was your day?" you prompt.

James sighs, leaning back on the bench, his hand casually resting behind you as he stares up at the sky. "Same old, same old," he starts, a familiar twinge of annoyance creeping into his voice. "You know how it is. Dinners with my parents, listenin’ to old men talk about businesses I'll never care about, trying not to fall asleep while they drone on about investments or land expansions. It’s all so posh."

You stifle a giggle, nudging him playfully with your elbow. "Posh? You sound like you're living the dream."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "If by 'dream,' you mean sitting there pretending to care while wonderin’ how quickly I can escape to see you, then yeah, it's an absolute dream," he quips sarcastically.

Sniggering, you bring your hand up to your forehead, acting distressed. "Oh, how tragic. The poor Lord James Howlett, trapped in a world of lavish dinners and fancy wine. Whatever will you do?"

"Mock me all you want, but it’s unbearable," he groans, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I hate it. All the stuffy clothes, the fake smiles, the way everyone acts like they're better than everyone else." He pauses for a moment, then glances sideways at you. "You're the only real thing here."

The sincerity in his words makes your heart flutter, and you’re suddenly grateful for the darkness hiding the faint blush creeping up your cheeks. Looking away, you try to play it off. "Well, if that’s the case, I guess I should charge you for my company," you tease coyly.

He lets out a huff of amusement, shaking his head. "I'll pay whatever price you want.”

There's a pause as you both sit in comfortable silence. Just then, a soft breeze sweeps through the garden, catching the edges of your nightgown and fanning it up slightly. Before you can even react, he swiftly moves his jacket from your shoulders to your lap, covering your legs. His hand lingers, making sure you're covered before he hastily wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against him.

The warmth from his body contrasts with the cool air, and you can't help but laugh softly at his sudden behaviour. "Wow, you really are a gentleman, James."

He tenses slightly, his grip on your shoulder loosening as he looks away, clearly flustered. "I—I just didn’t want you to get cold," he mumbles, his usual confidence faltering.

You smile at how shy he suddenly seems, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Thank you. It’s sweet."

For a brief second, he says nothing, but you can feel the way his heartbeat picks up just a little. Then, almost too quietly, he mutters, "I’d do anythin’ for you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you tilt your head to look up at him. But you can’t respond, because he clears his throat, looking down at you with a small, sheepish smile. "What about you? Any exciting adventures in the life of a future chief maid?"

Grinning, you recognize his attempt to shift the conversation, and decide to let it go for now. "Oh, you know, the usual. A thrilling day of dusting, folding linens, and trying not to spill tea on your mother’s favourite rug."

He chuckles, pulling you a little closer. "Sounds way more exciting than my day."

You hum in acknowledgement, letting the moment linger. Neither of you speak for a bit, just relishing being in each other’s presence. 

"So, do tell," you say after a while, breaking the silence, "if you could get away from all the fancy dinners and boring conversations, what would you do?"

He smiles slightly, his gaze still fixed on the star-filled sky. "I’d leave. Go far away from here, maybe somewhere quiet. Live in the countryside, where no one cares about wealth or titles." His eyes drop to meet yours. "Maybe you’d come with me."

You laugh gently. "And who would take care of your family if we both ran off?"

Shrugging, his expression grows more serious. "They don’t need me. They need someone who’ll do what they want—someone to follow in their footsteps. That’s never been me."

There’s a weight in his words, and you feel a pang of sympathy for him. You’re about to respond, to tell him you understand more than he realizes, when—

BANG.

Your body stiffens instantly, heart beginning to pound in your chest as you straighten up, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that?" James asks sharply. He turns to you, his face mirroring the confusion and unease you're feeling.

Shaking your head, you swallow the lump that’s forming in your throat. "It sounded like a gunshot."

The two of you stare at each other for a beat, then, right when you’re going to speak again, you hear it—his mother’s scream. It’s high-pitched, panicked, and it sends a jolt of fear through you both.

"Help!" she shrieks from inside the mansion. "James, help!"

Without a word, you bolt to your feet, the peaceful night forgotten as you rush back inside. Your heart is racing as your bare feet fly across the grass, nightgown fluttering behind you. James is ahead of you, moving fast, his expression shifting from confusion to pure fear.

As you reach the back entrance, your mind races with possibilities, none of them good. You burst through the door into the hallway, your breathing laboured from the sudden sprint. Something is terribly wrong.

"Mother!" He calls, his voice sharp with panic as he leads the way toward the main staircase. You follow close behind, anxiety coiling tight in your chest.

Once you get to the bottom of the stairs, you hear footsteps—heavy, hurried—and then you see her. Mrs. Howlett, wide-eyed and pale, comes hurrying down from the upper floor, clutching the banister for support. Her hands are trembling.

"James!" she cries. "Your father—he’s been shot!"

The boy beside you freezes, face going white. "What?" he breathes, disbelief etched into every syllable.

"He—he was in his study, and I—I heard the gunfire. I—I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who—" Her voice breaks, and tears stream down her face as she struggles to speak. "We need to get help!"

He doesn’t waste another second, taking off up the stairs, his long strides making quick work of the distance. You trail after him. How could this happen? Who could’ve done this?

When you reach the second floor, you see the study door slightly ajar, light spilling out into the dark hallway. James' hand wavers over the doorknob for only a moment before pushing the it open wide.

Inside, the scene is worse than you imagined.

There, slumped over his desk, is Mr. Howlett. His once pristine office now looks chaotic—papers scattered, a window broken, and blood, so much blood. A crimson stain is spreading across his shirt.

"Father," James chokes out, rushing to his side, his hands shaking as he reaches for him.

You stand paralyzed for a moment, the sight rendering you speechless, but then the adrenaline kicks in, and you move further into the room. Your mind is screaming at you to do something, anything, but all you can do is watch as James desperately tries to wake his father, calling his name again and again.

Trying to make sense of the horrific scene, your attention is dragged away by the sound of footsteps shuffling behind you. Thomas Logan, the groundskeeper, stumbles in, his movements clumsy, his face twisted with drunkenness. His bloodshot eyes are manic, and in his trembling hand, he’s clutching a gun—the same one that must have been used to end Mr. Howlett’s life.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Howlett yelps. "What are you doing?"

James turns sharply, still kneeling beside his father’s body, his expression hardening immediately. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Thomas lets out a low, slurred laugh, staggering further into the room. His eyes flick between you, James, and Mrs. Howlett, but his focus remains hazy. "I’ve had enough of this, enough of all of it," he mutters, waving the gun in the air. "Your precious mother thought she could keep the truth from you. But it’s time you knew the truth, boy."

"What truth?" The younger man demands harshly.

Swaying on his feet, he points the gun directly at James, his finger twitching dangerously on the trigger. "I’m not just the groundskeeper, you idiot," he snarls venomously, "I’m your damn father."

It’s as if the room has been put on pause. You feel the air leave your lungs, your mind scrambling to make sense of what you just heard. Glancing at your friend, you see the disbelief wash over his features, his eyes widening with shock, denial.

"No," he whispers, shaking his head, backing away slightly. "You're lying. You’re drunk."

But the older man just laughs, the sound hollow and bitter. "You think John Howlett was your father? That man never wanted you! He raised you because he had to, not because you were his. You’re mine, boy. My flesh and blood,” he jerks his head in the direction of Mrs. Howlett. “Go ahead, ask your mama."

You hear Mrs. Howlett begin to blubber in the background at the accusation, but your attention is solely on the boy in front of you.

Betrayal is written all over his face.

His breath quickens, and his hands clench into fists at his sides. You want to reach out to him, concern puling you forward, but then he lets out a scream—a sound so full of pain that you stop in your tracks.

"James!" you cry, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. His eyes squeeze shut, and his body convulses, as though something inside him is tearing him apart from the inside out.

The sickening sound of skin breaking fills your ears, and bone claws shoot out from his knuckles. They gleam in the dim light of the room, sharp and lethal. The sight of them is nauseating, but you’re unable to look away as James blinks, gazing down at his hands, dumbfounded.

"What—" he rasps, his chest heaving. "What’s happening to me?"

“What the hell is this?” Thomas sneers in disgust.  He stumbles, reaching for the wall to steady himself. “Figures... Of course my son’s a freak.”

“You were always a fuck-up,” he continues in his drunken rage. “Useless, soft... a disappointment from the start. Just like your mother. Look at you now, boy.”

“I’m not your boy,” James snarls through gritted teeth, rage building inside him. His eyes flash dangerously. It’s as if something inside him has snapped, some deep, instinctual part of him that has been lying dormant, waiting for this very moment.

“You’re right. You’re no son of mine. Just a goddamn mistake. Should’ve left you in the dirt with your—"

Before he can finish, a roar rips from James’s throat. So raw, so animalistic, you get goosebumps. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, and then, with terrifying speed, he lunges.

In an instant, his claws sink deep into Thomas’s chest with a thunk. The force of the blow sends the older man crashing back, disbelief and agony seizing his face as blood sprays across the room, spattering the walls and floor. His body thrashes, his hands weakly grasping at his son’s wrists, but there’s no strength left in him. 

A gurgling gasp bubbles from his throat, and then it's over. He collapses to the ground, lifeless, as James stands over him, claws retreating back into his skin. 

"James!" Mrs. Howlett screams, her voice piercing. "What have you done?!"

You don’t know how to react. You can’t process it, can’t breathe. All you know is that you need to get out of here—get James out of here, away from this nightmare before it consumes him. Without thinking, you rush to his side, grabbing his bloodied hand.

"We have to go!" you say urgently.

His eyes dart to you, frantic and unfocused but he doesn’t resist as you pull him toward the door. His mother's cries echo behind you, but you can’t stop, can’t look back.

You run—both of you—through the hallways, out the back door, and into the dark of night. The wind whips around you, stinging your face, but you don’t stop. You run until your legs burn, until you’ve entered the surrounding forest, and the Howlett estate is nothing but a distant shadow behind you. 

All the while, James’s hand stays locked in yours.

Branches scratch everywhere, at your arms, your face, and the underbrush tugs at your clothes as if trying to hold you back, but you push on. Only after the first light of dawn begins to creep in, does the exhaustion hit. Bodies aching and bruised, the two of you collapse beside a small stream. 

You’re on your back, catching you breath, when you tilt to your head to look over at your friend. He’s sitting down, with his hands out in front of him, leering at them. He struggles for air, his breaths coming in short, panicked bursts, and his clothes are torn, stained with blood—his father’s blood, Thomas’ blood. 

His claws are long retracted, but the scars of where they came out of his skin are there, fresh. 

"James," you whisper, but he doesn’t respond. Slowly, you crawl over to his side, pain flaring with each movement. When you reach him, you sit on your knees, looking up at him, trying to meet his gaze. You repeat his name, more firmly this time.

He finally looks at you, but he’s broken. His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a choked, almost inaudible, "What did I do?"

Your heart aches for him. Reaching out, you gently take one of his bloodied hands in yours, and as soon as your skin touches his, he flinches, pulling back slightly. "I killed him." he whispers, more to himself than anything. “I—I didn’t mean to, I swear I didn’t mean to!"

"Hey, listen to me," you say. "You didn’t know. You couldn’t have known this would happen."

"I killed him," he repeats. "I killed Thomas. I—" He glances down at his hands, at the scars along his knuckles, and his expression crumples completely. “He was my father.”

You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to fix this, but you know you have to try, so you wrap your arms around him. At first, he stiffens, but then he collapses to the ground, pulling you down with him. You land on top, your chest pressed against his as the weight of your bodies crashes into the soft earth. He squeezes you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded, his face buried in your shoulder as his breath comes in short, broken sobs.

"I didn’t mean to do it," he repeats, the words muffled against your skin. "Something just changed inside me. What am I? What am I turning into?"

“Hush," you whisper, moving one of your hands to brush his hair. "Look at me. Just breathe, okay? You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together, I promise."

His arms tighten around you, pulling you even closer. It’s overwhelming, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you let him hold you as tightly as he needs, your fingers gently stroking the back of his head, trying to console him in any way you can.

"I’m a monster," he whimpers. "What if I hurt you, too?"

"You won’t," you affirm, lips brushing against his ear as you whisper. "You’re not a monster. This… this thing that happened, it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still you."

Beneath you, his body shakes, overcome by emotion he holds onto you. Your forehead is pressed to against his, your breath mingling with his while you continue to whisper reassurances, telling him over and over that it’s going to be okay, that he’s not alone.

Minutes pass, maybe longer—you lose track of time as you lie there together. Gradually, his cries begin to quiet, his breathing slowing as the storm inside him starts to subside. His grip on you loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go fully, still cradling you in his arms.

Shifting, you raise your head to look at him. His eyes are red, his face pale, but he’s calmer. You start to pull yourself off of him, but as you're standing up, he grasps your hand again, and he looks at you with a tired, grateful expression, squeezing it gently as if to say everything he can’t put into words yet.

Then, you continue. Hand in hand, you move deeper into the forest. And finally, after a few more hours, you notice something in the distance. Through the trees, there are rooftops, small and clustered together, their chimneys trailing thin lines of smoke into the evening sky.

“A town,” you whisper, the first word you’ve spoken in hours.

He follows your gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the sight of the small mining town nestled in the valley.

In it, the people’s faces are etched with lines of hard labour and even harder lives, but still, you know you’ll be safe there. 

—

Initially, it’s difficult—this new life you and James have carved out is a far cry from the comforts of the Howlett estate. The town you’ve settled in is rough and unpolished. You both share a modest shack on the outskirts, a place that feels foreign and strange, but over time, it starts to become home.

He finds work in the mines almost immediately. The foreman takes one look at him, his broad shoulders and strong arms, and practically shoves a shovel in his hand without asking any questions. The job is tough, but it suits him. 

Every evening, he comes back to you covered in soot and dirt, his hands rough and calloused, his face lined with exhaustion. You can see the toll the work takes on him, how his body aches, but there’s something else too—a measure of peace that wasn’t there before. It’s as if he’s found a way to silence the chaos inside him, at least for a little while.

It’s not long before everyone in town begins to call him Logan, a name he offers with indifference when asked.

A new identity. 

Logan is a man who works hard, who keeps to himself, who doesn’t ask for anything more than a paycheck at the end of the week. 

Logan is a man who doesn’t need anyone, who can survive on his own. 

To you, he’s still James. 

In the quiet moments, when it’s just the two of you, he lets down the walls, lets you see through the façade. And when you whisper his name—James—he closes his eyes as if that one word alone soothes something deep in his soul.

After weeks of watching him silently carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, you offer him a rag to wipe his face as he sits down at the small table you’ve cobbled together from scraps. He takes it without a word, rubbing at the grime on his skin.

“You don’t have to do this forever, you know,” you say softly, leaning against the table as he tosses the rag aside. "There’s more to life than breaking your back underground."

He glances at you. "It’s all I’m good for now."

"You’re good for more than that," you reply walking up to him, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it, like he always does. "You can’t let what happened define you."

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives your hand a small squeeze, his eyes drifting to the floor as he mumbles, "What’s inside me… it’s different. You don’t know what it’s like."

You don’t argue. How could you?

The changes in him, the way his strength has grown, how his senses have sharpened, it all impacts him. He can hear things no one else can, smell the rain long before it falls, and even in complete darkness, he sees as clearly as if it were day. His powers are evolving, changing him.

But you know, deep down, that the man sitting in front of you is your friend—your James—no matter what he’s become.

You’ve seen him wrestle with the fear of what he might turn into, the fear of losing control, but you also see the man who leans into your touch, who lets you bandage his hands after long days in the mines, who presses his forehead to yours when the nights grow too heavy with silence.

And as your time together in the town goes by, there is a shift.

It starts with small things—a lingering glance, a brush of your fingers as you pass each other in the kitchen, the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

Then, it moves to bigger gestures. When you’d pack him his lunch fo the day, you slip in a small piece of parchment with a heart hastily drawn on it, or at night time, instead of falling asleep backs turned toward each other, awkwardly trying to ignore whatever tension is brewing, you fall asleep in his arms, and wake up the same way.

It gets to a point where you can neither of you can deny it. 

You’ve fallen in love.

—

It’s late, and you’re sitting by the fire outside the small cabin, waiting for him to return from one of his now-frequent disappearances into the woods. You used to worry about where he went, afraid he was distancing himself from you, so one night you followed him. What you found took your breath away—him, sitting out on a ledge, with some wild animals surrounding him. There was something in him that they must have recognized, a mutual respect that seemed to transcend anything human.

Since then, you’ve let him go without asking questions, trusting that those nights in the woods bring him the peace he can’t find anywhere else. But tonight, when he returns, he’s different. He doesn’t just brush past you to head inside. Instead, he sits beside you by the fire.

You turn to him, about to ask if everything’s alright, but the words catch in your throat when his hand cups your jaw. His grip is gentle, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to break the moment, but in his eyes, you find a longing, a yearning, that mirrors your own. 

His thumb brushes over your cheek, and for the first time in a long time, there’s no hesitation in his movements. Your heart stutters, and when he pulls you closer, you let him. His lips meet yours, careful at first, but as you kiss him back, you feel the stress drain from his body. 

The kiss deepens, slow, tender, and everything you’ve ever wanted.

—

The next few years are a kind of peaceful bliss you never expected. With each passing day, you and Logan seem to fall deeper into each other, the bond you share growing stronger, more intimate, like you’ve finally found the rhythm of the life you were always meant to have together.

Mornings are your favourite. He always wakes up first, moving quietly so as not to wake you, and he’s gotten into the habit of making you breakfast. You always sneak out of bed and snake your arms around him from behind, pressing your face into his back as he grumbles about you not getting enough sleep. “You’re always up too early,” he’d say. 

“I like being up with you,” you’d mumble in response, and he’ll turn around, his hands coming up to cradle your face, his eyes soft and full of that quiet, steady love he’s never really put into words. And then he’d kiss you like he has all the time in the world, even if he has to head over to the mines. 

On your days off from your job at the pub, you’ll spend hours together, finding little ways to enjoy the simplicity of your life. He will sometimes take you out to the woods behind the house, where you’d walk the trails together. He points out the different wildlife, the plants you don’t recognize, and you tease him about being a mountain man. He’d smirk, giving you that low, raspy chuckle that never fails to make your heart seize in your chest, and tug you closer to his side.

In the evenings, oftentimes, you sit together while you knit, something that started as a hobby but quickly became one of your preferred pastimes. He always pretends to be uninterested, but he’ll watch you anyway. “You’re getting good at that,” he’d say gruffly. 

“Want me to make you a sweater?” You smirk, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” he’d grumble, but you can tell he’s secretly pleased at the idea.

The town itself becomes part of your life together, too. You’ve made friends with the locals, joining a small knitting club. If he has time, Logan drops by the pub on your shifts just to check in, sitting at the bar with a beer and watching you work. When your gazes connect very now and then, he gives you that look—the one that says he’s proud of you, that he’s content.

“We’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs one night, holding you close. 

“Yeah,” you agree softly, kissing his cheek. “We really do.”

But, all good things must come to an end. 

The mining town, though small and isolated, isn’t immune to the tensions that fester beneath the surface. Harsh conditions, grueling work, and the endless grind wear people down, turning frustration into anger, and anger into violence. Fights break out often, especially in the saloon after a long day when men try to drown their sorrows in whiskey. You both have learned to keep your distance from such skirmishes, knowing nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

Still, one night, as you return home from your evening shift at the pub, you hear the unmistakable sounds of a brawl breaking out in the middle of the street. Shouts reverberate through the cold air, followed by the crash of breaking glass. Your heart races as you recognize the deep, guttural growl cutting through the noise—a sound you know all too well.

On impulse, you rush toward the commotion, dread pooling in your stomach. You know this won’t end well. Not here. Not for him.

When you reach the scene, your worst fears are confirmed. He stands in the centre of the chaos, fists clenched at his sides. Two men circle him, their faces twisted with drunken aggression, goading him. The small crowd that’s gathered seems almost entertained, too caught up in the spectacle to understand the true danger festering.

“James!” you shout, trying to get his attention, but to no avail.

One of the men—a burly miner you’ve seen around town a few times, always looking for trouble—lunges forward, his fist swinging. The punch connects with your man’s jaw, hard enough to stagger him back, but instead of falling, you see something shift in Logan’s expression. His eyes darken, his jaw tightens. Then, his claws slowly begin sliding out of his knuckles.

The crowd gasps, and the laughter dies immediately.

“Don’t come any closer,” he growls, his voice low and full of warning. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep control, but you can see the fire burning behind his eyes. He’s on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself.

But the miner, too drunk and furious to notice or care, spits on the ground. “Freak!” he slurs, venom lacing every word. “You think you scare me?”

He charges at Logan again, fists swinging recklessly. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you scream for him to stop. But it’s too late. Logan tries to pull back, to stop what’s about to happen, but the man is too close, too fast.

Everything slows down, the world moving in fractured seconds. Claws slice through the air, meeting flesh with a sickening thud. The miner gasps, his eyes widening in shock as he stumbles, clutching at his chest where the claws have sunk deep. Blood blooms around his hands, staining the dirt beneath his feet.

And suddenly, you’re thrust back into the past. You see James as he was all those years ago, his claws dripping with blood after killing Thomas. The memory crashes into you—the look of fear on his face, the horror in his eyes, the way he stumbled back, realizing what he’d done.

Just like now.

Logan’s eyes go wide, his expression mirroring that same devastation. He steps back, staring at the miner who crumples to the ground, gasping for breath. What follows is a deafening silence, the air thick with shock and disbelief. The townspeople that had been so eager for a show now stand frozen, eyes wide, faces pale.

The man gasps one last breath, then goes still.

Logan stares at the body at his feet, his claws still extended, still dripping with the man’s blood. His chest heaves, his breath shallow, and he mutters under his breath, barely audible, "Oh god… Not again."

You rush to his side, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Come on, let’s go home."

He doesn’t move. He’s locked in place, staring at the man he’s just killed. His hands tremble, the claws still out, and you can see the raw pain in his eyes as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in.

"I didn’t mean to," he whispers again, his voice cracking. "I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…"

—

That night, while you're sleeping, Logan makes his decision.

And when you wake up the next day, the space beside you is cold.

The shack feels too quiet, too still. 

All you can do is stare at the empty spot in your bed. You tell yourself that maybe he’s outside, chopping wood or he’s already left for work. But deep down, you know. 

Throwing on your boots, you don’t bother to change out of your nightclothes, and rush outside. His name is the first thing out of your mouth, sharp and desperate. "James! Logan!" Your voice barrels through the small yard, bouncing off the trees and fading into the cool morning air. 

There’s no answer.

Panic grips you as you search the familiar places—around the shack, the small trail he likes to take into the woods, by the creek where he often spends time when he needs to clear his head. There’s no sign of him.

No footprints, no lingering scent. Nothing.

The townspeople stare as you move through the streets. They know what happened. They saw the claws, the blood. And now, they see you—a reminder of the violence that tore through their quiet lives. But you don’t care about their judgment right now. You’re too focused looking for him, too frantic to worry about the whispers that follow in your wake.

"Have you seen him?" you ask one of the miners who had once shared a drink with him, but he shakes his head and pulls away from you, muttering something under his breath. Everybody keeps their distance, their faces closed off, avoiding your gaze. 

By the time the sun climbs higher in the sky, the truth settles in your chest like a heavy stone. He left. You wander the streets a little longer, until exhaustion finally forces you back to the shack.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even leave a note. The man who you shared your life with, who you fell in love with, is gone—and he isn’t coming back.

In the days that follow, everything changes. The people who once greeted you with a nod or a smile now avert their eyes when you walk by. They speak in hushed tones, voices thick with suspicion and disdain. 

Nobody cares that you had nothing to do with what happened in the street that night. To them, you’re guilty by association.

It starts slowly, but the gossip spreads like wildfire. Saying thinks like: you knew what Logan was all along, that you hid his secret, allowed him to kill their men. Their anger turns to you, and before long, you become the pariah—cut off, unwelcome, the person responsible for the death of one of their own.

The day they decide to exile you is gray and heavy, the sky thick with the promise of rain. No one has the decency to say it to your face. Instead, you wake to a note slipped under your door, the word leave scrawled across it in angry, uneven letters.

You pack what little belongings you have—a few clothes, some keepsakes from the life you left behind at the Howlett estate—and sling a small bag over your shoulder. Then, you walk away without looking back.

Stretching out before you is a desolate, abandoned looking road. Your legs ache with every step, your feet blistering inside your boots, but you don’t stop. The memories of Logan, the town, the life you tried to build together swirl in your mind.

The sound of a a horse whinnying pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to see a carriage approaching. The coachman—a man with kind eyes and a weathered face—slows as he pulls alongside you. His voice soft and cautious as he asks, "Need a ride?"

Nodding, you’re too exhausted to respond with words, and climb into the passenger seat. He doesn’t ask many questions, sensing perhaps that you’re a soul in need of silence more than conversation. He drives in quiet companionship, the horses' feet against the dirt the only sound breaking the stillness.

He takes you to the nearest town, dropping you off with a quiet wish for better days ahead. You thank him and give him a few coins. You’re standing on the edge of a new beginning, unsure of where to go next but knowing, with painful certainty, that the past is behind you now.

—

In this new place, you slowly begin to rebuild what you’ve lost. It isn’t easy—there are nights when the loneliness threatens to swallow you whole and days when the weight of losing your best friend feels too much to bear. Still, you find work at a small shop, rent a modest room in the quieter part of town, and painstakingly, you carve out a new existence. 

Though no matter how hard you try to move forward, he’s always there. A shadow, lingering in the corners of your mind. You can’t forget him—the way he looked at you with those intense, searching eyes, the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world, the way he left without a word. Your entire childhood, your early adulthood, revolved around him. He was the best part of your life. Every moment spent with him was cherished, imprinted in your memory like a brand you can’t erase.

Nights are the hardest. When the world is quiet, and it’s just you and your thoughts, that’s when the ache becomes unbearable. Each night, your mind drifts back to him. You tell yourself it wasn’t his fault—he must have believed he was protecting you by leaving. 

Maybe he thought you would hate him for killing another man with his claws, for unleashing the violence he tried so hard to contain. Maybe he thought you could never forgive him.

But the more you think about it, the more you realize: if he truly believed that, then he didn’t know you at all.

And that hurts. A lot.

You start to feel like him in some ways, burdened by secrets and anger with nowhere to go. More often than not, you slip out of the town in your nightgown and into the nearby forest, hoping the solitude will offer some kind of peace. It doesn’t, not really, but it’s better than suffocating in your room, choking on memories of what was and what could have been.

—

A year passes since the night he left, and you find yourself standing among the trees once again, lost in thought. It’s not fair—none of it is. You lost everything, and for what? Because you loved him? Because you could look past his mutation?

All of the emotions you’ve done a decent job at managing bubble to the surface, a torrent of grief and rage with nowhere to go. Mindlessly, you draw back your fist and slam it into the trunk of a nearby tree. The impact shoots a sharp pain through your arm, but it’s fleeting, drowned out by the rush of anger. You pull back to punch the tree again, harder this time, desperate for some kind of release.

But the tree doesn’t just splinter. It explodes. 

The force of your punch obliterates the trunk, sending shards of wood flying in all directions. You stagger back, staring at the destruction, stunned. What was just a tall, beautiful arbor is now reduced to nothing but rubble, the strength of your blow far beyond anything a normal person could achieve.

Your breath hitches when it dawns on you. You’re standing in the middle of the forest, surrounded by the evidence of your newfound power. You aren’t just grieving the loss of Logan anymore; you’re discovering that you are, just like him, a mutant.

Except, unlike him, you’re alone.

He’s not here to hold you, to help you make sense of what’s happening. He’s not here to run away with you like you once ran away with him. You have no one to share this terrifying revelation with. You have only yourself.

Looking down at your trembling hands, the faint ache in your knuckles nothing compared to the pain in your chest. It’s as if your heart is breaking all over again.

If you had known—if you had discovered this power when he was still with you—would things have been different? Would he have taken you with him? Would you still be together?

You can’t stop the questions, can’t silence the what-ifs that plague you.

Finally, the dam breaks, and you cry.

Pressing your fists against your eyes, you try to stifle the sobs, but it’s no use. The grief crashes over you in waves as the life you tried to build together all plays out in your mind like some twisted, unending loop.

—

The days bleed into one another.

Each is marked by the slow, steady march of time. You continue to live, to survive, but the discovery of your mutant powers changes everything, setting you on a path you had never imagined.

You learn that you can channel energy through your body, whether that be your emotions, or external, and then amplify it for your own gain. It’s a power that protects you, that makes you feel invincible, but the more you use it, the more distant you become from the life you once knew. 

And then there’s the other side of your mutation—the ability to heal others by absorbing their injuries. 

The first time you did it, it was an accident. 

You were closing up shop, and as you walked along the cobblestone roads, you saw a man lying face down. Instinctively, you quickened your pace, and crouched down beside him. Was he drunk? Dead? Gently, almost hesitantly, you reached out, placing your hand on his back with the faint hope that he was simply unconscious. Your intention was simple—just to check if he was breathing, to see if he would stir at your touch.

But the moment your fingers brushed his coat, a violent surge of pain exploded in your mind, like a thunderclap within your skull. The agony was so sudden, so sharp, that it nearly knocked you off your feet. 

It was more than pain—it was as though the man’s suffering had become yours, pulling you into his darkness. Your vision blurred, and for an instant, you could feel it. Blood. Hot and sticky, trickling down your forehead in a slow, steady stream. You raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, expecting to feel the warmth of it on your fingertips.

But there was nothing. No blood. No wound.

Just the phantom sensation of pain that wasn’t your own.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. You blinked, gasping for air, trying to steady yourself. When you looked down at the man again, he was stirring, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, and he sat up, as if waking from a long sleep. He looked up at you, confused but grateful, oblivious to the power you had just unleashed.

It feels like a curse, the pain of others transferring to you in ways that leave you gasping for breath. But over time, you learn to control it, to take on only as much as you can handle, and to let the rest fade away.

You never stay too long in one place. Town after town, you move, always careful to keep your powers hidden. The people you encounter are kind enough, but you never allow yourself to get close. You can’t afford to—not when the memory of him still haunts you, his absence a constant ache in your heart. 

What if they leave you too?

Every now and then, there are some nights of passion with a stranger, but you never find another lover, never allow yourself to even consider it. 

As the years slip by, and you move through life like a ghost, always on the fringes, never fully there. In the beginning, you don’t notice it—time is something you stopped paying attention to long ago. But then, one day, nearly ten years after he left, you catch sight of yourself in a mirror.

Your reflection stares back at you, unchanged, unmarked by the years that have passed. It’s as if time has forgotten you, leaving you suspended in a state of perpetual youth. This knowledge—that you could live indefinitely—fills you with a sense of purpose you haven’t felt in years.

So, when the First World War breaks out, you volunteer as a nurse, determined to use your abilities to save as many lives as you can. The troops who come to you are broken, their bodies ravaged by the horrors of war. You take their pain into yourself, healing them with a touch, until there is nothing left but faint scars—a reminder of what they have survived.

It’s during the Second World War that you first hear the rumours. Injured men speak in hushed tones of a man they saw—a soldier who seemed invincible, fighting with a ferocity that borders on the inhuman. They talk of claws—long, sharp claws that can cut through anything, and a healing ability that allows him to shrug off injuries that would kill anyone else.

Could it be him? Could he still be out there, after all these years?

You dismiss the thought almost as quickly as it comes. It can’t be. He would be dead by now, just like everyone else from your past. 

He is gone, and you are alone—that’s the truth you’ve come to accept.

—

Somewhere along the way, you meet Charles Xavier. You don’t know how, but he knows you. He knows you’re a mutant—how you helped in the war. And he wants you to join his team.

You’ve spent so long on your own, relying on your powers to survive, that the idea of joining a team feels foreign, almost impossible. But there’s something in his eyes, something in the way he speaks of his vision for the future, that resonates with you. This isn’t just about survival—it’s about making a difference, about using your powers to protect those who can’t protect themselves. 

And, perhaps, it’s also about finding closure.

Maybe you can help mutants who struggle with their identity, like he did. Maybe this time, you can stop them from running away from themselves, the way you wish you could have stopped him.

So you agree.

And when you arrive at the mansion, you’re introduced to the others who will become your teammates—Jean Grey, Scott Summers, Hank McCoy, and Ororo Munroe.

The early days are challenging. Learning to work as a team, to trust one another, isn’t easy, especially for you, after so many years of solitude. But a camaraderie that develops between all of you, and it feels right. You’re no longer just a group of shunned mutants—you’re a family, united by a common goal.

—

This mission is supposed to be simple—investigate a remote facility rumoured to have ties to illegal mutant experimentation. Charles had briefed the team before sending you out, warning that there might be danger but nothing you couldn’t handle as a group. You’ve faced threats before, so when you arrive at the facility, it’s with the usual caution but no real alarm.

The structure looks forsaken at first glance, the exterior covered in years of grime, windows cracked and dark. But as you all approach, something feels wrong. There’s an energy in the air, a hum of activity beneath the surface. You can sense it, and by the looks of the others, they feel it too.

“We should be careful,” Scott mutters lowly as his hand hovers near his visor.

Jean furrows her brows. “I’m sensing...something. There are people here. This place isn’t empty”

Your stomach twists, and once the team cautiously makes its way deeper into the facility, you start to hear it—the muffled sounds of machinery, the low hum of voices, and then...a scream.

You freeze.

You’ve heard that scream before, in the dead of night, in memories you’ve tried to bury.

James.

Without thinking, you push forward, your body moving on instinct as you race toward the source of the sound. The others call after you, but their voices fade into the background as panic claws at your chest.

The scream grows louder, more desperate, until you burst into a large chamber. And there, in the center of the room, suspended in a tank of bubbling liquid, he is.

His body is thrashing against the restraints that bind him, wires and tubes connected to his skin. Machines whir around him, injecting something into his body—something molten, silvery. 

A team of scientists in lab coats and armed guards surround the tank, all of them focused on the cruel procedure unfolding before your eyes.

You can barely breathe. The sight of him, after all these years—being tortured like this is too much. Pain and rage surge through you, and before you realize what’s happening, you’re moving again.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you scream.

The guards whirl toward you, but you’re already on them. The first one goes down with a single blow, your fist connecting with his chest and sending him flying into the wall. You barely register his body crumpling to the floor before you move on to the next. 

Behind you, Jean and Scott rush in, their powers flashing as they help subdue the remaining guards, but your focus is on the man in the tank, whose eyes are squeezed shut in pain, body convulsing. You can’t think straight—you can only feel the overwhelming need to make this stop, to save him before the experiment finishes. 

But it’s too late.

In a roar of destruction, he breaks free from the tank, glass and metal exploding outward in every direction. His eyes are wild, erratic, his mind lost to the pain and the transformation—he’s a force of nature now. A whirlwind of violence and fury.

You try to reach him, but Jean steps forward, her eyes glowing as she raises a hand. “I’m sorry,” she strains. Her telekinetic force slams into him, knocking him off his feet, and his body crumples to the ground, unconscious, the rage finally quieted.

Standing there, panting, your hands are shaking as you stare at his still form. You’re overwhelmed—by the sight of him after so many years, by the pain of seeing him like this, by the fear that you might lose him before you even got him back.

Scott places a hand on your shoulder, his voice gentle. “We need to get him out of here.”

You nod, unable to speak, and together, the team lifts Logan’s unconscious body and carries him out of the facility. The entire time, you keep your eyes on him, terrified that if you look away for even a second, he’ll disappear. When you finally make it back to the jet, Jean lays him on a stretcher, her powers keeping him sedated for the trip back to the X-Mansion. You sit beside him, your hand hovering just above his, too afraid to touch, too afraid to hope.

The jet lifts off, and your mind races with a thousand questions. 

How did he end up here? Why did they do this to him? 

But above all, one thought consumes you: He’s alive.

After all these years, after all the heartache and loss, Logan—James—is still here.

—

He remains unconscious for three days, his body healing from the horrific procedure he endured. You barely leave his side, watching over him as if your presence alone could somehow anchor him back to himself. His breathing is steady, but his face—it’s both exactly the same and entirely foreign to you. He looks like the man you’ve known and loved, but it’s what is on the inside that worries you.

You swallow hard, your gaze tracing the familiar lines on his skin. Where are you, James? you think. Are you still in there?

Jean had done a body scan soon after you brought him back to the mansion, and the results confirmed your worst fears: they’ve bound adamantium to his bones and buried his personality underneath the most powerful brainwashing you’ve ever heard of.

It’s devastating. Whatever relief you’d felt—if any at all—at finding him alive is now eclipsed by the crushing reality of what he’s become.

The day he is scheduled to wake, Charles calls a meeting. The team gathers in the briefing room, and you sit quietly in your chair, replaying everything that led up to this moment.

Following a seemingly endless stretch of silence from you, Charles clears his throat. “If you’re ready, perhaps you could tell us more about your history with him. It might help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

A deep breath fills your lungs as your hands clutch the table’s edge tightly. Talking about him, about everything you’ve been through together, feels like peeling at old wounds that never really healed. But you know it’s necessary. If anyone is going to help him, they need to know the truth.

“I met Logan—James, as I used to call him—over a hundred years ago, when I was very young” you begin, and you can see the surprise ripple through the room at the admission of your age. “We grew up together. My parents were servants at the Howlett estate, and I spent most of my childhood by his side. He was my best friend… and eventually, he became so much more.” Your voice cracks, and you pause for a moment, collecting yourself.

“After a tragedy involving his family, we ran away together. We lived in a small mining town for years, trying to find some semblance of a life, but things fell apart. He left, and I—I spent years trying to forget him, but I never could. He was—is—everything to me."

Jean leans forward. “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you,” she says softly. “But you need to prepare yourself for the possibility that when he wakes up… he may not be the man you remember, and not just because of how much time passed.”

You look up at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Charles before continuing. “The brainwashing they used on him wasn’t just designed to make him forget. It was meant to strip away his sense of self entirely. His mind was… broken down, piece by piece. What you saw back at the facility—his rage, his lack of control—that’s what’s left of him right now.”

Hank speaks next. “We’ll do everything we can to help him, but Jean’s right. You need to be ready for the possibility that he won’t recognize you. He might not even recognize himself.”

Nodding slowly, your heart sinks further and further with each word. 

“We have tools, ways to work through the brainwashing,” he continues, “but it will take time. And patience.”

“Time,” you echo quietly. “I’ve already waited so long.”

Ororo reaches across the table, her hand hovering near yours. “I know this is overwhelming. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re here to help.”

“I need to see him,” you whisper, your voice firmer than before. “When he wakes up, I need to be there.”

Charles nods gently. “Of course.”

—

When he finally stirs, it’s not a gentle awakening. His whole body jerks, his head whipping around in wild confusion. His breaths come in sharp, uneven gasps, and his eyes dart frantically across the room, taking in his unfamiliar surroundings, and just as his eyes finally land on you, he freezes.

And for a long moment, neither of you speak.

There’s a lump in your throat, and you wait with a bated breath for some flicker of recognition in his eyes, some sign that he remembers you—that he knows you.

But it never comes.

Instead, his gaze narrows, studying you. “Where the hell am I?” he grunts. “And who are you?”

It hurts more than you expected. You knew this might happen—Jean and Charles had warned you—and you thought you had prepared yourself, but it doesn’t make hearing it any easier. 

He doesn’t remember you. 

“Just take it easy,” you manage to say softly. “You’ve been through a lot, James.”

His eyes flicker with confusion as he shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "James?" he questions.

You quickly correct yourself. "Logan."

His hand instinctively goes to his chest, fingers brushing against his side as if testing for wounds that aren’t there anymore. “What is this place?” he asks again. 

“You’re at the X-Mansion,” you explain. “You were... rescued. We brought you here to heal.”

“Rescued.” he repeats dryly. “From what?”

You hesitate, unsure how much to tell him. How do you explain everything—the horrors of Weapon X, the brutal experiments, the torture that nearly destroyed him? You can’t even bring yourself to speak the full truth, not yet. 

“You were taken,” you say carefully. “By people who wanted to use you for something terrible. But we got to you before they could. You’re safe now.”

Logan lets out a short, bitter laugh, though there’s no humour in it. “Safe,” he mutters, his voice low and sarcastic. “Right.” He rubs a hand across his face.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing somethin’?” he mutters, his irritation growing. “Like... like there’s something important I should remember.”

Swallowing hard, your heart twists at his words. He is missing something. But you won’t tell him that now. He’s already grappling with so much, and the last thing he needs is the weight of your shared past thrust upon him before he’s ready.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice is gentle, coaxing. “It’s... normal to feel confused right now.”

Frowning, he runs a hand through his hair. “Like I’m supposed to believe that.”

“I know it’s hard to understand,” you say softly. “But it’ll get better. You’ll remember in time.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if he’s searching for answers that aren’t there. After a moment, he sighs, his eyes returning to yours. “Alright. Who are you, really?” he asks. “Why do I feel like I should know you?”

Because we grew up together. 

Because we were everything to each other. 

Because you were the one person I never stopped loving. 

“Just focus on resting,” you say, forcing a soft smile. 

He studies you briefly, as if trying to figure out whether or not to trust you. Then finally, he nods, thought you can tell he’s still wary “Yeah... okay.”

The awkward silence returns. 

“I should go,” you murmur, standing abruptly. The chair scrapes against the floor, the sound jarring in the quiet room. “You need rest.”

He doesn’t stop you, doesn’t ask you to stay. He just watches as you turn toward the door, and leave.

Your chest tightens painfully as you walk out of the room, the familiar ache of loss settling in once more. It’s worse this time, though—worse because he’s alive, and yet, in every way that matters, he’s gone.

You leave the room in a daze, your mind swirling with a storm of emotions. Your feet carry you down the hall, and before you realize what’s happening, you find yourself in the washroom. 

The moment the door clicks shut, your stomach lurches. You barely make it a toilet before you’re retching. Tears sting your eyes, and you brace yourself against the cold porcelain, gasping for breath as your body shakes with sobs.

Standing up and flushing, you walk over to the sink, and press your forehead against the mirror. How did it come to this? You found him, after all these years, but the person in that bed isn’t the Logan—it isn’t the James—you once knew. 

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to pull yourself together. It's not the time to breakdown, you think, and after splashing some water on your face, you turn toward the exit.

Pushing open the door, you’re met with the familiar gaze of Ororo. She stands in the hallway, her white hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes filled with something that feels like both understanding and pity.

Your eyes widen, caught off guard, not expecting to see anyone, least of all her.

“I saw you come in here,” she whispers empathetically, “but thought you might need a moment.”

You pause, trying to blink away the redness in your eyes, trying to pretend you’re stronger than you feel. But she sees through it. She always has.

“I’m fine,” you say, the words slipping out automatically.

Stepping closer, her gaze softens as she studies your face. “No,” she disagrees, “you’re not.”

The vulnerability you’ve been trying to keep at bay rushes forward again, threatening to swallow you whole. You open your mouth to argue, to brush it off, but the moment you meet her eyes, the words die in your throat. The pity, the compassion—it’s too much.

Silently, she reaches out, her hand resting lightly on your arm. It’s a small gesture, but it feels grounding.

“I saw him,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “He doesn’t remember me.”

“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m so sorry.” 

—

The next few days are a blur. You keep yourself busy—too busy—hoping that constant movement will keep the gnawing ache at bay. If you let yourself stop, if you let yourself think about what’s happened, the hurt would consume you, so you don’t stop.

Most of your time is spent in your room or the garden, taking refuge in the places where you can hide from everything, everyone.

Sometimes, you train, pushing your body past its limits in a desperate attempt to silence your thoughts. Every hit you land, every punch you throw, never feels like enough.

It’s easier this way, you tell yourself. Easier to avoid him, to pretend he never came back into your life. Because the alternative—watching him live here, knowing he doesn’t remember you, doesn’t understand what you once shared—that’s too painful.

You’d rather pretend he’s still a memory than face the reality that the man you love is here, but not really.

When you walk through the mansion, you see him from afar. You can’t help but notice how he’s begun to soften around the others, how the confused man who woke up in that bed is slowly adjusting to life at the mansion. He has daily appointments with Charles, who you imagine is sifting through his mind, doing his very best to retrieve something, anything.

While there is still a distance in his eyes, still a guarded edge to him, but you can see the small shifts—the way he listens when someone speaks, the faintest hint of a smile when Hank tries to crack a joke.

And sometimes, your eyes meet.

From across the room, you’ll catch him watching you. In those moments, your heart skips a beat, wondering if there’s a reason why he’s zeroed in on you specifically, but then he looks away, and it passes. You never approach him, never ask him how he’s feeling or if he’s starting to remember anything. You’re too afraid of the answer.

One night, you sit in the garden, letting the soft breeze play with your hair, eyes closed. 

“Mind if I sit here?”

The voice startles you, pulling you from your thoughts. Your eyelids flutter, and as you turn, your heart jolts upon seeing Logan standing at above you. And momentarily, it’s like you’re teenagers again—sneaking out at night into the gardens to talk. 

“Sure,” you nod, gently patting the space beside you, as you always did. 

He steps closer and sits down, though not without leaving a small space between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing you around,” he says after a beat.. He doesn’t look at you, his gaze focused on the flowers in front of him. “But... you’ve been avoidin’ me, haven’t you?”

A small laugh escapes you, bitter and self-deprecating. “You noticed, huh?”

“Yeah, not much gets past me. Even that one guy’s attempts at being a leader.”

Despite yourself, you snort. “Scott?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “He’s too easy. Guy looks like a human stoplight with those stupid glasses.”

You bite back a snicker, feeling like a teenager again. The banter, the lighthearted teasing—it makes it seem like maybe, just maybe, there’s still something left of the man you knew.

He turns his head slightly, his expression growing more serious. “You know, I’ve been trying to figure it out,” he says, quieter now. “Why it feels like something’s missing. Every time I see you... I know you’re related to it.”

Shifting a little to look at him, you take in the way his facial hair is a little bit more kempt, how he still has his hair tufts. You miss him, and he’s right here with you. 

“I... thought it would be easier,” you admit, staring down at your hands. “For both of us. If I kept my distance. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

Frowning, his brows furrow as he processes your words. “Add to it? How?”

“Because you don’t remember me,” you say softly. “And I didn’t want to be a reminder of something you can’t recall.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then, “you’re right. I don’t remember everything,” he says slowly, “but I know there’s something about you.”

You nod, your throat tight, but you don’t push him. You know it’s only a matter of time before the pieces fall into place. “You’ll remember,” you whisper. “I know it.”

He grunts. “I don’t want you to keep your distance.”

“I won’t. Not anymore.” The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you, fills you with joy.

—

For the next few weeks, it becomes a quiet routine—the nightly conversations in the garden. It’s like slipping into an old rhythm, the two of you always finding a way to gravitate toward each other once the sun goes down. You talk about small things, but it's never too heavy. Sometimes he teases you, and you tease him back, exchanging sarcastic quips. Nothing and everything has changed at the same time.

You’ve started training together too, spending more and more time together each day. It’s almost as if there’s a magnet between you that not even time could weaken.

This night, you’re in the gym together on the sparring mat. It’s the usual scenario playing out—dodging, blocking, throwing punches. He’s fast and strong. And it means a lot to see you see him finally embrace his mutant powers and use them, rather than try to hide and run. 

You’re both breathing hard, the exertion pushing your bodies to their limits. You land a solid kick to his side, and he grunts, stepping back for a moment. Without warning, his claws extend, and your gaze locks in on them.

Of course you know about the adamantium, but seeing it like this, so up close, it’s different. 

“What?” Logan asks, noticing your sudden stillness. His brow furrows, and he glances down at his claws, as if he’s only just realizing they’re out. “What are you staring at?”

“Does it hurt?” you question, clearing your throat. “When they come out?”

He tilts his head, his gaze flicking between you and his claws. “Everytime” he sighs. “But not as much as the old ones.”

Your eyes snap up from his claws to meet his. “... What?” you ask. The old ones?

“They were bone,” he continues, “Hurt like a bitch.”

Your heart starts pounding in your chest. Could this be it? Could he be remembering?

Stepping closer, your voice trembles slightly as you push for more. “What else do you remember?”

His eyes widen, and then he blinks, his stare glazing over for a second, like he’s trying to chase down a memory that’s just out of reach.

“I… I don’t know,” he admits with a bit of frustration. His claws retract, his hand flexing unconsciously as he stares at the empty space where the blades once were. “It’s all bits and pieces. I get these flashes, but nothing sticks. Charles said... he said the barriers in my mind are comin’ down, but it’s slow. Like finding a damn needle in a haystack.”

But the fact that he remembers even a sliver, is enough to fill you with hope.

—

This continues, the small fragments of memories coming back to him. They come unexpectedly, at random times in the day. It’s never anything big, never the full flood of memories you’re hoping for, but each time it happens, it feels like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

You suggest a walk one afternoon. The mansion has felt a little too closed in lately, and you think maybe the fresh air might help clear his mind. Together, you wander along a little pathway that connects the mansion to a nearby river, the sound of the water in the distance a soothing backdrop as you walk side by side. He’s quiet, more so than usual, and as you glance at him, you notice his expression has grown distant.

“Logan?” you ask softly, nudging his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to fit together pieces of a puzzle, his thoughts distant, swirling. “I remember…” he starts, his voice quiet, as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you.

Your fingers begin to twitch at your side. Every time he remembers something, it feels like you’re standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to see if he’ll fall into the past, if this will be the moment he remembers it all.

“A cabin,” he says finally, his voice rough but certain. “There was a shack. In a small town. I used to stay there.”

You nod, urging him to continue, anticipated building within your chest. “Go on.”

“It was small. Cold most of the time. But I don’t think I cared.” He lets a chuckle. “I liked it. Felt... peaceful.”

You can’t help but smile a little at the memories he’s bringing up. His steps falter, and he stops in the middle of the path, turning to look at you. “Mining,” he mutters, as if the word itself is triggering something. “I remember mining.”

“That’s good,” you say. ‘I’m happy for you.”

—

The memories keep coming.

You’re in the mansion, passing through one of the long hallways together on your way to eat, when he suddenly stops, his hand reaching out to steady himself against the wall. You turn, concern flooding through you. “Are you okay? What is it?”

He frowns, his eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to force something into focus. “There was a girl.”

“A girl?” you repeat, not wanting to push him but unable to stop the question from spilling out.

“Yeah,” he confirms. “In a big house—like a mansion, I think. We'd play together. She was... she was always following me around. Always gettin’ into trouble.”

You know exactly who he’s talking about.

“Do you remember her name?” 

Shaking his head, you can see the frustration etched onto his face. “No. But she must have been important, I can feel it.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to hold yourself together. It was me, you want to say. That little girl was me.

“It’s okay,” you say instead, your hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You’ll remember. You’re already so close.”

He looks at you then, his eyes searching yours for something—answers, reassurance. Once a few seconds pass, he sighs and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how you put up with this,” he grumbles lowly. “With me.”

“Because I know you,” you whisper back. 

To have a chance at another lifetime with him, you’d put up with anything. 

—

He’s busy with Jean and Charles this morning, the duo having started to work together last week, trying to finally break down the wall stopping Logan from recovering his memories. With nothing else to occupy you, you’ve retreated to the mansion’s library, seeking solace in the endless rows of books. The familiar smell of paper and ink is comforting, and for a while, you manage to lose yourself in the words on the page. 

You’re curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, a book resting in your lap, when your ears pick up the sound of heavy footsteps—fast, purposeful, ringing out through the mansion’s quiet halls.

Concern rises in your chest. Those footsteps aren’t casual; someone is rushing, and you’ve been around long enough to know that in here, that usually means something’s wrong.

Setting the book down on the small table beside you, you stand and head toward the entrance of the library. The sound grows louder, the footsteps coming closer, and just as you reach the doorway, you collide with a solid wall of muscle.

"Ho—holy sh—" you gasp, stumbling back, startled. Your hands fly to steady yourself, and you look up, wide-eyed, to see Logan standing there. "Logan, you scared m—"

“James.”

You still. 

"What?" you whisper, your mind racing as you stare at him. His face is different—not just the usual irritated-by-himself expression he’s been wearing lately, but something else. There’s a certainty in his eyes, relief and maybe even—

“My name is James,” he repeats. “I was born in Alberta. We grew up together. I... I killed my father.” His voice falters slightly at that, but he pushes through, his gaze locked on yours, unwavering. “You were the little girl in the mansion. You’ve always been there. And I—” His eyes brim with emotion. “I love you.”

The words slam into you, leaving you breathless. You can feel the blood drain from your face, your heart jumping so hard it feels like it might burst. “You... you remember?” You’re barely able to get the words out.

Logan—James—stares at you. “I remember everything.”

A sob escapes your throat, and you throw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as the floodgates open. His arms come around you immediately, holding you tight, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so damn sorry. I should have never left. I should have gone back to find you.”

You shake your head, tears soaking into his shirt. “It doesn’t matter,” your voice breaks. “None of that matters anymore. We’re together now. That’s all I care about.”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that won’t stop falling. There’s so much love—so much everything—in his eyes, your knees nearly buckle. All you do is hold on to him, as tightly as you can, afraid that if you let go, this moment will slip away.

But it won’t, because he’s really here, he remembers, and he still loves you.

For what feels like hours, you stand there in the hallway, wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually, you take a small step back, unwrapping your arms and instead grabbing his hands, squeezing them. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He squeezes your hands back in return. “Yeah, we do.”

—

You sniffle, wiping away the last of your tears as you lie in bed with him, pressed so close it feels like you’re trying to merge into one person. His warmth surrounds you, his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, hands drawing small circles. It’s like all the years apart never happened, like you’re finally back where you’re meant to be.

“So, what made it all come back to you?” you ask softly, your voice a bit hoarsefrom all the crying you’ve done in the last hour.

James takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I guess having two strong telepaths diggin’ around in your mind will do the trick,” he responds. “Shit was brutal, but... worth it.”

Tilting his head down, he presses a small kiss to your temple. If even possible, you nestle yourself further into his hold. 

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whisper. “All those years... I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Same for me. Thought I lost you too,” James murmurs, his hand running gently up and down your back. “After I left the cabin, I tried to forget. Tried to convince myself you were better off without me, but...” He trails off. “I was wrong—a coward. I shouldn’t have been runnin’ away. Especially from you.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his. “What did you do all those years? Where did you go?”

He lets out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “I wandered. For a long time, I didn’t stay in one place. Fought when I had to, drank when I couldn’t forget. Got into a lot of trouble.” He grimaces slightly. 

You frown. “What kind of trouble?”

“The kind where people like me aren’t supposed to be walking free,” he remarks bitterly. “I gave into the monster I thought I was.”

His words sink in, and you can feel the toll those years took on him, the way they left him scarred, not just physically, but emotionally. “It must have been so hard,” you whisper, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “Living like that, without... anyone.”

Leaning into your touch, “Yeah,” he admits. “It was. But... I didn’t know how to live any other way. Not after everything that happened.”

There’s a long pause, the two of you lying there, bodies tangled together as you both process the weight of what’s been lost and what’s been found. Then, he kisses the inside of your hand, looking at you with a faint, curious smile.

“What about you?” he asks softly, tugging you closer. “When did you... ya know, find out you were a mutant?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really talked about that part of your life to anyone, at least not in detail. 

“I didn’t know for about a year,” you begin. “After you left, I was... lost. And then one day... I punched a tree.”

James raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting that. “A tree?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the seriousness of the memory. “Yeah. I was angry—angry at everything. And when I punched it... the damn thing exploded.”

He stares at you for a moment, processing your words. Then, a slow, amused grin spreads across his face. “Exploded, huh? Guess that’s one way to find out you’re not normal.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Yeah, it wasn’t exactly subtle.”

His smile fades slightly. “What did you do after that?”

Taking a deep breath, you let the memories of those early days as a mutant flood back. “I tried to keep it hidden for a while. Didn’t really know what to do with it. But then... the wars started.”

Eyes narrowing, his expression changes instantly. “The wars?”

Nodding, you continue. “Yeah, the First and Second. I volunteered as a nurse. I figured if I could use my powers to help people, then maybe I could make up for everything I lost. I moved station to station, healing soldiers. I couldn’t save everyone, but I tried.”

He’s momentarily quiet, gaze never leaving yours, even as he processes what you’re telling him. Then, slowly, his features shift into disbelief.

“You were on the frontlines?” His voice low, almost incredulous. He reaches out to brush a few strands of hair out of your face. 

“Yeah. I wanted to make a difference.”

Letting out a sharp breath, James sits up slightly in bed as he stares at you. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “I fought in those wars, too. In the trenches.”

You’re speechless, and the realization washes over you slowly. The whisperings you’d heard from the troops, the rumours you’d chalked up to be nothing more than drunken tales, suddenly come flooding back. A man who couldn’t be killed, who healed from every injury, who fought with claws that could tear through anything.

It was him.

It was always him.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “So it was true…all those rumours about the man who couldn’t die... that was you.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Guess it was.”

All those years, all those battles... and you were both there, so close, yet so far apart. 

“We were so close,” you say, moving forward in to give him a kiss. “And we didn’t even know it.”

He kisses you back, his grip on you tightening. Then, when you pull away, he sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “It’s all so different now,” he begins gruffly. “You’re not the little maid in training anymore, runnin’ around that mansion, worried about getting caught”

You smile faintly at the memories of your younger selves, the girl you used to be, and the boy who was so much more to you than just a young lord. 

“And you’re not sir James Howlett or whatever—Lord—anymore” you tease. “You’ve come a long way from the boy who used to sulk in the garden because he had to attend another dinner party.”

He lets out a noise that sounds like a mix between a huff and a laugh “Yeah,” he agrees. “That feels like a lifetime ago. And in a way, I guess it was.”

While neither of you are the same people you once were, in this moment, you can feel that connection—the one that has always been there.

“I’ve thought about you every day,” he speaks up again. “All those years.”

“James…”

“I love you,” he confesses. “And I’ve loved you my whole life. Before we ran away, after I left, even after I thought you were gone... I couldn’t forget. Didn’t want to.” He sucks in a harsh breath, grabbing your hand once more. “I shouldn’t have left. I should have stayed. We could’ve figured it out together, but I was so... so damn scared. I thought if I stayed, I’d only hurt you.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes again. “You did what you thought was right,” you whisper, intertwining your fingers. “You were scared, and so was I.”

“I wish I could take it all back,” he says, regret bleeding into his tone. “I wish I could’ve been there for you... We could’ve had so many more years together.”

“We have time now,” you say softly, assuring him. “We have all the time in the world to make up for it.”

He doesn’t respond verbally, but rather he edges forward, brushing his lips softly against yours. “I love you,” he murmurs before closing the gap completely, kissing you passionately.

You smile against his lips, because while he may be known as logan, or Wolverine, he’s still James.

Your James. 

----

A/N: I'm going to have to either write some crazy smut or excessive fluff now because this took it out of me LOL also I hope none of you got confused with the name switching! Thank you so much for reading <3

[twilightkitkat]

I know people normally brand Wade as The Funny One, but can we talk about how they'd be as a comedic duo? While flirting? While fighting?

People oftentimes tend to stereotype Logan as The Straight Man, the guy who keeps a serious face no matter what. And while sometimes that can be true, if you look at his characterization in the movies and comics, that isn't always the case. I think that because his humor is more subtle and down-to-earth than Wade's they tend to overlook it entirely.

Wade's humor is more obnoxious and in-your-face. He uses a cheerful, dramatic tone to cue you in that he's trying to be funny. He makes pop culture references and rambles on and makes constant, non-stop commentary. He's meant to be entertaining and funny because it's his brand to be insane and nonchalant even in the face of danger.

Logan, on the other hand, has this very blunt, sarcastic humor. The type that requires you to think a second to get it. He'd make little quips and jabs, but either with a straight face or barely there grin, so it's harder to tell he's joking. His tone of voice is more deep and gruff, which we don't typically associate with being humorous, but he does tease enemies and joke and throw their lines back in his face and goad them.

These two together would drive everyone up the wall.

Everyone (the X-men, the enemies, Wade's friends) assumed that their interactions would be Wade making crude, obnoxious jokes and Logan telling him to shut up or acting annoyed but... that doesn't happen? Instead, Logan quietly laughs at Wade's antics or, even more shockingly, joins in.

Logan gets Wade's humor—relishes in it, even. He would find Wade funny when he makes stupid jokes at all the wrong times because he does it too but nobody pays attention because it flies over their head or he's too intimidating for them to really register his words.

(The only reason Logan was more serious in the movie was that he was a grieving, broken man who thought he was responsible for the deaths of his family. He felt completely alone. And yet, even then, he played along to some extent with Wade's jokes and acted baffled rather than genuinely annoyed unless it was a super inappropriate moment. And you could tell he found Wade funny and liked him talking by the end of the movie.)

These two would be sitting across the table and Wade would make some stupid joke and Logan would add onto it, straight-faced.

Wade would gasp and clutch his chest dramatically at someone taking the Ketchup from him before he was done and whine, "How could you!? The betrayal! I thought I could trust you, this is a crime of the highest degree! I should have you canceled on Twitter for the atrocities you just committed."

And Logan would shake his head, stoicly, and reply, "It isn't cool to steal, man. It feels good in the moment but you hurt other people."

And everyone would sit there like what the fuck? Did Logan just... play along with Wade?

(Logan was biting his cheek to not grin at their confused faces and Wade was practically cackling to himself.)

It'd be even funnier when they're fighting villains together.

"Watch out, babygirl! Daddy's going to save you!" Deadpool would scream, as he lunges in to stab the enemy as they have Logan pinned to the ground.

"Well, 'Daddy' needs to do a better fucking job at it," Logan would grunt as he threw the guy off himself.

Logan would be snarky, because that's his personality and sense of humor, but he'd play along. He'd commit to the bit so hard that the enemies would stop attacking for a second just to look at each other like, "Are you seeing this???"

"Wolvie, what did I tell you about your greasy tits? If you wanted to be a prostitute you could at least tell me so we could start an Onlyfans and monetize it," Wade would say after Logan's shirt got shredded in a fight.

"I'm not giving you a fucking cent of my Onlyfans money," Logan would grunt as he continues fighting.

"That's unfair! I'd be the best photographer out there, you need to pay me my fair share! This is a worker's rights violation!"

"Yeah, well, I'm the pornstar. I'm the one doing all the heavy lifting, you aren't entitled to shit."

And everyone would be like???? Did The Wolverine have an Onlyfans? Since when? And where could they find it—

It'd be funny to see them tear down the self-esteem of a villain together as they fought them.

"You look like Simon Cowell got dipped in a vat of acid and then grew out a mullet and got it cut by a 5-year-old on America's Got Talent just because their mom died of cancer," Wade would laugh and point at their appearance.

"That's being generous. At least Simon Cowell was attractive. More like a fucking muppet," Logan would add on.

And then they'd fight over whose interpretation was correct while the villain just stood there and took out a mirror to look at themselves because?? They didn't think it was that bad?? (It was.)

It'd actually give them the edge in fights because they'd baffle the villains so much. They'd either make them pissed off at not being taken seriously and therefore more sloppy, or just make them insanely self-conscious. Win-win.

Eventually, word on the street got around that Wolverine and Deadpool were a brutal duo. Verbally. There'd be villains telling stories about how they were disrespected and maybe an emotional support club "Fought Deadpool and Wolverine and survived on the outside but died on the inside."

They'd be a peak comedy duo that would become notorious for their chemistry (both in their fighting style and commentary).

[missberrycake]

I’ve been thinking this morning about if Steve didn’t get back together with Nancy at the end of S1—I think there’s a lot of different ways that could go, but what if Steve ended up as one of Eddie’s lost little sheep?

Because even if Steve was popular enough to keep afloat in the choppy waters of high school, after his bust up with Tommy and Carole—and even when he’s seen talking with Nancy and Jonathan Byers of all people—he still doesn’t really have any true friends left. Sure, he has people he can chat to in class, but at lunch? After school? Nobody is really thinking about who ex-jock, ex-bully Steve Harrington is hanging around with. 

Perhaps he spends the rest of his junior year dreading lunch hour, because he knows he’s going to have to deploy some serious charm tactics—taking as long as he can in the queue, chatting to the students either side of him—and perhaps if he lingers long enough at one of the tables of his more social classmates, pretends he’s just catching up, carrying on a conversation from class, he can make it seem like it’s all still as easy as it was before. 

Sometimes, though, he doesn’t have the energy to pretend. On those days he’ll retreat quietly to his car and eat his lunch behind his wheel, wondering how different it might have been if he’d never gone back into the Byers’ house that day last fall.

It’s on one of those days that Eddie sees him. It’s not like Eddie hadn’t noticed him before, he’s always on the lookout, after all, and Steve Harrington is one of those people who always drew his eye. He’d seen him scouring the cafeteria while queueing up for his state-mandated mac ‘n’ cheese, searching for a space where he could fit. 

And, of course, he’d heard the whispers about Steve—that he’d punched Tommy H in the face, gotten his crown beaten from his head by Jonathan Byers (though he didn’t seem to hold a grudge). If there’s one thing to know about Eddie, it’s that he’s a bleeding heart, and so when he sees Steve sitting alone in his car, winter frost glittering against the metal, he lets out a heavy sigh and trundles over. 

“Hey, Harrington,” he says, pushing down a smirk when Steve jumps (he is easily startled these days, isn’t he?).

“Munson,” Steve replies with narrow eyes. He doesn’t trust Eddie yet, not entirely. 

“There’s more space in my van. If you wanted some company.”

Eddie leaves it like that, keeps it casual, knows that he might get it shoved right back in his face—expects it to be, even. And so he’s surprised at how quickly Steve nods back at him, a real smile breaking out on his face, if only for a moment, until Steve clears his throat and says, “Sure, yeah. That’d be cool, I guess.”

It’s the start of something big. A delicate balance where the two of them pretend that it’s not that important, but somehow they’re more honest with each other than they’ve ever been with anyone else. Steve tells Eddie all about how he doesn’t even really know who he is anymore, and in return Eddie shares just how worried he is that he knows exactly who he’s expected to be, and that he can’t change his fate even if he wanted to.

By the time the next school year starts, it’s well established with the school population that Steve Harrington has somehow landed himself with an honorary spot in the Hellfire Club. He doesn’t play—refuses to learn, even if it’s clear that he’d do pretty much anything else that Eddie Munson would ask of him—but he helps set up the meetings, sits with them at lunch, smiles stupidly whenever Eddie gets up onto the cafeteria tables to rant about the shallow-mindedness of his peers. 

And if Eddie’s diatribes are directed at the popular crowd with a little more venom than they used to be, and if he seems to take great pleasure whenever Tommy H, or Carole, or those posers on the basketball team frown and scoff and sneer at him, it’s no great secret to everyone else in the lunch hall exactly why. 

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[liketolaugh-writes]

Sick Day Once A Year

I might be too much in love with the Death Echoes trope. So, have a whole bunch of Bruce taking care of Danny. It's basically a sickfic with extra hurt/comfort.

It takes place in the same verse as More Like Home but probably won't happen until after the plot of that fic is done. At this point, Danny has been living with Bruce for a little under a year.

-----

At noon, Alfred called Bruce to ask him to come home early. Bruce turned around and walked out of the board meeting without even looking at anyone, but did throw a distracted 'family emergency!' over his shoulder. He might have carefully cultivated his airheaded Brucie persona, but even then people knew that he took his kids seriously.

He ignored the board member that grumbled 'enough fucking family to have an emergency every day if he wants.'

"What is it, Alfred?" Bruce asked, once he was clear of the board room and in the elevator. Calm. Calm. No running. Brucie doesn't run.

"Master Danny declined to specify the nature of his sick day this morning," Alfred said, in a dry tone that didn't do a bit to hide the worry underneath it. "Apparently the anniversary of one's death is rather... physically harrowing for a ghost. He's admitted that he'd like to have you here."

But of course he hadn't asked for it, because that would require bringing up what he was. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Ten minutes at most."

"I'll let him know. Come prepared to spend several hours in his room, if not the rest of the day. He indicated that he may be well enough to eat by eight or nine o'clock, but even then..."

Meaning he expected to be debilitated until then. "Understood. Should I bring anything?"

"He's not aware of anything that will help, but some topical analgesic might be of use. I will see if I can find anything else to try."

"He's in pain?" Bruce's brow furrowed. Alfred hesitated before answering, which made Bruce's heart sink.

"He is... physically reliving his death, he says, and will be for most of the day. He is in quite a bit of pain."

"These kids will be the death of me," Bruce muttered. Danny hadn't even hinted at anything like this when he asked for the day off. Bruce made a mental note to keep him off patrol the next night as well. The elevator stopped, and he took off at as quick a walk as he dared. "I'll be there in ten."

"Yes, Master Bruce." Alfred hung up, hopefully to return to Danny.

On the way, he collected a few items that seemed promising: IcyHot cream in the strongest available formula, both heat and cold packs, a variety of compression bandages, and some muscle relaxers from the Batcave infirmary.

Bruce knocked on Danny's door. Cool air drifting out of it indicated either Danny or Alfred had turned the thermostat down lower than usual. Fortunately, Bruce had grabbed a jacket just in case.

"'M in," Danny mumbled, barely loud enough for Bruce to make out.

He pushed the door open and was unsurprised to see Alfred seated beside a miserable-looking Danny. He was surprised to see Danny in ghost form, as it wasn't a form he typically spent recreational time in, particularly when he was unwell. Perhaps it made the ordeal easier. Danny was curled up in his bed, on top of the covers, with his jumpsuit removed and a set of soft pajamas in its place. Alfred was running one hand through Danny's soft white hair, slow and comforting, while his other held one of Danny's.

"Hey, chum," Bruce called out quietly, drawing Danny's attention to him. "Heard you're hurting today." Danny hummed unhappily instead of denying it, which was concerning. "Think you'll be able to eat anything for lunch? Applesauce, bone broth, yogurt? Maybe with ectoplasm?" Danny didn't seem to have any intention of leaving ghost form.

Danny started to shake his head, but stopped to consider when Bruce brought up the last point. "Applesauce and ectoplasm," he mumbled. "Maybe. Nothing after like, two, though."

Alfred gave Bruce a warm smile and gently extracted himself from Danny. "I will see to it," he promised. "Do you need anything else, Master Danny? Master Bruce?"

Danny shook his head mutely, and Bruce said, "I'll text you an update once we've tried these." He hefted the bag he was holding. "If you could bring me lunch when you can, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course," Alfred promised. "I hope you feel better, Master Danny."

"Thanks, Alfie."

Alfred left, shutting the door gently behind him, and Bruce took his place, setting the bag at his feet for now. Danny didn't stir from his leaden sprawl, not even to lift his head.

"You didn't have to leave work, y'know," Danny mumbled, half into the pillow. "I'll be okay."

He didn't apologize, Bruce noted. That was progress. "I know I didn't have to. But someone should be here with you."

"I don't-" Danny choked, his hands squeezing into fists as his whole body shuddered and jerked as if tased. Danny panted through the spasm, his whole body rigid, and when it was over he slumped down and let out a weak moan of pain, making no attempt to continue arguing. It took Bruce a moment to remember to breathe, reminding himself forcefully that this was no attack.

"I brought you some stuff," Bruce said, softer. Danny grunted in discontent. Bruce leaned down and opened the bag anyway. "IcyHot lidocaine cream and muscle relaxers." Danny shook his head without looking. Bruce wasn't surprised. He hadn't realized Danny was in ghost form. "Both heat and cold packs." Danny hummed in mild interest but didn't open his eyes. "And compression bandages."

Danny blinked his eyes open to consider them. His usually neon eyes looked dull. "Worth a try," he muttered after a moment.

Good. Something was better than nothing. "Do you need help sitting up?"

Danny's mouth quirked in a dry smile. "Not yet."

He pushed himself up with a grunt, and shrugged off his pajama shirt with intangibility rather than lift his arms. Bruce had to suppress an immediate and visceral reaction to the glowing lines that coiled up his left arm, which he had only gotten glimpses of before; a telltale Lichtenberg permanently etched onto Danny's ghost form. In contrast to the rest of him, which had dimmed to about the light of a glowstick, the Lichtenburg mark was painfully bright.

"Where do you want these?" Bruce asked, lifting one of the rolls of elastic bandaging. Danny cocked his head and considered it. Then he gestured silently, indicating his left arm from his wrist to his shoulder, and twisted to give Bruce access. With the ease of long practice, Bruce started to wrap it. "Anything I should expect?"

Danny watched him unroll the bandages for a minute, around and around, getting halfway up Danny's forearm before he answered. "The pain comes in waves. They'll keep getting longer, more severe, and closer together until around four, and then they'll die down completely about two hours after that." He paused, watching Bruce loosen the bandages around his elbow before moving on. "It won't ever get as bad as actually dying, but it's still pretty bad. And I'll be really emotional for a lot of it, especially when it hits peak."

"When are you not." The words were out before Bruce could think twice about them. Fortunately, Danny laughed, tired but genuine.

"You've got me there. How many rolls of bandages do you have?"

"I brought three. Alfred can obtain more if necessary." Pretty bad, Danny said. Bruce had no desire to experience pain that Danny described as 'pretty bad.' His tolerance was high even for their family.

Danny shook his head. "That should be okay. Can you do my back too?"

"Yes, but I'll need to be closer." Danny scooted to make room, and Bruce shifted to sit next to him, then tapped a spot low on Danny's spine. "Starting here?" Danny nodded. "Alright. Is there anything else I should know?"

Thankfully, Danny seemed to genuinely think about it, but eventually he shook his head. "I've only had two of these," he reminded Bruce. "There's more stuff I don't know, probably."

Ah yes, a frustrating constant. The elusive nature of comprehensive information about ghosts. Even Constantine had large gaps in his knowledge, which Bruce would grudgingly admit was rare for the man. This? This was definitely not in the introductory handbook. Was Bruce now obligated to share information in return? Hn.

Danny squinted at him. "What did Constantine do now?" he asked.

"Constantine."

"You have a very distinct 'thinking about Constantine' face."

"Hn."

Danny smiled briefly, then yelped, curling up like a bug and accidentally dislodging Bruce's grip on the bandaging. Instinctively, Bruce tucked Danny against his side, and Danny shook and twitched against him, a desperate whine tearing itself free as Danny rode out the wave of pain. Bruce all but held his breath until Danny finally slumped again, breathing heavily. His chill crept through the jacket Bruce had slipped on before coming in.

"Ready to keep going?" Bruce prodded, once Danny's breath evened out. Danny laid there for another few seconds, then nodded and pushed himself upright with a wince. Bruce picked up the dropped end of the bandage, tightened what had come loose, and kept going. "You're sore?"

"Ha." Danny lifted his arms slightly, enough to make room for Bruce to work. Bruce shifted and encouraged Danny to rest his arms on Bruce's shoulders, and Danny did, leaning against him. "Yeah, I wake up pretty achy already, even though I don't start getting spasms until ten. Just to make sure I have a really miserable day."

Uncharacteristically bitter, Bruce noted, but unsurprising under the circumstances. He didn't comment. "Remarkably, we don't currently possess any upper back bandages. I'll ask Alfred to retrieve one if you're happy with the results. We do have shoulder and wrist bandages." Bruce finished wrapping Danny's torso but didn't pull away.

Danny turned his head to squint at the bandages peeking out of the bag. "Why'd you bring so many?"

"I know how you died," Bruce reminded Danny evenly. Electrocution implied muscle pain, and Bruce had suspected his left arm would take the brunt of it. Danny shuddered, a natural one this time, and pressed himself against Bruce for comfort. Bruce dropped an arm around his back, holding him. A minute or two passed, and then Danny pulled away with a sigh.

"Okay."

Right, yes. More compression bandages. These went by much faster, simply needing to be strapped on, and soon Danny's hand and shoulder had joined his left arm and mid-back in compression. He seemed satisfied with that and laid back down on the bed, somewhat more relaxed than when Bruce had first come back in. Bruce hesitated, then shifted closer again and set his hand on Danny's upper back, carefully trying to smooth out the painful knots that had developed there. Danny 'mm'ed softly but didn't otherwise react.

Alfred knocked on the door, and Bruce called him inside when Danny made no move to. Alfred pushed open the door and brought in two plates, one for Danny and one for Bruce. Bruce accepted his with a nod.

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said quietly. "Danny, are you up to eating?"

Danny didn't answer at first, but then shifted around to glower half-heartedly at the bowl Alfred had brought. Then he buried his face in Bruce's arm, grumbling, and Bruce's mouth twitched in amusement. It disappeared when another tremor wracked Danny's body, and the young teen bleated in pain, his grip tightening painfully.

Bruce forced himself to breathe evenly this time, and massaged Danny's hand with his own, pressing through the thick bandage. Danny slumped, panting, and with care, Bruce shifted his hand to massage all the way up Danny's arm, coaxing the tension out of the muscles there until he reached Danny's shoulder, skipped past the compression bandage, and pressed his fingers into Danny's back. Danny didn't say anything, but he pressed into Bruce gratefully and stayed relaxed. Somehow, still, Bruce was startled when Alfred joined him, cupping Danny's temple in one hand.

"Master Danny?" Alfred coaxed, more firmly than Bruce had. "Can you stomach some applesauce?" Danny whined, a softer-toned protest than the low keens of pain he'd let slip. "I know, but you will feel worse if you don't eat anything. I don't think you want that."

Danny grumbled something that sounded like 'no' and acquiesced, allowing himself to be propped up just enough to poke the glowing applesauce with a spoon. He brightened a little at the reminder that Alfred had added ectoplasm, and started to eat. Bruce followed his example and worked quickly through his sandwich.

"I see you're making good use of our extensive collection of medical garments," Alfred said to Bruce, making Bruce snort quietly. "Will you be needing anything else?"

"If he's satisfied with the improvement from these, we'll need one for his upper back as well," Bruce said. "I'll let you know."

"Perhaps after this, the collection will be complete."

Danny got through about half the applesauce before he pushed it away, and Bruce set it on a clear spot on his nightstand before Alfred could pick it up. He glanced up at the butler. "I'll see if I can coax more of this into him later."

Alfred gave him a small smile. "Very well. I'll check in later to see how the two of you are doing."

Bruce nodded, and Alfred left to attend to the manor. Bruce turned his attention back to Danny and considered him. He had a few more questions - why Danny was staying in ghost form, if there were any physical effects from this - but nothing that couldn't wait until Danny was less ill. He picked up his tablet instead. "Would you like me to read to you?"

Danny tilted his head up to look at him, then nodded. It was barely twelve thirty and he already looked exhausted, pale even for his ghost form and cradling his left arm protectively. Bruce hoped he'd be able to sleep at some point, but that seemed unlikely until the pain had passed, which apparently would not be for hours.

Bruce picked up his tablet and quickly downloaded a book. Danny had mentioned wanting to read 'The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy' a few times, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. "The story so far: in the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move."

Danny snickered softly.

As always, reading to his kids made time pass a little faster. It also gave him easy access to the digital clock, and with the note function innate to the Kindle app, he could keep track of the time and Danny's progressing condition, most importantly the interval between spasms and the relative severity of the pain.

After half an hour, he noted that the current interval period was about twelve minutes and asked Danny, "Are the compression bandages helping as much as desired?"

Danny nodded. He'd pulled a thin blanket over himself after a while, mainly for comfort, and his hold on his left arm was still loose enough that Bruce believed it was more psychological than physical for the moment. "Hurts less when I can't jerk around so much. One for my upper back would be good. The shoulder one isn't quite cutting it." He made a face.

Bruce shot off a text to let Alfred know. "Anything else you want?"

Danny wrinkled his nose. "Heat pack?" he asked, softer and more tentative, as if there was anything Bruce would say no to right now.

And that was simple enough. Bruce activated one of the handheld heating packs and handed it to Danny, who shuffled around a little before putting it on his neck, by the junction of his shoulder. Bruce picked his tablet back up and continued reading.

Alfred returned about twenty minutes later with the requested bandage, and Danny didn't protest when Bruce went to help him sit up. He wasn't weakened, Bruce judged after a minute, but there was a minute tremble in his muscles that indicated the pain was ramping up even outside of the periodic spasms.

Bruce helped him get the new compression bandage on, and then paused to smooth out some of the building tension there. Danny leaned in gratefully - he was much more physically affectionate than most of Bruce's children, he'd come to realize, except perhaps Cass and Dick. Bruce kept an eye on the clock, and made sure to get Danny down before the next spasm hit. Danny groaned, the sound drawn-out and wavering unhappily, and clung to Bruce through it before falling into a shivering, panting slump.

Alfred ran his fingers through Danny's hair, nodded to Bruce, and left quietly, as harried as ever when one of the kids was suffering.

"You happy like this, chum, or do you want to lay back how you were?" Bruce asked Danny quietly. Danny grunted, then squirmed further into Bruce's lap. It was a little eerie, Danny being so light and cold in this form that Bruce could have mistaken him for a lap full of snow, but it made Bruce smile for a moment. "Alright."

He settled down and picked up his tablet to resume reading, noting the time and event before he continued.

A part of Bruce, a not-so-small part, was furious that Danny had meant to handle this alone, without anything to even try to ease the pain; it reminded him of when nine-year-old Tim had caught a bad strain of flu, and how confused he had been when Alfred insisted on him staying at Wayne Manor to be cared for. This might not have been particularly dangerous, it was true, but Danny was miserable now and only promised to get more so through the day.

He wondered briefly how Danny had spent the previous two such events. Certainly not with his parents, there being no human explanation for this. Could he even be home for it, in the comfort of his own room, or did he have to go elsewhere? Had he been alone for either of them? It unfortunately seemed likely, especially if he hadn't known about it in advance the first time.

Even with the bandages stabilizing half his upper body, Danny's groans and whines slowly progressed into low keens of pain, and he started to clutch at himself through each one, gasping for breath like it was the only thing that would bring him comfort. Bruce shifted so one of his hands rested on Danny's shoulder, where a gap between the shoulder and upper back bandages seemed to be creating a sharp spot of pain that Danny kept trying to get at. He massaged it carefully without looking away from the tablet, and Danny relaxed a little, panting.

At two thirty, Danny started to cry, exhausted tears shining on his cheeks and faint, breathy sobs following each spasm. At three, Bruce noted that the interval had decreased to six minutes, then set the tablet aside and transferred his attention to comforting Danny.

"How are you feeling, chum?" he asked quietly.

"Hurts, God, it hurts," Danny choked out, trembling like a leaf and his better hand clamping down on his shoulder again. "'S so cold, Bruce. It's in my bones. Shouldn' be in me."

Cold. Ectoplasm? Bruce wasn't sure. Danny had never described his accident at length. "Heat pack?"

Danny nodded jerkily, so Bruce leaned forward, careful not to jostle him, and grabbed a few. He lifted the blanket enough to place one on Danny's upper back and one on his lower, then noted the time and the request. If this was indeed a yearly event, a thought that made his blood boil, they'd need to be better prepared for it next year.

A stray thought crossed Bruce's mind. Did this happen to Jason as well? Jason had never referenced anything of the sort, but he also knew that Jason never went out on the anniversary of his death. Bruce would know; he'd specifically looked out for him the first few years, before the habit became apparent, and still kept half an eye out since.

Danny cried out, no longer making any effort to muffle the noise, and seized and jerked through another long episode. Bruce counted silently. Up to thirty-three seconds. When it was over, he sobbed and curled closer to Bruce.

"Why'd they have to build that stupid portal?" Danny choked out. Bruce ruthlessly clamped down on another wave of rage at the eldest Fentons. "God. A-ah. This sucks. I wanna go to bed. I want it to be over." His voice cracked.

Sleeping pills, or a sedative? They wouldn't work on Danny's ghost form either, but depending on why he wasn't reverting to human, they could try to get him to sleep through as much of the day as possible. Something to discuss later on. "It's 3:16." Danny whined in protest. "I've got you. What hurts the most?" He checked on the heat pack by Danny's neck, making sure it was still in place.

"My chest hurts," Danny sobbed quietly, his face wet with tears. "My heart is stopping."

Unfortunately, Bruce couldn't help with that. He set his hand on Danny's chest anyway, and Danny reached up and clutched at it, apparently finding comfort in the futile gesture all the same. Even his hand trembled.

"'M scared, B," Danny confessed after another minute, almost too quiet to hear. Bruce's chest tightened, and he breathed through another wave of frustration and hatred before he could soften his voice enough to reply.

"You're going to be fine, Danny. You'll be in pain for a few more hours, but that's all it is."

"'M already dead," Danny murmured. From inflection, Bruce deduced that it was meant to be self-soothing.

Bruce's throat ached. "...Yes."

At four o'clock, the interval dropped to two minutes, counting from the end of one spasm to the start of the next. It barely gave Danny time to breathe, and he tossed and turned until Bruce moved both of them so Danny could sit up and hold onto him, crying into his shoulder. Danny held on with bruising force - and no more, as careful as Clark even now - and jerked, hands tightening and loosening in Bruce's jacket with the ebb and flow of relived pain.

You did this to him, Bruce thought at the elder Fentons, more than once.

At exactly 4:36 - Bruce was keeping as close an eye on the clock as he could manage - Danny screamed. Bruce immediately recognized the sound from an echo audible in his Ghostly Wail. Bruce's jacket tore under Danny's hands, and a horrible, quaking tremor seized Danny in an unmistakably fatal grip. Bruce counted the seconds and held Danny too tightly for him to accidentally shake himself loose.

Forty-six seconds. That was how long the worst spasm held him. Bruce assumed that was also how long it had taken Danny to die.

In contrast to the other times, when it finally released him, Danny pressed in closer instead of loosening his grip, and sobbed hysterically.

"No, no," Danny choked out, and "Please, I don't wanna-" and "Dad, Dad."

What did you say after something like that?

"I've got you," Bruce settled on. "You're safe. You're with me."

Danny calmed down slowly, sobs dying down into heaving breaths and then into a deep but labored rhythm that closely matched Bruce's but seemed to take much more effort. The next spasm that hit was much lighter, lasting only eighteen seconds, but it still sent Danny into renewed shudders and tears, holding on tightly.

When Danny seemed calm enough, Bruce shifted him enough so that Bruce could hold him in one arm, then pulled his tablet back over and logged the time of death, length of the accompanying fit, and what had followed. Interval immediately increased back to more than ten minutes (Bruce had unfortunately missed the precise time) and period decreased to eighteen seconds.

Danny set his head on Bruce's shoulder.

After that, things got much easier. At 5:15, Danny removed himself from Bruce's lap to lay down. He removed all of the heat packs and passed them to Bruce, but kept the compression bandages on. He didn't reach for the blanket but hummed gratefully when Bruce pulled it over him anyway, and Bruce sat on the floor beside him and debated returning to reading aloud.

"Whoa. You two look wiped."

Bruce looked up. Duke had opened the door to talk to them, probably too worried by what he'd seen through the door to remember to knock first, and his expression was pinched with worry. "Duke. Anything on patrol?"

"Uh, some movement I'll tattle to Jason about, but nothing big." He studied them with concern. "How's Danny doing? I didn't realize he was this sick."

Hm. Had Alfred declined to explain what had happened? Bruce glanced at Danny as the teenager hummed unhappily, but Danny didn't say anything else, so Bruce provided, "He's had a long day. I expect he'll go to sleep soon. We'll debrief tomorrow."

"Debrief?" Duke frowned at him, understanding immediately that there was more than what he'd been told, but then he glanced at Danny and just nodded. "Alright. Feel better soon, Danny. Get some rest, okay? I'll let Alfred know how you're doing."

Danny's hum this time was more positive.

At 5:30, Danny fell asleep. At 5:45, Dick came in to check on them and left once he'd come to look at Danny's sleeping (calm) face, and at 6:15, Cass came in with a plate of food for Bruce and a few granola bars for Danny. For when he wakes up, she signed.

A little while after 6:30, Bruce fell asleep without meaning to.

[cyberclouddream]

Your Secret Self in the 12th House

Aries in the 12th House - Taurus Rising

They tend to keep secrets about their inner daredevil. While they play it cool and collected, there’s a wild side itching to burst free—think sneaking off for a spontaneous road trip or trying extreme sports in secret. They might also hide their competitiveness, pretending they don’t care while actually keeping score of who’s winning in life. Plus, they could be harboring some guilty pleasures, like indulging in reckless online shopping binges when no one’s watching.

Taurus in the 12th House - Gemini Rising

They often hide secrets about their love for comfort while secretly fantasizing about radical change. Underneath that cozy facade, they might daydream about ditching their 9-to-5 for a nomadic lifestyle, craving the thrill of the unknown. They could also be keeping a stash of self-care products—think expensive face creams or luxury candles—while downplaying their indulgent side. Additionally, they might harbor feelings of envy toward friends who seem to live carefree, all while maintaining a chill, easy-going persona.

Gemini in the 12th House - Cancer Rising

They tend to keep secrets about their inner chatterbox, often drowning in thoughts they don’t dare voice. Beneath their friendly demeanor, they might be hiding a tendency to overanalyze every interaction, worrying that they’ll be misunderstood. They could also be engaging in secretive communication—like using anonymous accounts to share their opinions or seek validation without risking their reputation. Plus, they may hold back on expressing their true feelings, fearing that doing so will lead to vulnerability that they’re not ready for.

Cancer in the 12th House - Leo Rising

They often hide secrets about their emotional turmoil, presenting a bold front while wrestling with intense feelings. While they come off as confident and social, they might be quietly harboring past heartbreaks or family drama that they don’t want to share. They could also fantasize about a life where they can escape their responsibilities and be free to express their emotions without judgment. Plus, they might keep a hidden stash of sentimental items—like letters or mementos—that remind them of their deeper feelings and past experiences.

Leo in the 12th House - Virgo Rising

They tend to keep secrets about their inner critic, often hiding their doubts behind a confident mask. While they seem to thrive in the spotlight, they might be grappling with imposter syndrome, fearing they don’t deserve the accolades. They could also be secretly nurturing creative dreams that they feel too shy to pursue, fearing they won’t be taken seriously. Plus, they may keep their desire for admiration under wraps, needing validation from others yet afraid to admit it out loud.

Virgo in the 12th House - Libra Rising

They often hide secrets about their perfectionism, presenting a calm demeanor while battling internal chaos. Beneath their organized facade, they might have a tendency to obsess over minor details, worrying that they won’t measure up to expectations. They could also be secretly struggling with feelings of inadequacy, wondering if anyone really sees their worth. Plus, they might hide a stash of self-help materials—books, podcasts, or videos—that they consume in hopes of bettering themselves while keeping their struggles out of sight.

Libra in the 12th House - Scorpio Rising

They tend to keep secrets about their relationship fears, often projecting charm while grappling with deep-rooted insecurities. While they come across as easy-going, they might be wrestling with jealousy or fear of abandonment, not wanting to reveal how much it affects them. They could also be hiding their true opinions about people they love, not wanting to rock the boat. Plus, they may secretly yearn for independence but struggle with the idea of going against their people-pleasing nature.

Scorpio in the 12th House - Sagittarius Rising

They often hide secrets about their emotional intensity, putting on a brave face while feeling deeply vulnerable inside. They might be nurturing secret desires that feel taboo, such as unconventional fantasies or interests that they fear might alienate others. They could also be battling a fear of being truly known, preferring to keep their deeper emotions hidden from view. Plus, they might keep a journal filled with dark thoughts or musings, using it as a safe space to explore what they can’t express out loud.

Sagittarius in the 12th House - Capricorn Rising

They tend to have hidden secrets about their thirst for freedom, often masking it behind a façade of responsibility. While they appear grounded, they might be dreaming of a life filled with adventure and spontaneity, yearning to break free from their daily grind. They could also be keeping their more radical beliefs hidden, fearing that their unconventional ideas won’t be well-received. Plus, they might harbor a fear of commitment that they keep to themselves, worrying that settling down will stifle their free spirit.

Capricorn in the 12th House - Aquarius Rising

They often keep secrets about their vulnerability, appearing stoic while struggling with feelings of inadequacy. Beneath their ambitious exterior, they might harbor a fear of failure that they keep locked away, wanting to project an image of control. They could also be concealing a rebellious streak, secretly longing to break the rules they’ve set for themselves. Plus, they may be hiding a desire for emotional connection, fearing that showing their true selves will weaken their carefully constructed facade.

Aquarius in the 12th House - Pisces Rising

They tend to have hidden secrets about their sense of alienation, projecting an air of confidence while feeling isolated underneath. They might conceal their unique beliefs and perspectives, worried that others won’t understand or accept them. Additionally, they could be struggling with a sense of belonging, hiding their insecurities about friendships despite being surrounded by people. Plus, they might have secret dreams of making a radical change in their lives, wanting to embrace their individuality but unsure of how to do so.

Pisces in the 12th House - Aries Rising

They often keep secrets about their vivid imagination, masking their emotional depth behind a confident persona. While they may project an image of strength, they could be escaping into daydreams or creative pursuits to avoid facing reality. They might be nurturing artistic talents that they fear won’t be recognized, keeping their creations hidden from the world. Plus, they might also be wrestling with feelings of inadequacy, wanting to shine but struggling to believe they can.

[mywritersmind]

DRAGGED AND DRIPPING - KA12

summary : Prankster Kimi is bored and stuck inside as the rain in Brazil hammers down. A mischievous move lands him in the rain with a very pretty screaming girl over his shoulder.

listen up : no warnings!! wrote this while waiting for quali (idek if it’s happening still but hiii)

word count : 880

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The rain pounds on the roof of the Mercedes hospitality, the announcement that Qualifying is delayed on my phone and the grinning face of Kimi Antonelli in front of me.

“Can I at least eat my cake before you go prank people?” He sighs dramatically, slumping back in his chair across from me and looking around the dining area.

“You’re a horrible replacement for Ollie.” He mumbles under his breath.

I scoff, licking my fork and rolling my eyes, “I’m so sorry that your best friend is too busy with his job!” I say sarcastically, “But I will not be partaking in your childish games.”

He’s leant back in his chair when I feel my own seat getting pulled closer, his foot hooked on the leg of my seat. He's got a mischievous smirk on his tanned face, his ring clinking against the table as he taps his finger on it.

“Please?” He knows exactly what he’s doing. And I'm completely falling for it. Kimi and the rain do not go together for the singular reason that he hates being stuck inside.

However, give me a good book and some hot chocolate, and I'll stay by the foggy window all day. “Y/n!” Kimi whines again, standing up and leaning against the table so he’s closer to me now.

“No.” I groan and keep scrolling on my phone, looking away from his arm that is bracing himself on the small table.

“Fine.” He sighs and just when I think he’s about to leave me alone, he snatches my mercedes hat right off my head, and runs.

“Antonelli! You thief!” I stand immediately, running after him as he giggles and starts down the stairs. I almost fall but grip onto the railing just as I see him trip but land on his feet at the bottom, “How are you so uncoordinated as an athlete!?” I yell and turn to the corner.

He glances back, shooting me an offended look before flipping me off and pulling my hat onto his head, over his own hat.

I roll my eyes and keep going, already out of breath. I pass Ollie who looks at me weirdly, “This is your fault!” I scream before setting my eyes on Kimi again.

I chase the boy down until I have to slow my pace because he slips behind the Mercedes garage door. “Pussy.” I mumble quietly, opening the door and stepping inside.

I think I've gone the wrong way until I feel my hat slapped back on my head and his hands on my waist, “Ah!” I scream just as I feel myself get lifted upside down and over his shoulder.

The garage is laughing as I yell at Kimi, “Antonelli I swear-” I try and maneuver myself so I’m facing where he’s walking but his hands are tightly keeping me in place. When I finally get a glimpse of where he’s going, I realize my impending doom is coming faster than I realized.

My hat has fallen off and when I kick Kimi he just scoffs, “You really wanna fight me right now?” I glance back up to the pouring rain.

“Yes!” But when he walks out of the cover, cool water hits us, “I hate you!” He’s laughing still, shaking his head and jumping around.

He finally sets me down but when I go to run away, he’s grabbing me again and pulling me against him. I can see the Mercedes workers videoing and whistling, the crowd on the other side surely can see us too.

But Kimi still leans in, whispering in my ear as his wet curls smack against my neck, “How much you think they’d scream for us if I kissed you?” I can’t help but laugh at my Italian idiot.

He’s laughing too now, holding me up so my knees go to my chest and my head leans against his shoulder, “Put me down, Antonelli!”

“What’s the magic word, Tesoro?” I elbow him which causes his voice to crack and his grip to loosen.

I push my hair out of my face, wet and stringy all because of the boy who’s smirking at me, “You’re a dick!”

He just grins, his breath labored and his clothes dripping, “Sei bellissima.” You are beautiful. I don’t know italian. But I know that. He says it to me all the time.

I shake my head, biting back a smile as the rain pours down on us. I walk closer, suddenly not in a rush to get out of the harsh weather.

“Prankster.” my tone is softer now.

He smiles jokingly saying, “I love when you talk dirty to me.” He slips his hand in mine as I narrow my eyes at him, his smile turning into a frown, “You’re shivering.”

I gape at him, “No Shit. I was dragged into the rain in my cute dress and curled hair by my childish boyfriend who won’t stop laughing at me!”

He brings my hand to his lips, kissing it. “Come on, I'll get you hot chocolate.” A smile finally meets my lips as he lets me hop onto his back. His hands are warm against my wet skin, gripping my legs as my arms slip around his neck.

[hoshifighting]

Crush on Music Student Jihoon

"So, I couldn't help but overhear something at lunch today," he says, his voice tinged with amusement. Your heart skips a beat as you try to recall what you might have said that caught his attention. "Oh? What did you hear?"

Jihoon chuckles softly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Well, it sounded like someone might have been talking about me..."

— Synopsis: Where you have a little crush on the music student Jihoon. He definitively is not like the jocks from the campus, his quiet demeanor between his loud friends, calls your attention, and your friends tell you to let go of this crush once and for all. But Jihoon shows up to show you that your admiration for him was worth it. — WC: 5.8k — WARNINGS: Smut, dirty talk, praising, overwhelming, fingering, blowjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, public kiss, their friends having a heart-attack when they kiss, tears and sobs of pleasure, g'spot stimulation and etc.

So, here you are, finally in college. No more high school drama, no more teachers breathing down your neck, and no more petty cliques. It's like a whole new world, and you're loving every minute of it.

College is different. People here have their own inspirations, their own goals, and their own quirks. It's refreshing to be surrounded by so much diversity. You feel more mature than ever, like you're finally coming into your own.

But then there's Jihoon. Your friends won't let you forget about him. He's a music student, from the same campus, and apparently, he's got you feeling all sorts of things. They tease you mercilessly, saying you're acting like a girl in high school with a crush.

"Ah, Jihoon. He's always been the quiet type…" They say. You've noticed it too. While his friends are loud and outgoing, he's content to stay in the background, quietly observing the world around him. It's one of the things that drew you to him in the first place.

But your friends don't seem to understand. They keep trying to push you towards guys like Dokyeom or Seungkwan, who are the complete opposite of Jihoon. Dokyeom, with his extroverted personality and vibrant energy, always seems to be the life of the party. And Seungkwan, well, he's practically a celebrity on campus with his charm and athleticism.

But as much as you appreciate their efforts, your heart just isn't in it. While your friends are off drooling over Mingyu at the football games, you prefer to sit quietly in the back of the university theater, listening to the sweet sounds that emanate from Jihoon's fingers as he plays guitar or piano.

You're sitting with your friends at lunch, trying to enjoy your meal while Jihoon's group of friends acts loud and rowdy as usual. Jihoon himself is sitting nearby, quietly changing papers, which you assume are lyrics for his music.

"So, when are you going to talk to him?" Hyeson asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this conversation is headed. "I don't know, maybe when I feel like it," you reply nonchalantly, taking a bite of your sandwich.

Your other friend, Seungjun, chimes in, "Come on, you've been crushing on him forever. He's probably too shy to come and ask you out. Or maybe he's too busy burying his face in those ridiculous scores."

ou shrug, trying to play it cool. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just enjoy his music, that's all."

But your friends aren't buying it. They exchange knowing looks before turning back to you with raised eyebrows.

"Come on, you can't deny that there's something there," Hyeson says, leaning in closer. "Why don't you just go talk to him? What's the worst that could happen?"

You hesitate, chewing on your lip as you consider the idea. "I don't know... What if he thinks I'm weird or something?"

Your friend rolls her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. "You've practically had the whole college eating out of the palm of your hand since you started to study here."

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck as she lays it all out there. "I don't know if I'd say that..."

But she cuts you off before you can finish. "Come on, Y/n. Let's be real here. You've practically dismissed every other guy in this place because you only have eyes for Jihoon. And you're worried about him thinking you're weird?"

The conversation about Jihoon continues to flow at the table, with your friend passionately expressing her opinions. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot Mingyu approaching. Your friend doesn't seem to notice, her mouth still going a mile a minute about Jihoon.

Quickly, you reach out and wrap a hand around her mouth, effectively cutting off her words. She widens her eyes in surprise, shooting you a confused look as Mingyu stands next to your table, likely coming over to talk to you all.

Mingyu starts talking about the upcoming football game this night, mentioning that there's going to be a frat party afterward. Your friend's ears perk up at the mention of Jihoon, and she can't help but blurt out, "Is Jihoon going to be there?"

Mingyu furrows his brow in confusion, glancing over at Jihoon who is still engrossed in his papers at the other table. "I don't know," he replies honestly. "It's been a long time since he appeared at one of our parties."

But then Mingyu's gaze returns to your friend, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "Wait, why do you ask? Does someone here have a crush on Jihoon?" he asks, his voice a little too loud for comfort.

You widen your eyes in alarm, shooting a panicked glance at Jihoon and his friends who are now looking over at your table, clearly intrigued by the mention of Jihoon's name.

Your friend's eyes widen in shock, realizing that his question may have been a little too loud. "Um, well..." she stammers, searching for an excuse.

But before she can come up with anything, Mingyu's gaze returns to Jihoon's table, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Looks like someone has some explaining to do," he says, loud enough for Jihoon to hear.

"Oh my god, I fucking hate y'all…" 

[...]

As you make your way to the promised frat party tonight, your friend nudges you gently and says, "Come on, Y/n-nie, don't be mad at us. We're just having some fun."

You shoot her a playful glare before sighing and shaking your head. "I know, I know. I'm not really mad. Just a little nervous, that's all."

But your other friend chimes in, unable to resist poking fun at the situation. "Seriously, though, I still don't understand why you like him that much. He doesn't even look like he fucks."

You roll your eyes at her crude remark, feeling a flush of heat rise to your cheeks. Brushing away the thought of your recent fantasies about Jihoon, you try to play it off coolly. "Oh, please. You don't know anything about him."

But deep down, you can't deny the truth in her words. Jihoon may seem shy and reserved on the surface, but there's a fire burning beneath that quiet exterior. And just the thought of him touching you, of him fucking you, sends a shiver down your spine.

How is Jihoon's cock? Could he really fuck you like you've been fantasizing about? The image of him moaning beautifully as he sings, his fingers dancing effortlessly across the strings of his guitar, sends a wave of desire crashing over you.

You squeeze your legs tight together, trying to ignore the pulsing ache between them as you continue towards the party. Each step brings you closer to the possibility of seeing Jihoon again, of finally making your move.

But as you approach the frat house, the thumping bass of the music growing louder with each passing second, you push those thoughts to the back of your mind. Your friend's little black dress that she lent you, hugs your curves in all the right places, a departure from your usual style, but you can't deny that it looks amazing on you.

She had insisted that Jihoon would love it, teasing you about your "Jihonnie" and the potential for a romantic encounter tonight. You couldn't help but laugh at her antics, secretly hoping that she might be right.

But as you glance around the crowded place, your heart sinks a little. Jihoon is nowhere to be seen. You try to push down the disappointment, reminding yourself that there are plenty of other people to talk to and enjoy the party with.

You lean against the bar, swirling your punch in your hand as you chat with your friend. Her eyes suddenly light up, and she says something that makes you furrow your brow in confusion. Glancing over your shoulder, you spot Mingyu walking towards you, with Jihoon by his side.

Jihoon walks with his hands in his pockets, his black shirt hugging his muscular arms perfectly, while his hair falls in his face in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. Your friend takes the hint and excuses herself, leaving you alone with the boys.

Mingyu gives you a sly grin and nudges Jihoon in your direction. "Go on, hyung," he says encouragingly. "You've been wanting to talk to her all day."

Jihoon's cheeks turn a faint shade of red as he leans against the bar with a sheepish smile. "Uh, hey," he says softly, his voice barely audible over the music. "Mind if I join you?"

You feel a rush of excitement as Jihoon starts a conversation, his shy demeanor only adding to his charm. "Of course," you reply with a smile, motioning for him to take a seat next to you.

As the conversation continues to flow between you and Jihoon, you find yourselves laughing and exchanging stories about your time at college. You're pleasantly surprised by how easy it is to talk to him, and before you know it, hours have flown by.

Suddenly, Jihoon pauses mid-sentence, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, I couldn't help but overhear something at lunch today," he says, his voice tinged with amusement.

Your heart skips a beat as you try to recall what you might have said that caught his attention. "Oh? What did you hear?" you ask, feigning innocence as you take a sip of your punch.

Jihoon chuckles softly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Well, it sounded like someone might have been talking about me," he admits, his eyes meeting yours with a shy smile.

You can't help but scoff at his comment, feeling a surge of embarrassment wash over you. "You mean Mingyu mentioning your name out loud?" you reply, trying to play it off coolly.

Jihoon laughs and nods, his smile widening. "Yeah" he says with a nod. "I guess I've been on your friends' minds lately."

You chuckle, feeling a rush of embarrassment wash over you at the thought of Jihoon overhearing your friends teasing you about your crush on him. "Yeah, sorry about that," you say sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck. "My friends can be a little... outspoken."

But Jihoon just shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No need to apologize. It's actually kind of flattering," he says, his gaze meeting yours with warmth. "And to be honest, I've been wanting to talk to you for a while now."

Your heart skips a beat at Jihoon's confession, and you feel a rush of excitement as you muster up the courage to admit your own feelings. "Yeah, I've been wanting it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jihoon's face lights up with a genuine smile, and he leans in closer, his eyes shining with curiosity. "Oh yeah? What have you been wanting to talk to me about?" he asks eagerly.

You feel a pang of panic shoot through you as you realize you hadn't prepared an answer to that question. You stutter for a moment, trying to come up with something to say.

Finally, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. "Um, your music project! It sounds awesome," you say, mentally kicking yourself for not being more prepared.

You can tell by the look on his face that he knows there's more to it than just his music project. And as the silence stretches between you, you can't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you.

"I was expecting something else," Jihoon says with a small, teasing smirk, his voice laced with mock disappointment.

A strange tension hangs in the air between you, and you can feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You wish you had been more honest with him, you can't help but wonder if this awkward moment has ruined your chance with him. With a heavy sigh, you take a sip of your drink.

You feel the unease settling in, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach as you realize the gravity of the situation. Are you really going to lose this chance? Are you really going to ruin this opportunity?

Hell no.

Your hand clenches around the red cup with more force as you weigh your options. Taking a deep breath, you muster up the courage to speak, determined not to let this moment slip away.

"That's not what I meant," you say, meeting Jihoon's curious gaze with determination.

Jihoon raises an eyebrow in confusion, waiting for you to continue.

"No, I mean, your songs are really awesome," you clarify. "But I have one more thing to say."

You lean in closer, your lips hovering just inches from his ear as you whisper softly, "I've been wanting to do this for a long time."

Before Jihoon can react, you close the gap between you, capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. The world fades away as you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, your bodies pressed together in an electrifying embrace.

Jihoon responds eagerly, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matches your own. In that moment, there's no awkwardness, no tension, only the undeniable chemistry between you and Jihoon igniting into something fiery and intoxicating.

You break the kiss, your lips still tingling with the remnants of his touch, feeling flushed, satisfied, and breathless. A sweet taste lingers on your palate as you lean against Jihoon's chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.

Jihoon's breath is ragged as he pulls back slightly, his eyes locked on yours with a mixture of desire and adoration. "Let's get out of here," he says softly, his voice husky with emotion. "Before our friends have a heart attack."

You glance over at Mingyu and your friends, who are practically collapsing with shock after witnessing your kiss. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Jihoon's hand intertwining with yours brings you back to the present moment.

You nod in agreement, grateful for his quick thinking, and allow him to lead you away from the crowded room. As you step outside into the cool night air, a sense of freedom washes over you, and you find yourself smiling up at Jihoon.

"Sorry about that," you say, a hint of amusement in your voice as you squeeze his hand. "I didn't mean to cause a scene."

Jihoon just chuckles softly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "No need to apologize," he murmurs, his voice warm and reassuring. "I'm just glad I finally got to kiss you."

"You should have kissed me before," you tease, nudging Jihoon playfully as you walk together across the campus, heading towards the dorms.

Jihoon chuckles, his arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer to him. "Oh, really? And risk giving our friends a heart attack sooner?" he replies with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You roll your eyes at his response, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "Fair point," you concede, leaning into his side as you continue to walk. "But you could have at least hinted that you wanted to kiss me earlier."

Jihoon's smile softens, his gaze turning tender as he looks down at you. "Oh, really? And here I was thinking you were the one making all the moves," he says softly, his thumb tracing circles on your hip.

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation, swatting at his arm playfully. "Hey, I can't do all the work," you retort, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "It's about time you stepped up your game."

Jihoon chuckles, leaning in closer to press a soft kiss to your cheek. "Well, consider this me stepping up," he says, his voice low and husky as he pulls back to meet your gaze. "And trust me, I have plenty more where that came from."

As you and Jihoon approach his dorm, the air is charged with anticipation, and you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in the pit of your stomach. The conversation flows effortlessly between you, filled with laughter and teasing banter as you navigate the familiar paths of the campus.

"So, you're telling me that you're going to make up for lost time?" you ask with a playful smirk, nudging Jihoon's side as you walk.

Jihoon chuckles, his eyes glinting mischievously as he glances over at you. "Oh, you have no idea," he replies, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you reach his dorm door, Jihoon suddenly stops in his tracks, turning to face you with a wicked grin. Before you can react, he slams you against the door with a sudden force, his hands grabbing your ass firmly as he leans in to kiss your neck.

A gasp escapes your lips as his lips trail along your skin, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You can feel his warmth radiating against you, his strong arms holding you tightly as you cling to him, your hands gripping his biceps desperately.

With a sense of urgency, Jihoon grabs the door handle and swings it open, pulling you into his room with him. The moment you step inside, the door closes behind you with a soft click, and you find yourselves enveloped in darkness, save for the faint glow of the moonlight streaming through the window.

Unable to detach your bodies from each other, you stumble forward, your lips locked in a passionate kiss. Jihoon's hands roam freely over your body, igniting sparks of desire with each touch, while your own hands explore the contours of his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath his shirt.

Jihoon's eyes search yours, filled with desire. "Tell me," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You furrow your brow in confusion for a moment before he repeats himself, his tone more insistent this time. "I want you to tell me, with words."

You feel a thrill run through you at his words, and you hold onto him tighter, your lips still brushing against each other as you melt into his embrace.

For a moment, you're lost in the sensation of being so close to him, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to find the right words to express how you feel.

And then, before you can respond, Jihoon speaks again, his voice teasing and playful. "Come on, Y/n-nie," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me how much you want me."

You can't help but chuckle at his bold request, feeling a rush of heat spread through you at the thought of indulging his playful banter. "Why?" you ask, raising an eyebrow in mock innocence. "Are you planning to use this in your songs?" you ask breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as his hands slip under the fabric of your little black dress, hands find their way to your breasts.

Jihoon laughs at your response, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he shakes his head. "Who knows?" he replies with a smirk. "But I think I'd much rather hear it from your lips than write it in a song."

You roll your eyes playfully, a smirk playing on your lips. "Fine," you say, leaning in closer to whisper in his ear. "But you're going to owe me for this."

With a sly grin, you reach down and find the waistband of his pants and underwear, pulling them down in one swift motion. Jihoon gasps in surprise as his pink, big cock springs free, standing shiny and eager in the dim light.

You can't help but let out a low moan at the sight, desire coursing through you as you gaze hungrily at him. "God, I wanted this cock so bad," you whisper, your voice dripping with desire. "I've been dreaming about it for so long."

As Jihoon holds back the urge to roll his eyes at your words, you lean in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you lick a stripe from the base of his cock to the tip. He lets out a low groan, his hands gripping the hem of his shirt as he tries to steady himself against the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him. "Hmm Y/N yes!" 

With a hungry desire, you take his cock into your mouth, filling your cheeks with his hardness as you work him with eager enthusiasm. Jihoon's hands tremble slightly as he holds onto his shirt, his moans growing louder and more desperate with each movement of your mouth.

Feeling your own arousal building with each passing second, you can't help but reach down between your legs, pushing your panties to the side as you slide your fingers into your dripping wet pussy. You can't help but moan around Jihoon's cock as you pleasure yourself.

Jihoon's moans grow even louder at the sound, his hips bucking involuntarily as he struggles to hold back his release. "Fuck, I'm cumming, I'm cumming," he says, head thrown back. With each thrust of your mouth and each stroke of your fingers in your pussy, the tension in the room grows thicker, until finally, with a loud cry, Jihoon reaches his climax, his hot cum spilling into your mouth.

As you swallow eagerly, relishing the taste of Jihoon's release, you feel a surge of ecstasy coursing through you. But before you can fully enjoy the moment, Jihoon's voice cuts through the haze of pleasure, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Stop," he says, his voice hoarse with desire.

You reluctantly remove your hand from between your legs, your fingers still slick with arousal as you look up at Jihoon with glazed eyes. He takes your hand in his, pulling you to your feet and guiding you towards his bed.

Your dress is now bunched up around your waist, the fabric clinging to your skin as Jihoon manages to remove his shirt with trembling hands. You can feel the heat radiating off his body as he presses you gently onto the bed, his hands roaming over your exposed skin.

With a sense of urgency, Jihoon leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he explores every inch of your mouth. You moan softly into the kiss, the sensation of his lips making you feel rewarded.

As Jihoon's hand finds the fabric of your panties and tugs them down your legs, throwing the piece away, you shiver with anticipation, your arousal pooling between your thighs. His fingers find your sopping wet cunt, and you moan at the slight touch, your body trembling with desire.

With a wicked grin, Jihoon leans in close, his voice low and husky as he begins to dirty talk to you. "You know, Y/n-nie," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "I saw you all those times you sat in the auditorium, watching me play."

You gasp at his words, the memory of those moments flooding your mind as you feel a surge of heat spreading through you. "I loved knowing you were there, looking at me, wanting me." Jihoon continues, his voice dripping with desire. "I couldn't help but wonder what was passing through your little filthy mind as you watched me." 

"Did you imagine me touching you, pleasing you, making you scream my name?"

His words send a surge of desire rushing through you, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. With a desperate need, you arch your hips towards him, silently begging for more as you lose yourself in the intoxicating heatness of Jihoon's dirty talk.

s Jihoon's fingers sink inside your pussy, you let out a gasp of pleasure, the sensation overwhelming your senses. Your mouth opens to answer him, but all that escapes is a string of expletives as pleasure washes over you.

"Fuck!" you swear, your voice strained with desire as Jihoon's fingers move inside you. The sound of your arousal fills the room, loud and squelching as his fingers slide in and out, your wetness coating his hand with each delicious thrust.

His movements are slow and deliberate, each stroke driving you closer and closer to the edge. You squirm beneath him, your body writhing with pleasure as ragged gasps leave your lips. With each movement of his fingers, you feel yourself spiraling out of control, lost in the intoxicating heat of the moment.

And as Jihoon continues to drive you wild with his fingers, his voice fills the air with a mixture of desire and frustration. "Fuck," he breathes, his words heavy with longing. "Everyone told me to take action, but..."

But what? You find yourself holding your breath, waiting for Jihoon to finish his sentence. But he doesn't say anything else, leaving the words hanging in the air between you, tantalizingly unfinished.

You can feel the tension mounting, the anticipation building as you wait for Jihoon to speak again. But instead of words, he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "But now that I have you like this, begging for more," Jihoon continues, his voice dripping with lust, "I never want to let you go." 

The admission sends a thrill of excitement coursing through you, knowing that Jihoon has been thinking about this moment just as much as you have. 

As Jihoon pumps his fingers inside you, you grip his forearm tightly, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch. Your head spins with pleasure, and your stomach flutters with anticipation as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

Every sensation is overwhelming, from the scent of his cologne to the intensity of his gaze, to the sound of his voice saying all those filthy things that send shivers down your spine. You're lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy, unable to think about anything except the pleasure coursing through your veins.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, you feel yourself tensing, your pussy throbbing and clenching around Jihoon's fingers. He senses your impending release and curls his fingers inside you, sending you over the edge.

"And I promise," Jihoon murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin, "I'm going to make you feel so good, Y/n-nie. You won't be able to think about anything else but me."

You arch your back, a pornographic moan escaping your lips as you cum around his fingers, your juices coating his hand and forearm in a sticky mess. The intensity of your orgasm is overwhelming, leaving you breathless and trembling in Jihoon's arms.

"You're amazing," Jihoon continues, his voice low and sensual. "The way you moan, the way you tremble beneath my touch... It's driving me wild."

You can't help but blush at his words, feeling a surge of arousal coursing through you at the thought of Jihoon being so captivated by you. His praise is like a drug, intoxicating and addictive, and you find yourself craving more with each passing moment.

"Can I fuck this pretty pussy, hm?" Jihoon asks, his voice low and filled with desire, as he flips your clit with his thumb.

You gasp at the sensation, your breath catching in your throat as pleasure shoots through you. "Yes, please," you whisper, your voice thick with need.

Jihoon chuckles softly, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Are you sure you can handle it?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin.

You whimper at his words, feeling a surge of desire coursing through you. "Yes," you moan, your voice barely a whisper. "I want you to fuck me until I can't take it anymore."

As Jihoon's tip presses against your slit, you quiver with anticipation, feeling the wet folds parting to welcome him inside. His lips meet yours in a searing kiss, his tongue teasing yours as he guides his cock deeper inside you.

You moan into his mouth as he enters you fully, his length stretching you deliciously as he fills you completely. A gasp escapes Jihoon's lips as he sinks into you, the sensation overwhelming both of you with pleasure.

With his cock buried deep inside you, Jihoon opens his mouth in a gasp of ecstasy, his breath hot against your skin. You whimper at the sensation, feeling a surge of desire coursing through you as he bites your chin lightly, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

As Jihoon moves inside of you, his hips rolling with a rhythm that drives you wild, you can't help but cling to him desperately, your hands finding purchase on his back as he fills you up so perfectly. The previous orgasm has left you sensitive and achingly aroused, making it easy for him to slide in and out of you with ease.

You look into his eyes, lost in the depths of his gaze, feeling a connection that transcends words. His necklace brushes against your face with each thrust, a reminder of his presence, grounding you in the reality of the moment.

Tears stream down your face, mingling with the pleasure and overwhelming sensation of having him finally inside you. It's not a dream – Jihoon is here, fucking you with a passion that leaves you breathless and shaking.

Your mouth hangs open in a silent cry of ecstasy as you surrender yourself completely to the pleasure, every movement of his hips sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. You hold onto him desperately, your nails digging into his skin as you ride the wave of sensation, knowing that this moment will stay with you forever.

As Jihoon's cock hits your G-spot, you arch your back in ecstasy, the pleasure overwhelming you as you cling to him desperately. He watches your reaction with a smirk, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you.

But then, a sob escapes your lips, the intensity of the sensation bringing tears to your eyes. Jihoon hears your sob and responds by thrusting in the same way, driving you even closer to the edge of pleasure.

You sob even louder at the sensation, the pleasure so intense that it's almost unbearable. But Jihoon is there for you, cooing softly as he continues to move inside you, his touch bringing you both pleasure and comfort.

You call out his name, your words babbling as you try to express just how good it feels. "Jihoon, it's too good," you whimper, your voice thick with desire. "Too good..."

"Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he holds you close. "I've got you, Y/n-nie. Just let go and feel it."

As Jihoon turns you around and pushes your head onto the pillow, you let out a scream of pleasure, the intensity of his thrusts overwhelming your senses. With each movement of his hips, you feel yourself weakening, surrendering completely to the pleasure coursing through you.

Jihoon's thrusts are intense, his cock driving deep inside you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands tremble as he grabs onto you wherever he can, his moans mingling with yours.

And then, just when you think you can't take any more, you feel it – the tightening in your stomach, the trembling of your muscles as your pussy walls hug Jihoon's cock tight. He spasms with pleasure everytime you clench around him. 

As you feel the wave of pleasure building inside you, you grip the sheets and pillows tight, your body convulsing with the intensity of the sensation. Jihoon continues to thrust into you with the same relentless rhythm, driving you to the brink of ecstasy with each movement of his hips.

And then, it happens – you cum on his cock, your entire body trembling with the force of your release. A long, exasperated cry escapes your lips as you convulse around him, your pussy gushing with wetness as you ride the waves of pleasure.

Jihoon watches you in awe, his own desire reaching a fever pitch as he sees you spasming and creaming around his cock. He holds himself back with every ounce of willpower he has, determined to wait until you're fully satisfied before allowing himself to succumb to his own release.

But as he feels you tightening around him, the sensation driving him to the edge of control, he knows that he won't be able to hold out much longer. With a guttural groan, he lets go, his own climax crashing over him in a tidal wave.

As Jihoon rides out his climax, his cum mixing with yours as it drips from your pussy, the sound of the messy aftermath echoing around the room. You both collapse onto the bed, spent and breathless, the intensity of your orgasms still coursing through your veins.

The room is filled with the scent of sex and sweat, a tangible reminder of the passion that has consumed you both. But as you lie there together, wrapped in each other's arms, you feel a sense of contentment wash over you.

As Jihoon plays with your hair, breaking the comfortable silence that has settled between you, he asks softly, "Are you going to continue watching me play in the auditorium?"

You smile up at him, your heart fluttering at the thought of seeing him perform again. "Of course," you reply without hesitation. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Jihoon's eyes light up with a hint of mischief as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Good," he says, his voice filled with determination. "But this time, I want you to be in the front row, not on the last chairs."

You can't help but blush at his words, feeling a surge of excitement at the thought of being so close to him while he performs. "I'd love that," you murmur, your heart pounding in anticipation.

[nadvs]

cam girl (part three)

pairing rafe cameron x reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.

» masterlist

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Your heart feels like it’s pounding against your ribs. You look up at Rafe, having to crane your neck to meet his eye-line. His gaze is commanding and excitement and shock tingle through your body.

“You…” you begin, the room thick with tension.

“Use your words,” Rafe taunts. “I know you know how to.”

“How’d you find me?” you finally say quietly, curious how he of all people found you on the cam website.

“Pure luck,” he chuckles, dimples caving into his cheeks.

A pang of jealousy hits your chest when you imagine him scrolling through the website, looking at other cam girls. Maybe you’re just as possessive as he is.

His hand comes up to your cheek, cradling languidly, like he’s touched you a hundred times before. While he hasn’t physically held you, though, he’s seen every single part of you on a screen.

Rafe leans down, capturing your lips in his, and you freeze for a moment before giving in, kissing him back, tasting his hot mouth. His ring presses against your skin as he gently swirls his tongue with yours.

Your kisses grow hungrier and his grip on you gets tighter. He steps closer, his other hand pulling you in by the small of your back.

As you drag your hands up Rafe’s arms, cupping his hard biceps, you feel his arousal harden against you and your breath hitches, well aware that you will do anything and everything this man tells you to.

You pull back, unable to believe you’re really standing here, that you’re supposed to be working but you’re kissing Rafe in his bedroom, feeling his hard cock against you.

“You knew it was me the whole time?” you ask.

Rafe says your name with a scoff.

“I know your voice and I know that mouth,” he drawls, his smirk sexy. “And I was right that you’ve been hiding a really hot fucking body under there.”

His hand falls from your cheek and against your hip, skimming over your dress and landing on your ass. Heat pools in the pit of your stomach as his large hand squeezes your flesh.

He drops his left hand to your other buttock and you feel the dress inching up your legs as he bunches the fabric in his hands over the curve of your butt.

“You gonna let me see it up close?” he mumbles, the strong, sharp smell of his body wash turning you on even more. “I know you’re not shy.”

You nod and he’s already pulling the fabric over your hips, over your waist, over your head. He tosses your uniform onto the floor and you think about how that’s probably the cheapest dress he’s ever touched, sure all his girls before were wealthy like him.

The cool air pricks your skin as you stand in front of him in only your bra and underwear. Rafe’s blue eyes trail down your body like you’re a meal he’s been craving. He’s seen it all before, but he looks amazed.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, his warm hands sliding over your hips, his skin still hot from his shower. The sensation makes you shudder.

“You knew it was me from that first picture I sent, didn’t you?” he asks, then runs his tongue between his lips.

Your breath is shallow as you realize Rafe made it obvious who he was on purpose, intentionally including his ring and the sheets on his bed in the photo, wanting you to know he was chatting with you, praising you, cumming with you.

You open your mouth, nearly speechless from awe and anticipation of what’s about to happen. To think all the things you said to him behind a screen…

“Yeah, I did,” you breathe.

“What do you charge for a private session where I actually get to touch you, hmm?” Rafe mumbles. His thumbs press down on your hips, shoving you down hard enough to seat you on the edge of his bed.

The way he says it, that he gets to touch you, makes you feel like the most desired girl in the world. You’re not just a cam girl trying to make ends meet. You’re something special.

Rafe is just as confident and forward now as he is in the chatroom. You decide you should do the same, even though you’re trembling with nerves.

“I’ll do it for free,” you reply, looking up at him through your lashes. He smirks, stepping closer to you.

You notice the bulge of his hard-on beneath the towel wrapped around his hips and you’re eager to see what you saw on your screen in real life.

You bite your lip as you hook a finger under the cotton, pulling it down. The towel drops to the floor with a soft thud, his cock springing free a few inches away from your face. It’s fucking perfect, your eyes traveling over the veiny length.

“So eager,” he teases. “You said you didn’t think you could fit it in your mouth, remember? You gonna try for me, princess?”

You gaze at his swollen shaft and run your hand up his thigh, closing your fist around the base of his dick. A groan spills out of him immediately.

“There’s the needy girl I like so much,” he praises.

You look up at Rafe again, watching his face contort as you put him up to your mouth. You tap the head of his dick against your lips the same way he told you to do to your dildo during your first session together.

“Such a pretty mouth,” he says. You like hearing his praise out loud much more than reading it on a screen.

You taste his salty precum as you swirl your tongue around his tip. You’re out of your element now that you’re not in front of a camera and controlling everything, but you urge yourself to talk the way you’d talk if you were at home, in your bed, knowing he was watching you.

You pull back, your mouth popping off of him.

“I thought you were going to make me beg for it,” you say, his dick heavy on your lips.

“You already beg for it with those eyes every time I see you,” he says. “Suck it.”

He’s right. Every damn time you’re in this house and he’s berating you while you work, you act annoyed but really, you’re excited by him, by his beautiful face, by his hot body, by his domineering presence.

If you got your way, when he teased you like that, you’d cuss him out and tease him back, then you’d fuck until you couldn’t walk.

You finally close your lips around his girth. You look up to watch his eyes shut at the sensation of your mouth sliding down his length. You reach the base, gagging once his entire cock is in your mouth.

“That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans, his voice hoarse. It electrifies you knowing you’re the one making him this hard, feeling your centre swelling with need.

You start to bob back and forth, your tongue flicking as your lips suction around him tightly. You feel his hand at the back of your head, fingers digging into your hair.

Rafe tugs at your roots as you tighten your grip on him and start to move your hand in sync with your mouth. His cock is slick, your spit dribbling out the corner of your lips as you glide up and down, your cheeks hollowing.

“So much better than that toy, isn’t it?” he teases.

“So much better,” you moan, your words muffled from his dick in your mouth. You look ahead at his flat, toned stomach and bring your other hand up to cup his balls, gently rolling his soft flesh in your palm.

“Fuck,” he shudders, his hips bucking. He hits the back of your throat, making you gag. You regain composure, pulling back a little, but then he pushes your head forward so your lips press against his base again.

“What, you can’t take it all?” Rafe taunts.

You look up at him with doe eyes, brows pinching together, mouth full of him as saliva drips down your chin.

“Can’t you, princess?” he asks.

You nod, swirling your tongue around him.

“Good girl,” he says, tugging at your roots again. You pull back, never losing suction, and push him back inside, all of him, sputtering and triggering your gag reflex again.

You rock back and forth, the ache between your legs nearly impossible to bear now as you sit on the edge of his bed. He tugs your hair back hard enough to pop you off of him and you look up at him, his eyes heavy lidded and his pink lips parted.

“Take those panties off,” Rafe orders. You move your hands off him and rush to dip into the band of your underwear, lifting your ass up off the bed for a moment to pull off the fabric.

He puts his large hands on your shoulders to push you down. You sink onto the mattress, legs hanging off the edge, and he pulls your knees apart so roughly that you gasp.

He lowers his large frame, knees on the floor, and you prop yourself up with your elbows from your position on the bed, watching him as his lustful eyes travel over your exposed core.

“I knew how wet this pussy could get, but fuck…” You feel the pad of his finger trace up to your clit and you tremble, impatiently bucking your hips.

“Hurry,” you plead. He locks eyes with you, a pompous smile on his face.

“I warned you I’d tease you until you were soaking.”

“I am,” you urge. “Please…”

He dips his head but you don’t feel his mouth on you where you hope. He’s kissing your inner thigh slowly, agonizingly slowly, and you sigh in a mixture of pleasure and frustration.

His lips are soft and when you feel them part, sucking on the tender skin of your thigh, you exhale quickly, longingly.

“You know I’m not patient,” you groan.

“And you know I go slow. I told you last night that this pussy is mine,” he says against your skin. “I decide what happens to it. And when.”

“Fuck,” you whisper, elbows weak as you watch the top of his head gently moving between your legs, his thick hair darkened from the shower.

“Say my name when you beg,” he instructs.

“Rafe, please,” you shudder, your words tumbling out of you now. Your pussy feels like it’s drenched, every nerve in your body craving him. “Don’t you want to taste it? You said you wanted to taste it.”

You feel him scoff against your thigh, his breath warm, as if it’s funny that you’re trying to coax him into doing what you want.

“Keep begging,” he says, his tone insinuating that no matter what you say, he has the final say on everything.

You drop, the back of your head hitting his bed as he continues to trace kisses up your thighs, his cheek brushing against your wet core as you squirm.

Your fingers grab the half-made sheets beneath you, the expensive threads bunching in your grip.

“Please, Rafe,” you mumble. “Please…”

Starving for stimulation, you start fondling your tits with your eyes squeezed shut.

It’s not enough. You impulsively put your fingers on your swollen clit, but you feel Rafe’s big hand roughly grip your wrist before you can pleasure yourself.

“I can’t believe how fucking bad you are, my God,” he mutters.

“I’m not,” you whine.

“Liar,” he half-chuckles. “I told you I decide what happens, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” you whisper, defeated. “Fine, yes.”

Rafe guides your hand up to your stomach and loosens his grip, dropping your palm.

He continues to suck and nibble on the sensitive skin of your thighs at a painfully slow pace until finally, finally, you get some relief when you feel his fingers pull your lips apart.

“Fuck,” he groans. “That little camera of yours doesn’t show just how nice this pussy is.”

“It doesn’t?” you say, legs twitching, wishing he would just put his mouth on you.

“I’m buying you a better one,” Rafe says. You don’t know what you expected after this, but the fact that he wants you to continue doing your dirty shows for him, he wants to keep paying you to touch yourself, surprises you.

His tongue slowly flattens against your spread middle and you whimper. He starts to lap at your sensitive slit, his hands still holding you open.

You writhe, knowing he’s purposely not giving you the satisfaction of moving up to your clit.

“I’ll be good,” you whisper more to yourself than him. Rafe chuckles against you, his breath pouring over you.

He finally angles up higher, the point of his tongue playing with your clit.

“Fuck,” you sob, voice strained as you gaze up at his ceiling. He puts his lips around the sensitive nub and starts to suck, the sound of your wetness filling his bedroom. He moves back down, dipping his tongue inside of you, groaning and sending a vibration through you.

Rafe starts to move faster and rougher. He had sent a message that he wanted his face wet from you, and damn if he wasn’t fulfilling his wish right now.

Your body is on fire. Not only does Rafe like eating pussy, but he’s really fucking good at it. The way you touch yourself, the toys you use, they pale in comparison.

“Tastes better than I imagined,” he praises.

Without a word, he goes knuckle-deep inside of you. You shudder, feeling his ring against you, as he pumps two fingers in and out. You clench around him, craving more.

Your breaths get faster and more shallow, stomach tightening.

“Are you close?” he taunts.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Suddenly, Rafe pulls out of you, his mouth losing contact. You find the strength to lift your head and look down at him in confusion and frustration.

You watch his face, glistening with your arousal, as he stands up, hand around his cock.

“Why’s your bra still on?” he asks.

You arch your back to unhook your bra, quickly taking it off, eager to feel him inside of you.

“Fuck,” he groans. You watch him through lustful eyes as he gets on his knees over you, his cock curved up and hitting his stomach.

“When you put that dildo between your tits…” he whispers. “God.”

The anticipation of him recreating the lewd act makes your stomach blaze with yearning even more. His hands knead your tits as he hovers over you, his thumbs roughly stroking over your pebbled nipples.

You remind yourself to be patient, even though you’re dying for the orgasm he’s delaying.

“You wanted it to be you so bad,” you tease, knowing your smile is smug without needing to look at the mirror image of yourself that you’re so used to seeing.

“Now it’s gonna be,” he says gruffly. He leans down, placing his wet, heavy cock on your sternum. You quickly squeeze your breasts together, trapping him.

You look up and the view of Rafe sitting over you like this, his jaw tight and his wet hair hanging over his forehead, is like a drug. A tremor swirls at your core as he rocks forward, his thickness rubbing the tight space you’ve made for him.

He starts to pant as he tit-fucks you, reminding you of the breathy video he sent of him stroking himself. The friction, the heat, the moisture of his dick moving on you like this makes you buck your hips up in desire, wishing he would finally just pound into you.

You think back to Rafe’s messages, the way he’d tease you and praise you. You thought your sessions were heaven, but no - this is.

His eyes lock on yours as he grinds and he rests the crook of his hand on your chin, squeezing your cheeks together.

“Such a dirty girl,” he says. “Touching yourself for strangers on the internet. You won’t show anyone else your body, do you understand?”

“Yes, Rafe. Yes.”

“Just me.”

“Yes.”

He keeps thrusting and you feel him hardening even more.

“Don’t,” you whisper, “don’t cum like this. Please get inside of me.”

He breathes a chuckle, continuing to thrust.

“I want to finish on that pretty face today,” he tells you. “You want that?”

“I want it inside of me,” you whine.

“Either on your face or nowhere near you, princess,” he tells you.

“Why?” you gripe.

“Which one?” he says through gritted teeth.

“My face,” you answer quickly. It’s not your first choice, but feeling his hot cum on your face will almost be just as good as feeling it inside you.

He pulls out from between your tits and angles his hips closer to your face, dropping his hands to hold himself up on the bed.

“Finish me off,” he instructs. You grip his cock and start rubbing up and down, his breath getting even faster as his cock lightly bounces on your chin.

Rafe stops breathing for a second, straining as you pump his orgasm out of him. His hot semen splashes onto your face and you open wide, letting it hit your tongue and your cheeks.

He fucks your hand to help you work the last drop out, then slides down to kiss you. The taste of his tongue mixed with his cum sends you into even more of a frenzy.

Rafe hovers over you, his hot chest pressed against yours, the soft hairs peppering his pecs lightly tickling you.

He pulls back and you realize you’re more than okay with him finishing you off with his hand if he won’t fuck you how you want him to today.

“So pretty,” he whispers, pushing your hair back as his eyes take you in. You’re heaving, looking at him through heavy lids.

“Can I please cum now?” you whisper.

Rafe’s dimples dip into his cheeks, his smile painfully sexy.

“Tonight.”

“What?” you snap.

“Look how mad you are,” Rafe mocks, eyes dropping to your lips.” You’re not cumming until you’re in front of your camera for me.”

“Rafe,” you groan. “Please.”

“Who do you belong to?” he asks, bringing his hand down to pat your pussy, tormenting you. You throw your head back in frustration and hear him laugh again.

The mattress shifts when Rafe sits up. You watch the muscles in his back flex as he leans towards his nightstand. You hear a drawer open and close.

He lays down next to you, blissed out from his orgasm, a stark contrast to how worked up you are. He’s holding a small pink box.

“You’ll open this for me tonight,” he tells you. “On camera. Don’t do it before then.”

You stare up at the ceiling, swollen and angry that he’s denying you your orgasm. Rafe says your name in a warning tone.

“Take it,” he orders. This man is kinkier than you could have imagined, clearly loving orgasm denial, sexual dominance, praising, teasing, being a sugar daddy.

You roll your eyes and take his gift, shaking your head in annoyance.

“God, that attitude,” Rafe taunts.

Despite everything, despite his taunting, despite the state he’s leaving you in, you do feel lucky to have caught Rafe’s interest, to be his personal toy.

“This is so fucking unfair,” you mutter. Rafe smiles in amusement.

“You’re cute when you’re pissed off,” he says.

{ read part four here }

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

🎃 Spooky, Spooky Movies 👻

You're nursing a crush on Eddie but you're too shy to approach him. A shared love of spooky movies brings the two of you together.

❤️

You had been quietly nursing this little crush of yours for a while now, Eddie Munson was the object of your affections and your crush had only continued to grow the last month or so. Ever since school started again, you noticed Eddie more and more.

Not that he would notice you. Eddie seemed to have crushes on cheerleaders like Chrissy Cunningham, he wasn't interested in you at all.

If only you had the courage to join Hellfire Club or even something less terrifying like even saying hello to him once in a while. That could be a possibility.

You're pretty sure if you joined Hellfire you would just get all tongue tied around him. It was extremely annoying that he made you like this. If you were around people you knew then you were fine.

However being around the guy you were crushing on reduced you to mush. How you would love to make him laugh by saying something witty or just anything at all.

Secretly you watch Eddie while he's in his element, ranting about conformity, Miss O'Donnell and Jason Carver. His eyes are bright, a tiny smirk on his face as passionately begins talking about his new campaign in D&D.

After a few moments you pack away your things and head out of the cafeteria. You're not paying attention as you should and end up knocking into Eddie. Shit.

Flustered you apologise and Eddie flashes you and all dimpled smile as he gathers up your books for you.

Then his eyes trail down to your shirt and he points to it excitedly. "Jesus h Christ, that shirt is so fucking cool. I take it you're a big fan of spooky movies huh?"

You literally forgot you were wearing your favourite Evil Dead shirt today and smile up at Eddie. You were determined to at least hold a conversation with him and maybe your love of spooky movies was the key?

"Mmm, I think I've rented out every horror movie that Family Video has to offer" his eyes light up and he guides you to The Hellfire table, ignoring the rest of the members as he barked at Mike to make space for you.

The two of you spent most of lunch chatting about horror movies that you liked. When you mentioned you were planning to rent out Poltergeist and either Christine or Friday the 13th he was practically vibrating with excitement.

Then all of a sudden his usual confident demeanour vanishes and he looks suddenly shy, he tugs a piece of his hair across his face and peers at you nervously.

"Uh, I actually have Poltergeist rented out rented out ready, maybe you could come to mine and we could watch it?" Oh.

Was this like a date? No...it couldn't be right? You take a chance and ask him, completely expecting him to blow you off. "You mean like a date?"

He blushes but swiftly glares to silence the rest of Hellfire who begins to cat call and tease Eddie. The look immediately silences them and Eddie gestures for you to follow him out to the corridor. "Away from prying buttheads" he tells you and throws an irritated look at the Hellfire table.

Once you're alone he's a little shy again. "Yeah I mean like a date sweetheart" you're elated and stunned that this is actually happening and you accidentally blurt out something you've been wondering for weeks, maybe months.

"I thought you'd have a crush on Chrissy or the other cheerleaders" you admit and he scoffs.

"I mean Chrissy is sweet and all but no. Kinda got my world turned upside down by a beautiful, spooky movie loving lady" flustered but not wasting any more time, you beam and agree to the date.

"Yeah, I'd love to go on a date with you Eddie" he gawks then makes a show of clutching his heart and swooning, it makes you giggle and maybe fall a little bit more for him.

You didn't realise at the time that the date would be the start of something very special.

All because of your love for spooky movies.

Halloween 1987

Eddie is chatting to Steve as you browse through the horror selection in Family Video. You settle on The Thing, Nightmare on Elm street and Fright Night.

What you're most looking forward to is tomorrow when you and Eddie are going to the movies to see The Lost Boys. Both of you were excited for the film but you were anticipating it the most.

Vampires movies were a secret love of yours and this one looked so good. A perfect film to see before Halloween.

Once you've picked your selection you head up to the counter, Steve whistles as he eyes the titles.

"Ahh I see date night right? Munson's picks I guess?" Eddie snorts.

"My princess loves spooky movies I'll have you know Harrington" yeah you'd never get tired of hearing Eddie call you his princess.

Or for all the Halloween's together that were yet to come.

🎃🍁

[count-on-mi]

Mile High Club (Mina)

Mina is a senior flight attendant of an airline. The stewardess uniform tightly wraps her towering breasts and round buttocks, , also her angelic face, always allow her attracting countless envious glances when shuttle through the air.

As a senior flight attendant, Mina knows the first-class passengers on the plane very well. She knows which passengers will stare at her beautiful legs as soon as they board the plane, and which guests like to deliberately touch her butt when collecting their luggage. some people will even send her obscene invitations to " take care of " themselves during the flight.

Mina never refuses invitations from these men because she knows her advantages - she has a mesmerizing face and a pair of beautiful legs that can drive any man crazy. Whenever Mina sees the first-class guests casting fiery glances at her, she knows she has a new target.

Mina walked lightly to the first-class seat in black pointed high heels, attracting the attention of many people along the way.

She sat nimbly next to a middle-aged man about forty years old. This was not the first time this guest had taken this flight. Mina recognized his squinting eyes immediately.

" Hello, sir, I am Mina, the steward of this flight . Do you need anything?" Mina smiled and handed over a glass of red wine. Her little hand slipped across the man's arm intentionally or unintentionally, causing the other person to immediately become short of breath.

"Ah... no, no... I'm just... honored to be on your flight..." the man replied incoherently, and Mina noticed that his eyes kept rolling on her thighs.

"Then, if you have any needs, sir, please call me at any time and I will try my best to satisfy you." Mina put the red wine in front of the man, got up and walked towards the other passengers.

" Really ... is it okay ...?" The man looked at Mina 's back in surprise, watching her tall and graceful figure gradually move away, with an evil smile on his lips.

Of course, Mina understood the meaning behind this smile, she had expected it, but this was her job - to meet the various needs of first-class guests, even those that went beyond ordinary etiquette.

Sure enough, after the meal was over, the middle-aged man pressed the internal call button. Mina smiled knowingly, opened the hatch and walked in. "Sir, how can I help you?" Mina stood in front of the man and asked with a low eyebrow.

The men looked at Mina lustfully : "I want ... to let you stay with me here for a little while ... just for a little while ..."

Mina blinked innocently: "Here? But this is against the rules..."

"Don't be afraid... we'll keep the noise down... and I'm willing to give you some tips..." The man quickly took out a stack of thick bills from his wallet, put it on the table and pushed it to Mina.

Mina's eyes wandered between the banknotes and the man, and she quickly decided: "Since you are so sincere, then I have to try my best..."

She walked up behind the man, quietly unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt with her little hands, and whispered softly in her ear: "Sir...how do you want me to 'take care' of you...?"

The man's breathing suddenly became heavy. He reached out and grabbed Mina's arm and pulled her into his arms...

Mina smiled knowingly. She stood up and closed the seat partition to ensure that no one would disturb their "game".

Returning to the man, Mina leaned down, stretched out her tongue and licked the man's neck, leaving wet traces. "Sir, do you think my 'care' is adequate now?"

The man had been completely aroused by Mina. He roughly pulled open Mina's collar and covered her breasts with his hands and keep kneaded them. "Oh...it's so cool...I really should have chosen first class earlier..."

Mina hummed softly, raised her neck and let the man bite her throat. Her little hand restlessly inserted into the man's crotch, skillfully found the hot hard cock, and began to stroke it up and down.

" Umm ... you are so amazing ... It is already so big ..." Mina looked at the man with charming eyes and increased the speed of her hand.

"Fuck! It's so fucking exciting..." the man roared, grabbing Mina's wrist to stop her movement, then grabbed her collar and ripped it open, revealing a large area of snow-white skin.

" Miss Mina ... I want you to give it to me now ..." the man gasped and growled. Mina nodded with a smile, knelt on the ground and took off the man's pants ...

Mina gently took off the man's pants and underwear. The man's already highly erected penis eagerly popped out and jumped twice in the air.

"Oh...it's so energetic..." Mina wrapped her fingers around the thick and hard penis, stroked it up and down a few times before lowering her head and swallowing the tip into her mouth.

"Ah...Miss Mina...so good..." The man cried out comfortably, and inserted one hand into Mina's hair to press her head down, while the other hand reached into Mina's open top. The pair of white and tender breasts were rubbed vigorously inside.

Mina didn't care about the man's rough movements. She skillfully swallowed the huge thing in her mouth, and occasionally lick the sensitive crown with the tip of her tongue to arouse the man's excitement.

"It feels so good... You are much better than that whore last time..." The man became more and more excited. He simply picked up Mina's head and inserted it completely. His abdomen hit her chin and made a loud slapping sound.

Mina tried her best to relax her throat to allow the man to thrust easily, sucking and swallowing with the men’s rhythm at the same time. Soon the man's breathing became heavy and rapid, the only thing left in the cabin was the man's sensual moans and the gurgling sound of water in Mina's throat...

With Mina's efforts, the man quickly reached climax. He held Mina's head firmly against his crotch, and a thick white liquid spurted out, pouring all of it into Mina's mouth.

Mina did not spit out the man's penis immediately, but swallowed every drop of semen in her mouth, and did not raise her head until the man softened.

" Miss Mina ... you are so wonderful ..." the man gasped, still stroking Mina 's hair with his big hands.

Mina smiled and wiped away the residue from her lips, then crawled back onto the man: " In that case, sir, do you want more ' care ‘? "

Without saying a word, the man pushed Mina down on the seat and eagerly pulled open her uniform skirt, revealing the narrow thong between her slender legs. " Fuck ... you little evil ... I'm going to fuck you up ..." The man growled, taking off his clothes, stepping forward and possessing Mina fiercely...

"Ah... so deep... you are so powerful..." Mina raised her neck and hummed softly. The man's penis was thick, long and powerful, and it reached the deepest point at once.

The man grabbed Mina's waist and pumped her quickly, hitting her every time, causing Mina to moan intermittently. "Scream louder...I like to hear your voice..." the man ordered, while increasing the intensity.

" Oh ... Sir ... be gentle ... I won't be able to bear it ..." Mina twisted her waist to escape from the man's control, but it only made the man more excited.

"Little evil... you just need to be fucked..." The man rushed forward and kissed Mina on the lips, holding her swaying breasts in his big hands and kneading them.

Mina responded to the man's deep kiss, inserted one hand between the two of them, and gently twisted the man's scrotum, while the other hand left scratch marks on the man's back.

"Hmm... It's so fucking exciting... You really should be a prostitute..." The man was so excited by Mina's reaction that his penis expanded more and more, and each penetration brought Mina greater pleasure.

In the midst of this passion, the plane suddenly encountered turbulence, and the fuselage began to vibrate violently. "Be careful...ah..." Mina exclaimed, hugging the man's shoulders tightly with both hands, and the two of them swayed on the chair.

"Fuck...I don't care...let's continue..." The man gritted his teeth, fixed Mina's buttocks with his hands and continued to thrust violently, as if he wanted to penetrate her...

Mina lost control due to the man's collision. She raised her head and threw her hair away. She screamed and twisted her waist desperately, seeming to enjoy this wild pleasure.

The bumps in the fuselage caused the two of them to constantly collide and rub against each other, which only added to the excitement of sex. Mina's legs were wrapped around the man's waist, her fingers dug deep into his back, and her nails made bloody marks.

"Fuck...it feels so good...I'm going to cum..." the man growled, speeding up his thrusts and gushing out in the deepest part of Mina.

Mina also reached climax at the same time. She screamed and stretched her waist, her vagina tightened around the man's penis like a spasm, and a large amount of honey gushed out.

" Ah ... that's great ..." Mina fell into the man's arms exhausted, her forehead covered with beads of sweat.

The man chuckled lightly and kissed the corner of Mina's lips: "Your 'care' is so perfect... I will only choose you when I fly first class in the future..."

Mina chuckled and whispered in the man's ear: " Then we'll see you on the next flight ..."

When the man heard this, he was immediately excited. He hugged Mina tightly and planned to have a second round...

"Wait..." Mina suddenly pushed the man away with an embarrassed expression.

"What's wrong?" The man looked at Mina in confusion.

Mina blushed and shook her head: "For the second round of your special service, we need to charge some extra fees..."

The man's eyes widened: "What do you mean? Aren't you a flight attendant on the plane?"

Mina said: " Yes, but to provide such a long-term special service to one customer, there is still an additional charge ..."

"What?!" The man was furious. He stood up angrily: "So you are playing tricks on me..."

Mina quickly grabbed the man and explained aggrievedly: "Don't be angry... Of course I am willing to serve you, but this is not in compliance with company regulations... If I am found out, I will lose my job..."

"Then how much do you want?" the man asked.

Mina thought for a moment and held out three fingers hesitantly.

"Three thousand?!" The man was shocked.

" No ... it's three hundred thousand ..." Mina said with a blush.

"What?! Do you think I'm being taken advantage of?" the man was furious.

Mina immediately put on a pitiful look: " But sir ... I really can't provide such services for free ... You just said that I am much better than a prostitute ..."

The man sighed helplessly. He took out a thick stack of cash from the suitcase and threw it to Mina: "Okay... take it..."

After getting the money, Mina immediately changed into a different person. She knelt on the ground and leaned down again, using her gloves to touch the man's genitals while taking it into her mouth.

" Ah ... little fairy ... you are really ..." The man felt Mina 's skill and closed his eyes comfortably. Mina licked the man like a charming cat, her tongue swirled around the crown, and then suddenly slid into the deepest recess, scraping the sensitive spots teasingly.

"Oh... you're really good at licking..." The man couldn't help but hold down Mina's head and completely insert his penis into her mouth.

Mina obediently allowed herself to be manipulated by the man. The tip of her tongue hung at the base of the penis, rubbing the sensitive parts as the man thrust. "I'm going to cum..." The man's breathing became heavy. He held Mina's head firmly, thrust dozens of times, and then poured all the hot fluid into Mina's mouth.

Mina carefully swallowed every drop of semen, raised her head and showed a charming smile to the man: "Do you have any other 'requests'?"

The man stared at Mina's flushed lips and smiled evilly: "I want to fuck every hole in your body..." Mina immediately understood what the man meant. She turned over and lay on the seat, raising her butt high: "Then come on...please enjoy my back garden..."

The man stared intently at Mina's buttocks. Her vagina had not yet been closed, and the pink flesh walls could be vaguely seen, as well as the white turbid semen that was constantly flowing out. "What a beauty..." The man reached out and slapped Mina on the buttocks with emotion, causing her to scream.

"Moan..." the man ordered. He held Mina's waist and slowly advanced. The front end of his cock separated the pink anus and gradually sank into it. "Ah...Sir...slower..." Mina raised her head and gasped, feeling a strange pleasure from the thick foreign object invading her anus.

The man ignored Mina's pleas. He grabbed Mina's waist and pushed hard, inserting the entire penis into Mina's anus. "Oh..." Mina whispered in a daze. She felt that part of her body was stretched to the limit, and the man's penis jumped up and down in her body, bringing waves of tingling pleasure.

The man began to thrust rapidly. His penis was tightly wrapped by Mina's ass, and every inch of skin was rubbing, causing an extreme sense of comfort. "It feels so fucking good...you little devil..." the man growled and sped up, hitting Mina's G-spot with every penetration, causing her to scream.

"Ah...don't...too deep...sir..." Mina cried, the pain and pleasure coming from her anus made her almost lose her mind. The man doesn't care about so much, he just wants to indulge in Mina. His big hands pinched Mina's breasts, kneading them into various shapes, and pinched the sensitive nipples with his fingertips.

"Moan louder...I'm going to fuck you out..." The man gasped, his penis moving in and out of Mina's body quickly.

"Oh...Sir...I can't survive...I'm going to be broken..." Mina burst into tears. She felt that her lower body was completely out of control, and streams of juice could not stop pouring out of her vagina.

"Then let me see how wild you can be..." The man bit Mina's shoulder viciously, and his penis hit the deepest part, and then erupted again amidst Mina's high-pitched moans. White turbid semen spurted out and poured into Mina's rectum, mixing with the previous semen, making the entire anus look even muddier.

"It feels so fucking good...you are such a natural born slut..." The man pulled out his penis, covered Mina's buttocks with one hand, turned her over and pressed her on the seat, and once again buried his head in her Chest biting and sucking...

Mina looked at the man in front of her who was crazy about her with joy. She understood that as long as she could make him cum more often, she would get higher rewards.

"Do you still want it... Are you satisfied with Mina's service... Do you still want more?” Mina’s teasing is so effective that the men’s cock starts to rise again. "You little evil..." the man growled. He grabbed Mina's hands and held them above her head. Then he lowered his head and kissed Mina's red lips hard.

Mina responded to the kiss passionately, her tongue protruding into the man's mouth and entangled with his. At the same time, she felt a hot thing squeeze into her body, slowly but surely moving deeper.

" Ah ... Sir ... you are so amazing ..." Mina gasped repeatedly. She felt that the desire in her body was completely ignited, and her whole body seemed to be in cloud 9, bumping up and down with the man's movements.

The man pumped faster and faster, and his penis was tightly wrapped by Mina's tight vagina, bringing unprecedented pleasure. " Fuck ... you're driving me crazy ..." the man cursed in a low voice. He grabbed Mina 's slender waist and pushed hard ..." Mina pretended to be helpless and moaned. In fact, she felt unprecedented Relief.

The man gasped and sped up, and every thrust hit Mina's deepest core, causing a throbbing sensation. " It feels so good ..." Mina swayed obliviously, her breasts rising and falling as if they were two active volcanoes waiting to be conquered.

The man became even more excited when he saw Mina. He grabbed Mina's breasts hard and rubbed and pressed her nipples with his thumbs, causing a burst of electricity to pass through her body. " Ah ... Sir ... harder ... deeper ..." Mina twisted her body to meet the man's movements. She felt that her desire had reached the limit, and she longed for a more violent impact.

The man's scalp was numb from the stimulation of Mina's words and movements. He growled, held Mina's slim waist with both hands, and pushed his penis deep. "Oh...it's too deep..." Mina raised her head and gasped. Her eyes were blurred, as if she had lost consciousness.

The man pumped faster and faster, and his glans kept hitting Mina's cervix, causing waves of spasms." Call me husband ... you slut ..." The man bit Mina 's ear, his hoarse voice filled with indescribable temptation.

" Husband ... " Mina responded unconsciously. Her body was completely dominated, and she could only passively withstand the man's attack.

The man felt Mina 's body tighten suddenly, followed by a violent tremor. His penis was tightly twisted, almost suffocating.

" Ah...I'm going to cum..." the man growled, his penis buried deeply into Mina's body, spurting out stream after stream of hot heat inside. "Husband..." Mina also reached climax. She hugged the man tightly, and their bodies softened after a spasm.

The man gently stroked Mina's sweaty back and whispered, " You are mine for the rest of the flight. " Mina raised her head and smiled sweetly at the man. She responded softly: "Yes, husband..."

The man stared at Mina in front of him. Although the stewardess uniform she was wearing was already messy, the contrast between chaos and order gave people a very impactful sense of beauty.

Mina also noticed the man's gaze. She deliberately shook her body, revealing the snow-white skin under her clothes and a faint red mark. "Sir..." Mina blinked and called softly, as if teasing something.

The man felt that the thing in his body was tending to rise again, and he sighed. This woman was simply a natural succubus, who could always easily arouse his desire.

"What are we going to do now..." Mina tilted her head and looked at the man, looking innocent, but her eyes were so coquettish that her heart beat faster.

The man couldn't help but leaned down, and his lips fell on Mina's forehead, nose, and lips, licking all the way down, and finally took a hard red fruit in his mouth and sucked hard. "Oh..." Mina raised her head and hummed. She put her arms around the man's neck and offered her lips and tongue.

The man growled and deepened the kiss. His big hands slipped under Mina's skirt, covering her smooth thighs, and gradually explored upwards...

"Well...Husband..." Mina's murmurs came intermittently. She felt that she was about to be ignited again, and that primitive desire was taking over her reason little by little...

Mina knew exactly what she had to do - there was only the last moment before the plane landed, and she had to seize this last opportunity to drain the man in front of her. So, Mina kept whispering "husband". She twisted her body and rubbed the man's lower body, trying to arouse his interest.

" Husband ... I want more ..." Mina said coquettishly, her fingers slipped under the man's nightgown, grabbed the half-hard penis and started to play with it.

The man felt that he was about to lose control, but he still couldn't bear to stop. Mina's techniques are proficient and full of skills. She seems to be born with all this, and people can't help but indulge in it.

" You goblin ..." the man gasped and pushed Mina down on the seat again. His tongue swept across Mina 's bare shoulders, leaving a trail of glistening saliva.

" As long as my husband likes it ..." Mina chuckled. She put her arms around the man's neck and pulled him to cover her again.

The man buried his head in Mina 's chest and sucked her nipples hard. At the same time, he raised his buttocks and pressed against Mina 's private parts, rubbing them slightly.

"Oh..." Mina felt a numbing pleasure spread from her lower body. She couldn't help but raise her head and moan in response to the man's sucking. " Baby ... you are so sweet ..." The man's hoarse voice sounded extremely aggressive. He pulled open Mina 's dress without any explanation and bit into a bud.

"Husband..." Mina sighed softly and opened her legs to facilitate the man's further invasion. The man unhooked Mina's bra, and a pair of proud jade rabbits popped out. The man eagerly lowered his head, took one of the nipples into his mouth, and teased it with the tip of his tongue, causing Mina to gasp.

" Ah ... it feels so comfortable ... honey ... push harder ..." Mina twisted her body, her hand kept touching the man's penis and began to stroke it gently. The man felt the heat gradually rising in his lower body, and his breathing became heavier, but he still did not forget to take care of Mina's two-point red cherry in his mouth, sucking and licking it, making a "tsk tsk" sound.

"Husband... I can't bear it anymore... Come in..." Mina begged softly, her legs automatically parted, inviting the man to enter. The man finally let go of Mina 's breasts. He put his hands on Mina 's waist, then slowly moved forward, and slowly inserted his huge penis into Mina 's body.

" Ah!" Mina raised her head and gasped. The depths of her body were immediately filled, and an electric-like pleasure coursed through her limbs.

The man began to pump slowly, going all the way in every stroke, hitting the deepest part of Mina. " Honey ... come on ... harder ..." Mina urged, feeling like she was about to melt into the waves of pleasure.

The man obeyed the order and sped up. His penis quickly moved in and out of Mina's body, making waves of water and sluggish sounds. " Baby, you're so tight ... it's driving me crazy ..." the man gasped, and beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

When Mina heard the man's words, a proud smile appeared on her lips. She adjusted her breathing, and then rhythmically tightened her body cavity, tightly wrapping the man's hot desire.

"Oh!" The man felt that he was being tightly clamped, and Mina's pussy seemed to be alive, squirming and squeezing, trying to squeeze out all the essence in his body.

"Baby...you're going to drain me..." the man roared, his speed getting faster and faster, hitting Mina's deepest part hard every time, causing waves of convulsions.

Mina 's breathing became more and more rapid. She clutched the sheets tightly, and her whole body was shaking uncontrollably.

"Honey... cum together... I'm cumming..." Mina shouted in a daze, her body suddenly tightened again, and a strong suction force hit the man's clone. "Oh...fuck!" The man could no longer control himself. He growled and poured all of himself into Mina's body.

The two of them froze up while climaxing and could not recover for a long time.

After a while, the man withdrew from Mina's body, bringing out a large amount of viscous bodily fluids. Mina was lying on her back on the seat, the lingering feeling had not dissipated, her eyes were a little confused, and she seemed to be in some kind of passionate state.

The man leaned down, gently stroked Mina 's hair, and said with a low smile: " Baby, you are truly a stunner. " Mina narrowed her eyes and showed a charming smile: "Husband, this is just the beginning." "

For the next period, Mina was like an insatiable demon, constantly squeezing the desire out of the man's body. They tried various positions and methods, reaching the peak again and again.

It wasn't until the plane started to land that Mina stopped this wild game. She quickly arranged her clothes to cover up the mess on her body. Then, Mina took out a large check from the man's wallet, smiled kindly at him, and left his first-class cabin.

When Mina returned to work, she looked as elegant and capable as ever. No one could have imagined that this dignified stewardess had just staged such a ridiculous love affair in a private cabin.

Mina greeted the other passengers with a smile on her face. She stuffed the check left by the man into her pocket and silently planned her spending plan for tonight.

The drained man was still unconscious on the first-class bed. His body was covered with hickeys and fingerprints, and a pool of thick bodily fluids wet the sheets.

It seems that this journey will become a very unforgettable memory for him.

[inkspiredwriting]

The Day of Swapped Powers

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

In the dimly lit basement of the Umbrella Academy, Five Hargreeves and his wife Y/n were elbow-deep in an experimental project. Y/n, with her ability to read minds, and Five, the seasoned time traveler, were working on a device designed to enhance their powers temporarily. It was supposed to be a simple test, but, as with most things involving the Hargreeves family, things quickly spiraled out of control.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Y/n asked, eyeing the array of wires and glowing components skeptically.

Five, ever confident, waved her concern away. "Of course, it’s safe. I’ve triple-checked everything. What could possibly go wrong?"

Those words hung ominously in the air as they activated the device. There was a blinding flash, a strange crackling noise, and then silence.

When the smoke cleared, Y/n and Five blinked at each other in confusion.

"Did it work?" Y/n asked, touching her temples.

Five glanced at his watch, which now displayed an array of random dates and times instead of the usual readings. "I’m not sure. I don’t feel any different."

Just then, Five’s head buzzed with an overwhelming wave of thoughts—Y/n’s thoughts. "Did he forget our anniversary? What if this messes up our abilities permanently? Why does he always have to be so reckless?"

Five’s eyes widened. “Y/n, I can hear your thoughts!”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes widening in shock. “Wait, what? I can’t hear yours anymore!”

Five glanced at the mess of equipment, realization dawning on him. “I think we’ve swapped powers.”

Y/n’s mouth fell open as she processed this. “You mean I can time travel now?”

Five nodded, grimacing. “And I get to hear everyone’s innermost thoughts. Fantastic.”

The next few hours were a comedy of errors as Five and Y/n bumbled through their new abilities.

Y/n stood in the middle of the living room, attempting to blink across the room. She scrunched up her face in concentration, only to find herself standing on top of the coffee table, much to the dismay of Pogo, who was quietly sipping tea.

“Try focusing on where you want to go!” Five shouted from the other side of the room, nursing a headache from the mental chatter of his siblings.

“I’m trying!” Y/n replied, a mix of frustration and determination on her face.

With a deep breath, she managed to blink to the other side of the room—right into a wall. She slid down with a groan, rubbing her nose. “I think I broke something,” she muttered.

Five winced sympathetically, while also struggling to keep Klaus’s incessant mental babble out of his head. "I wonder if I left my sandwich in the fridge or if Luther ate it. Maybe we should have a séance later. Ooh, what’s Five doing?"

Five squeezed his eyes shut. “Klaus, could you please shut up?”

Klaus, lounging on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say anything!”

“I heard you thinking,” Five snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I don’t care about your sandwich.”

Klaus blinked. “Whoa, you’re reading my mind now? That’s… actually kind of creepy. Cool, but creepy.”

The rest of the day was no less chaotic. Five, now unable to block out people’s thoughts, found himself avoiding crowded rooms and anyone remotely agitated. He fled from Luther’s worries about him being a bad Leader, Diego’s brooding thoughts about his love life, and Allison’s musings about her career.

Y/n, meanwhile, was discovering that time travel was far more complicated than it looked. She tried jumping back to the living room, only to end up in her parents' bedroom. Her Mother's screams could be heard throughout the neighborhood

She reappeared in the living room, panting and wide-eyed. “You didn’t tell me there were so many things to consider when jumping!”

Five, who had taken refuge in the kitchen with a pair of noise-canceling headphones, looked at her sympathetically. “Welcome to my world.”

By evening, they had gathered in the living room with the rest of the family for dinner. Five was trying to block out the cacophony of thoughts, while Y/n was gingerly sipping on a glass of wine, hoping to steady her nerves.

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked, noticing Five’s pained expression.

“Just fine,” Five lied through gritted teeth. "When will this dinner end? If I hear one more thought about mashed potatoes, I’m going to scream."

Y/n shot him a sympathetic look. “We need to figure out how to reverse this,” she murmured.

“Agreed,” Five said, wincing as Klaus’s thoughts about unicorns and rainbows floated into his mind.

After dinner, they returned to the basement to work on the device. Y/n, with a newfound appreciation for the complexities of time travel, meticulously followed Five’s instructions. Five, on the other hand, tried not to get distracted by Y/n’s focused thoughts and their shared determination to fix the mess.

“Okay, try activating it now,” Five instructed, holding his breath.

Y/n flipped the switch, and the device whirred to life. There was another blinding flash, and then everything went silent.

They blinked at each other again. Five tentatively tried to blink across the room and succeeded without ending up in a wall. Y/n reached out with her mind, relieved that she could hear the thoughts of the people she loved.

“We’re back to normal,” Y/n said, exhaling in relief.

“Thank God,” Five muttered, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know how you deal with all that mental noise.”

Y/n laughed, stepping forward to hug him. “It’s not easy, but now I understand how much you handle with time travel. I’m impressed.”

Five returned the hug, a smile tugging at his lips. “I have a newfound respect for your abilities too.”

The next day, as Five and Y/n lounged on the couch recovering from their ordeal, Klaus sauntered in, a mischievous grin on his face.

“So, how was your day in each other’s shoes?” he teased, plopping down next to them.

Five rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say, never again.”

Y/n chuckled, squeezing Five’s hand. “It was definitely an experience.”

Klaus’s grin widened. “Maybe next time you can swap bodies instead. That would be hilarious.”

Five and Y/n exchanged horrified looks before bursting into laughter. No matter how crazy things got, they knew they could always count on each other, even if their powers were temporarily on the fritz.

As they cuddled together on the couch, exhausted but happy, Five realized that their love and partnership could withstand any challenge—even a day of swapped powers.

[lady-ashfade]

Hi, I wanted to request something platonic with Percy, with him meeting his older half-sister after he finds out he's the son of Poseidon.

Sorry for my English, I'm using the translator to write, and sorry if you don't understand my request

Pictures On The Wall

Percy jackson x older!sister (platonic)

-£ this was the first thing that came to mind and it’s such a cute idea! thank you.

-£ words: 700

-£ warnings: short, nervous percy, cool reader, sassy and kinda grunge reader, siblings bonding, fluff.

the wall across from his bed was covered with many things. pictures of people he didn’t know along with a bed half made and clothes piled up. “that’s y/n’s” a name he never heard but yet was family. his half sister was somewhere on a quest and didn’t know that he was snooping round her things.

he looked at the pictures all the time, liking the smile you had. he knew that smile, a distinct memory in his mind but you wore it with pride. you looked so cool and by all the stories he heard you were one of the most awesome person at camp.

every cabin knew you, it was like he needed to fill some sort of shoe now that you walked in but he didn’t know the first thing.

“percy,” grover peaked into the cabin and looked around for his best friend, when he found him he looked nervous. “I think you should come.” percy jumped up at the sound of his voice that sounded like something horrible had happened.

percy walked along his friend while his heart raced, “what happened?” had another monster attacked the camp, what could have happened that he had to come.

“she’s back.” Grover muttered while sighing, “And we thought you should meet her.” oh,- oh gods. you were back so soon? he didn’t have a clue on what he would say or do. would you like him, would you hate him and somehow kick him out of the cabin? he’s never had a sibling before.

“she’s getting patched up and I’ll warn you,” Grover patted his shoulder with a kind smile, “she’s unpredictable at times.” Yeah, that makes me feel much better Percy thought.

as soon as the walked into the infirmary all they could hear was yelling and arguing making the young boys look at each other. they walked to the door and saw the girl on the bed glare at the other around her age.

he knew you. the picture he looked at every day you seemed to be exactly like that, but you didn’t look happy like all of them. the shirt you wore had rips in it and a bloody bandage wrapped around your arm. the redhead girl in front of you held a spoon up to your mouth but you kept fighter her off.

“I’m fine! It’s just a few scratches, I’m not a child!” it was ironic that you looked like a bratty child that wanted to stomp their feet. your lips pouted slightly. percy didn’t know what to think at the scene.

“take it. you’re just keeping yourself from leaving, so do it so I can leave!” the other girl seemed to knock some sense into you as you huffed and took the spoon in your mouth. if looks could kill then she would be on the ground by now, you looked so angry.

humming the redhead walked out of the door and looked at the boys before rolling her eyes and kept going down the hallway. you didn’t seemed to notice them as you started to take off the dirty bandages.

Grover was the first to speak, “excuse me,” you looked at him quickly but your eyes were now soft and no longer sharp. “Grover, come in!” you invited him over but your eyes soon fell on the boy next to him. and immediately the connection between the two of you went off in your head.

“you must be percy?”

he shifted closer and awkwardly not knowing want to do, “yeah. how do you know?”

“I received letters telling me of the idiot brother I seemed to have,” you chuckle and throw the dirty cloths in your hands on the bed. The cut was gone but dry blood still stayed on your skin, “you have dads eyes.” You pointed to your own.

“really?” he asked quietly as you hopped on the floor and stretched. “Oh yeah, less disappointment in them but I’ll give it time.”

you yawned and picked up the black jacket and your backpack, “I’m starving,” you stood between the two of them and then swung your arms around the two of them.

“Now, tell me what you did to Clarisse!” You smirk at the brother you just met, “my favorite sibling already.”

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Damian x reader but reader is a very awkward but kind person. they are awkward around people, hell this is their first relationship, and generally doesn’t receive good attention from others because of it. but he loves them despite it. i hope this makes sense

Graceless

Damian Wayne x Reader

wc: 2.2 K summary: Being in a Gala his father threw with your dear boyfriend. Also, sneaking out from it. warnings: literally so much fluff I threw up, no y/n used a/n: ThANKYOUSOMUCH FOR THE REQUEST OMG, literally such a cute idea, I hope I could write it as cute as you described it. Enjoy! (Divider)

»You're stiff. No need to be nervous, beloved.« Damian tells you quietly, hand on your back as he stays by your sidesince the beginning of this event. He had been trying to console you and let loose the entire time, having been nothing but patient with you. Sighing out, you look at him and attempt to relax your shoulders. You are not used to such Galas, being especially awkward now with so many people around. There is no reason why you said yes to this. Really, you've been dreading going here with him, but you also didn't want to mess up or make him upset by declining his request.

He looks to you as well, expression soft and understanding. You have no idea how you scored such a jackpot. But truth is, he thinks the same about you. Damian would be lying if he said he didn't find your slight awkwardness and shyness adorble. In fact, he cherishes it.

»We can go, get some fresh air, if you'd like.« You perk up at his suggestion, trying not to make it obvious that you would do anything to disappear for a moment.

»Sure.«

The crisp evening air winds past you, making your hair fly into various directions and you move your hands to unruffle your hair. This action only makes Damian's heart flutter even more, watching your every move while he stands beside you on the spacious balcony.

»What are you looking at?« He blinks out of his stare and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly.

»Just enjoying the view.« Now it's your turn to look away, being mostly flustered by his attempt to flirt with you. »Thanks.« You manage to mumble out, earning a soft chuckle from him. It makes you a little confused for a moment before you realise that it may have sounded slightly out of place. How else are you supposed to react to flirting? What was there even to say in general?

»Oh, you are so cute...« In the next moment, you are pulled into his arms, a hug if you will. There are rare moments for Damian to let loose and be affection, but with you it comes naturally. He can't help but always want to squeeze you tightly in his arms every time you are being more adorble than he thought you can be. You return the hug and melt into it shortly after, loving how dreamy the mix of his cologne smells like, wanting to drown in it.

Soon, the chatter from the Gala becomes louder for a moment, followed up with a click of a door before it becomes more quiet again. »Gremlin, B wants to see you. He doesn't want you sneaking out again.« You recognise the voice to be one of his brother's, glancing behind your shoulder to see Tim. You are getting better at their names.

Damian groans and reluctantly lets go from around you, leaving you alone on the balcony for now as he goes to his father to discuss something. Not that he cares, really.

As your alone, you settle on leaning your hands against the cold railing and looking out to the cityscape. It always amazes you at how big and shiny Gotham looks like from the Wayne Manor, the river that goes around the city makes it look even more stunning. The cool wind goes past you once again, this time not as aggressive as before. It helps you cool down from the social gathering, finally having some alone time, even when you would prefer it with Damian.

You focus on the calm stream of the river, not noticing more people pile onto the balcony. Soon enough, you feel someone tap your shoulder which makes you turn around. Dick? It is Dick, right? Damian didn't trick you?

»There you are! Enjoying the evening? I hope we didn't scare you off or anything.« He chuckles lightly, hoping to get to know his youngest brother's girlfriend more without him interrupting every other sentence. You only saw his brother's one time when they invited you to a dinner, and Damian didn't let anyone talk to you for more than fifteen seconds. Not that he was jealous, he was just really annoyed with how teasing and stupid they are, which only makes you more shy around them.

»No, not at all. It's nice.« You respond back in an attempt to come off as relaxed and totally not awkward around him, hating the fact that it's most likely not working. But Dick is polite enough not to mention it.

»I see. You know, Damian can get really grumpy at times.« He starts and leans against the railing beside you, a rather amused smile on his face.

»How do you keep up with that?«

You never expected this question and you have no idea how to respond to this at all. Or is he messing with you? He definitely is with how light he is talking about it.

»Um... well, he is not as grumpy all the time.« You smile back in response as best as possible, making the man beside you laugh a little. It's a mystery for the whole family on how he got a sweet girlfriend like you. You don't seem to talk too much around them, getting out of your shell only sometimes when they directly talk to you. And even then, you still seem more reserved.

»Hm, I have that different in mind. Maybe he is- « He can't finish his sentence as he gets punched behind his back, making him gasp for air and turn around confused.

»Who- «

»Father wasn't even looking for me, what are you doing here?« Damian steps away from Dick and goes to your side, placing his hand around your back like before.

His brother quickly recovers and purses his lips, trying to come up with a quick excuse.

»I was just talking to her! I wasn't even trying to interrogate her or something...« Damian rolls his eyes, wordlessly dragging you back inside the Gala to escape the antics of his brother.

As you're walking away, you glance behind your shoulder and give the other an apologetic smile, hoping you didn't upset his brother. He luckily doesn't seem as upset and just gives you a thumbs up in response, flashing you a shiny smile in return.

»I apologise, they can tend to be a pain in the ass. He didn't try to ask you something stupid, right?« He tilts his head at you lightly, still walking through the Gala and out the hallway to escape this place all together.

»No! No, just...« You answer back, trying to explain to him briefly what your small conversation was about, »uh... he talked about the weather. And stuff.«

He doesn't buy it at all and just gives you an unimpressed look, waiting for you to spill the truth. »Okay, he did ask me about your grumpiness. And how I keep up with you.« You sigh out, biting your inner cheek as you watch his reaction. He is rather amused and shakes his head, tugging you along outside with him.

»Don't mind him... he is stupid.« He mumbles back, reassuring you while wrapping his arm around your waist fully. You both exit the building and make your way to your usual hang out spot near the river, liking the way the moon reflects against the water. The sky is clear, giving you an even more pleasing view. You both walk to a nearby bench and sit down, getting a brief chill down your spine at the cool wood. Damian, ever the oberserver, shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over you shoulder before pulling you close again and relaxing with you.

The close proximity and comfort makes your cheeks flare up, being glad it's dark enough so he doesn't see it. Either way, your subtle reaction of sighing out made it clear you enjoy this.

The comfortable silence is something you both adore, being able to be relaxed and calm with just the other's presence. You don't need to say something to the other or do anything, happily being leaned against his side like that. You don't need to worry about being weird for fidgeting with your hands in your lap. There is nothing you need to worry about or be afraid with him, being the only person you trust with yourself. At first, it didn't seem like he liked you at all before you started dating. But it turns out that he was just trying to mask his feelings in front of you. He noticed you in his class every day and just couldn't help but feel drawn to you. It was scary, but soon learned how to approach you and quickly realised you were probably more cute than he thought you are. All that pining came to an end once you both started to date, but it surely didn't stop entirely.

You sometimes forget that you can be affectionate with him because in your mind, it's still hard to believe that you two are an actual couple. Like now, you finally realise it again and want to do something together with him. Not just sit around and stare at the lake.

»Can we walk around?« He looks at you, not really having expected this suggestion. But who is he to say no to you? He'd be a fool to deny you anything.

»You mean take a walk? Of course we can.«

With his jacket around your shoulders, you both walks side-by-side by the lake and don't talk much again. Neither fo you mind, once more. Damian takes a few steps away from you, making you stop and stand while watching him approach something a bit further away. You uncertain of what to do but decide on standing on your spot and wait for him to come back. He rips something out from the ground apparently, being lightly amused from the sight. Eventually, he returns to you with a small smile, basically skipping up to you again.

He hands you a smaller boquet of white, wild flowers, making you smile even more at how sweet his gesture is. There is no reason for him to pick up some flowers for you, but he still did.

You take the boquet from him happily, unsure of what to say but really grateful for the few flowers he gave you just now.

»You like them?« Without thinking too much, you nod quickly and hug him tightly.

»Yes... thanks. It's sweet.« Was that enough to express your gratitude? You really hope so, but you also feel a rush of affection wash over you as you both hug.

»Not as sweet as you.« He murmurs back and nuzzles his nose against your hair, making you feel even more flustered than before.

»Why do you always say something like this?« Damian smiles against your hair and squeezes your wasit softly in his arms, speaking into the top of your head.

»You don't like it? I can stop.« Of course, that makes you react even more. You quickly shake your head and lean off him to look into his eyes. The subtle shine of the moon makes your blush more apparent for him.

»No! I-I mean, just... you're making this more difficult.« You manage to mumble out before averting your gaze towards the water, huffing out defeated. His expression softens and he gently puts his hand over your cheek, carefully making you look back to him.

»Or maybe you are just need to learn how to deal with flirting.« He teases lightly, stroking his thumb over your cheekbone in a gentle manner.

This just made you blush more, pouting at him. He can't help but find this even more adorble, feeliing a little bad for teasing you. »Sorry... didn't mean to sound rude.«

You don't want him to feel bad on the other hand and shake your head, leading you to lean you head more into his hand. »No, I... probably need to learn how to deal with it. You're right.«

You both smile at this and silence falls above you, just studying each other's eyes in the moonlight, getting lost in the proximity of the warm hug.

Finally, his thumb brushes over you lower lip, hand still cupping your soft cheek. His eyes rake over your face, getting stuck on your lips and you feel your heart speed up at the realisation. Leaning in slowly, your free hand supports you on his chest, other arm still around his neck with the small boquet of flowers in it.

After hesitating just for a moment, you press your lips against his own and he could swear he feels a firework errupt in his chest and entire body. He kisses you back without a second thought, pulling you flush against him with his hand by your waist. You're unsure who breaks the kiss first, but you are left a flushed mess in his arms. And he finds it cute all over again. Your slight awkwardness never made him feel annoyed or anthing like that. He's not like most people, he is more patient and sweet with you. Damian doesn't hate that you need a little more time for affection, he doesn't feel worried over you uncertain moves. He is more than happy to guide you through it and show you how to love yourself and express your feelings more freely.

»You are... gripping me a bit too hard.« you break the silence first, a rather sheepish expression on your face as you wait for him to stop gripping your waist so much. He snaps out of his stare and replaces his hand onto your back.

»Sorry... got carried away.« He scoffs lightly, being the one being sheepish now.

a/n: I never felt myself cringe so hard before while writing, but I also tried to make it as believeable and cutesy as possible. Hope you enjoyed it though!

←MASTERLIST

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Honey Don't Feed It, It Will Come Back

Pairing: Reader x Venom

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: alright got lots to cover; dubcon/coercion, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, tentacle fucking, DP, anal, praise, a little size kink here and there, pet names, unprotected monster sex, creampie, overstimulation, forced orgasm - I think I got everything also a brief moment of harassment at the beginning and like standard venom level violence oh and there's mention of food habits so ya know

Genre: Smut... just smut and it's like... almost a dark fic

Summary: Venom takes an extreme liking to you because of your kindness after he saves your life || “Don’t let it in with no intention to keep it Jesus Christ // Don’t be kind to it // Honey don’t feed it, it will come back” ~ It Will Come Back by Hozier

***

You huff to yourself as you shut off your computer. You've been working all evening and if you don't make a point to leave and get something to eat now you might skip dinner by accident. Again. You quickly dial your local Chinese takeout place and order your usual as you lock up your apartment. You figure by the time you walk there to pick it up, it'll be ready. You get your food pretty soon after you get there, and wish the workers goodnight before you head back home. It's kind of cool outside tonight, especially for the summer and you're enjoying your walk through the city. 

"A pretty lady like you should really avoid walking around alone so late." A voice snarls from behind you. You roll your eyes and keep walking, intent on ignoring the catcaller.

"Hey sweetheart we're talking to you!" A second voice chimes in and you try to subtly increase your pace as you steel your nerves. You gasp when a hand grabs your arm and yanks you backwards.

"It's rude to ignore people." The first voice sneers in your face, his grip tightening on your bicep.

"Let go of me." You huff trying to pull your arm out of his grasp.

"Not a chance."

"HEY! YOU SHOULD PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!" A voice growls and you stumble back when a large shadow plucks the man holding you away from you.

"Oh my God." You gasp falling against the wall behind you. A large shiny creature dangles the one man high in the air.

"IT'S NOT NICE TO GRAB LADIES WALKING HOME!" The monster scolds him.

"H-hey man, we weren't doing nothing." The man tries to appease the giant while the second guy finally snaps out of his stupor and takes off in the other direction.

"HEY! GET BACK HERE! I DON'T LIKE CHASING MY FOOD!" The monster stretches something resembling a tentacle towards the second guy, grabbing his ankle and pulling him back to hang next to the first.

"S-she's fine, see?"

"ONLY BECAUSE I CAME." What you assume are the creature's eyes narrow at them both. "YOU DIDN'T GRAB HER, BUT IF I EVER SEE YOU BOTHERING SOMEONE AGAIN I WILL EAT YOUR BRAIN!" The creature drops the second guy and he practically trips over his feet as he scrambles away. "YOU I WILL EAT NOW!" The creature says to guy one, dangling him over his mouth. The man lets out a scream that is cut off suddenly as you watch the creature bite off his head.

"Holy shit." You whisper. The monster tosses what's left of the guy down an alley and you vaguely hear his body clunk against something, likely a garbage bin.

"ARE YOU OKAY?"

"I- I'm fine. Thank you."

"YOU'RE WELCOME."

"Who are you?" You ask quietly.

"WE ARE VENOM."

"We?" You frown. Black tar-like goo slowly retracts to reveal a man's face.

"I'm Eddie. The- black goo is an alien, Venom."

"What like that body snatchers movie?"

"Not quite, I'm still in control here. We work as a team." Eddie explains.

"Well- thank you for, helping me with those guys but you didn't have to eat that one."

"It's how I appease the big guy. He gets sustenance from some chemical only found in brains and chocolate."

"Phenethylamine?" You ask.

"You know what it is?"

"Well yeah I- I work for a chem lab." You tell him. He's quiet for a moment before he sighs.

"Venom is insisting we offer to walk you home. If you're okay with that." Eddie says.

"I wouldn't want you to go out of your way I mean-"

"WE WANT TO!  WE CAN MAKE SURE YOU'RE SAFE!" Venom reappears, swallowing Eddie's face behind black goo and stark white eyes.

"Alright well, it's only a couple of blocks. I suggest you, de-alien though I think people would freak out seeing an eight foot mass of black goo." 

"I AM SEVEN FEET AND SIX INCHES! WE MEASURED!"

"Still you'd draw way too much attention to yourself like that."

"FINE." Venom relents and retracts into Eddie.

"That is so- fascinating." You mutter.

"Trust me, it loses its novelty." Eddie says. "Lead the way." He adds.

"Have you been this way your whole life?" You ask as you walk with him towards your apartment.

"What? With the alien? No, no this was an unfortunate accident. I simply can't get rid of him now." Eddie says.

"Do you not get along?" You frown.

"Not always. It's like having a roommate you can't hide from in your room when you're annoyed with them."

"Huh- so where does he, go? Like when you're out here... where is he?"

"That's a complicated question." He scoffs. "I never got your name." He looks at you.

"Sorry! It's y/n. I guess the whole scientist's curiosity thing got the best of me." You mutter.

"No need to apologize." He shakes his head. Eddie walks you all the way up to your apartment before attempting to part ways.

"Would you- like to come in?" You ask before you can chicken out.

"I wouldn't want to impose. It's late and-"

"It's the least I can do. You basically just saved my life. I'd like to thank you." You say.

"Well Venom wants to stay so I guess it couldn't hurt." Eddie says.

"Great! Make yourself at home. Would you like anything? I don't have brains but I certainly have a bag of chocolate if Venom would like any." You offer as he follows you in.

"Abagof chocolate? Stocking up early for Halloween?" He jokes sitting on your couch.

"No not yet. I have a coworker that has one hell of a sweet tooth and I recently learned that he works best when incentivized so, if ever we're working late chocolate actually helps him stay focused. But if we're not careful he'll tear through the whole bag in like three hours, it's kind of impressive actually." You laugh.

"Oh if you think that's impressive wait til you see what V can do. He'll tear through it in like three minutes. If he stops to take the wrapping off anyway. Usually though he just chucks the whole thing back and then- spits back up the trash like a cat with a hairball." Eddie scoffs.

"Well- that's... compact at least." You muse pulling the bag of candy from your pantry.

"That's one way to look at it."

"Did you want food by the way? I was out picking up Chinese in the first place. There's definitely enough to share." You say grabbing plates. You usually order enough to have leftovers so you can definitely give some to your guest, you'll just not have as much left over.

"Oh I'm not all that hungry but-"

"I'LL HAVE THAT CHOCOLATE PLEASE!" Venom's head emerges from behind Eddie to chime in.

"Of course. Eddie are you sure you don't want anything?"

"HE EATS BEFORE WE GO OUT AT NIGHT." Venom tells you.

"Well I feel weird eating if my guests aren't so you'll have to have something. You want chips or pretzels or something?"

"HE LIKES CHEESY SNACKS. DO YOU HAVE ANY OF THE CORN TRIANGLES?" Venom asks.

"Corn triangles?" You frown.

"THEY'RE ORANGE IN A RED BAG."

"Doritos? Sure I have some."

"HE'LL EAT THOSE."

"Venom I said I wasn't hungry." Eddie grumbles.

"AND SHE SAID SHE WON'T EAT IF YOU DON'T SO EAT THE CORN TRIANGLES." Venom glares at him.

"You guys argue like a married couple." You giggle. You grab the bag of chips, the bag of chocolate, and a plate before joining them on your couch.

"Honestly we aren't too far off." Eddie chuckles taking the chips from you. A slimy black appendage wraps around the chocolate and pulls it almost out of view entirely.

"Oh- are you guys in a relationship?" You ask curiously as you dump half of the takeout box onto your plate.

"Something to that effect. I mean- he's kinda inside my body like all the time. No such thing as privacy with him around." He shrugs.

"So- does your diet affect his, or vice versa?" You ask between bites of your dinner.

"Only psychologically."

"What?"

"The first few times you eat another person are kinda traumatizing but you get used to it. We have separate digestive systems so- I'm technically not consuming human brains."

"HE NEARLY HAD A PANIC ATTACK THE FIRST TIME I ATE SOMEONE BUT I WAS SAVING HIS LIFE." Venom chimes in and you realize the full bag of candy you gave him is now just a ball of trash.

"Venom." Eddie rolls his eyes.

"You know I feel like a brain eating vigilante would draw attention- even in a city like New York." You frown.

"I'm careful." Eddie says.

"Oh yeah? I don't think tossing that guy in what I assume is a dumpster tonight screams careful."

"V got carried away. We'll take care of it before anyone sees it in the morning."

"I'M ONLY ALLOWED TO EAT BAD GUYS. NO ONE CARES IF YOU EAT BAD GUYS." Venom says with what you think is a smile.

"Not quite, cops still care but that's we we're careful about it." Eddie tells him.

"WE COULD EAT THE COPS!"

"It'd be hard to eat all of the NYPD I think." You muse.

"I COULD TOTALLY DO IT."

"No we are not eating cops. Bad guys, remember?" Eddie sighs.

"Depending on who you ask cops do fall under that category." You shrug.

"REALLY?!"

"Don't rile him up." Eddie points at you in warning while you laugh.

"I wasn't trying to I promise." You say with a wide smile that makes it hard for Eddie to keep his stern expression.

"Sure. I'd love to stay but we do have to take care of that creep in the dumpster before sunrise so- we should probably head out." Eddie stands.

"Of course. Thanks again for your help tonight." You say standing with him to walk him out.

"Not a problem. Thanks for the snacks."

"You're welcome. If you need anything, door's always open." You smile.

"BYE Y/N! WE'LL SEE YOU AGAIN." Venom says before disappearing.

"Have a goodnight." Eddie nods before turning down the hall. You lock your door and finish your food with thoughts of the curious duo staying at the front of your mind even as you get ready for bed that night.

"I REALLY LIKED HER." Venom declares to Eddie.

"Yeah, she was nice."

"WE SHOULD GO SEE HER AGAIN TOMORROW."

"No. We can't just pop up at her place for no reason."

"WHY NOT? SHE SAID THE DOOR WAS ALWAYS OPEN."

"She did not mean it literally it's just a nice thing people say V. We're not going back there tomorrow. End of discussion." Eddie says and when Venom doesn't respond he assumes he's relenting. He's not actually, but Venom is learning to pick and choose his battles when it comes to Eddie so he'll keep his plans to himself for now.

The next night a knock on your window surprises you while you're watching a movie. You gasp when you see Venom smiling and waving frantically at you. You rush to pull the window open and he climbs inside quickly.

"Venom? What are you doing? Is everything okay?" You frown.

"EVERYTHING IS FINE. I JUST WANTED TO SEE YOU AGAIN." He says looking down at you. His gaze makes you conscious of the fact that you're in a small tank top and a pair of shorts.

"You know you could've used the front door. Right?" You ask walking to your kitchen to put distance between you.

"I THOUGHT I'D DRAW TOO MUCH ATTENTION WALKING INTO YOUR BUILDING." Venom shrugs looking around your apartment.

"You would but Eddie wouldn't."

"HE WOULDN'T COME IF I ASKED HIM."

"So- wait you basically dragged him here?"

"SOMETHING LIKE THAT. HE SAID WE COULDN'T JUST COME SEE YOU EVEN THOUGH YOU SAID THE DOOR WAS ALWAYS OPEN."

"You guysarebasically an old married couple." You laugh. "You ate the whole bag of chocolate yesterday but I did run to a corner store today and pick up a Hershey bar so- you can have that if you'd like." You tell him.

"I DIDN'T COME HERE TO GET CHOCOLATE." He says with something in his voice that you totally miss while rumaging through your fridge.

"Really? I figure with your size you're like always hungry." You muse turning towards him. It's then that you realize how his eyes are focused on you in a way you can only describe as predatory.

"I WANT SOMETHING ELSE FROM YOU." He says practically boxing you in the kitchen.

"Unless you're here to eat me I don't have a brain lying around to give you." You quip trying to slow your increasing heartrate.

"I WILL EAT YOU, BUT NOT YOUR BRAIN."

"What?" You breathe out, the fear you're feeling now mixing with confusion and lust you try to tamper down.

"YOU DON'T FEAR ME LIKE OTHERS DO."

"In general? No I don't fear you but- right now I'm unsure how to feel."

"WHY? I WON'T HURT YOU."

"You just said you're going to eat me."

"IN A WAY YOU WILL ENJOY." Venom cages you against the counter, and you shrink back

"Venom now wait a second-"

"I'LL TREAT YOU VERY WELL."

"That's not-"

"YOU WANT ME- I CAN SMELL IT. WHY DENY IT?"

"You can smell it?"

"OF COURSE I CAN."

"Oh-"

"JUST LET ME HAVE YOU Y/N. LET MEDEVOURYOU." Venom says. You pause for a moment to consider your options.

"O-okay." You say quietly and his arm wraps around you immediately crowding your space. You gasp when he pulls your shorts off so fast you're surprised they didn't rip. He lifts you up onto his shoulders as if you're a bag of feathers and his tongue snakes out of his mouth and between your legs before you can prepare. Venom laps at your cunt with fervour, your legs squeezing around his head at the way pleasure builds between your legs. You're pressed up against the cabinets as he slurps up your juices like he's dehydrated.

"TASTES SO GOOD." He growls out as his tongue thrusts in and out of you eagerly. His tongue is thick and long, almost impossibly so as it fills you so well. You squirm against his mouth chasing your release that you can feel approaching quickly.

"Venom- I'm, fuck I'm close." You whine.

"DO IT. LET ME TASTE YOUR RELEASE." Venom orders and the way his tongue moves against you as he talks is enough to send you over the edge with a cry. You barely realize Venom lowering you from his shoulders and you hardly have a moment to recover before he's impaling you on his dick. Your back arches at the way he fills you.

"Fuck!" You moan out and Venom practically roars when your walls contract around him.

"YOU'RE SO TIGHT." Venom groans. He tightens his grip on you and sets a pace, raising and lowering you on him with ease.

"God you're big." You whimper falling forward against him as he uses you like a human fleshlight. You claw at his arms, trying to ground yourself while he fucks you open. Tentacle like appendages suddenly appear and wrap around your breasts, teasing your nipples.

"SO PRETTY." He smiles at the way your face contorts with pleasure and bends down enough to kiss you. His tongue invades your mouth in an overwhelming way, swallowing your moans. You can hardly tell where he ends and you begin, it's like he's everywhere at once. More tentacles appear, one teasing your back entrance while another toys with your clit. He pulls away from your mouth as he continues to  prod at your ass without slowing his pace. "I WANT YOU HERE TOO, YOU'LL LET ME HAVE YOU HERE, WON'T YOU?" Venom asks while rubbing tight circles against your clit. You're drowning in pleasure and barely able to register is question as another orgasm builds inside you. "COME ON MY LITTLE MORSEL. TELL ME I CAN DO IT." Venom coaxes, fucking you harder, teasing you more.

"Yes! Fuck yes Venom! You can do anything! Fuck!" You cry out shaking as he rips your second orgasm from you. At that moment, Venom thrusts into into your ass and another scream falls from your lips. If you thought he was everywhere before, now it's even more overwhelming as he fucks you onto his dick in time with the tentacle moving in your ass.

"YESSSSSS." He hisses out.

"V-Venom 's it's too much." You whimper, every part in your body feels too hot.

"YOU CAN TAKE IT. YOU SAID I CAN DO ANYTHING TO YOU. I'M GOING TO RUIN YOU." He says. His tongue snakes out of his mouth and slithers down your chest, lapping at one nipple while a tentacle continues to work the other. It's too much and the speed with which your third orgasm starts building scares you. He very well might actually devour you at this rate. "YOU'RE TAKING ME SO WELL. YOU WERE MADE FOR THIS."

"I- I- please Venom- fucking hell-" Your whimpers are hardly coherent as pleasure threatens to consume you.

"I CAN FEEL ANOTHER ORGASM COMING. LET GO FOR ME MORSEL. GIVE IN." Venom beguiles, his touch returning to your clit to push you over the edge. With the way he works every part of you there's no stopping your release when it gushes from you. "SO GOOD. ANOTHER." He commands.

"I- wait Venom wait- too soon." You plead breathlessly.

"I WANT ANOTHER I'LL TAKE ANOTHER." 

"I can't- n-not yet."

"YOU CAN BECAUSE I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU." He declares as he continues rubbing against your too sensitive clit. You try to squirm away from his ministrations but with him filling your holes you're unable to run as he plays with your most sensitive areas.

"S-shit Venom please I-"

"JUST ONE MORE. ONE MORE AND I'LL LET YOU HAVE A BREAK." He promises and it's enough to send you over the edge a fourth time with a weak whimper. Venom lets up on your clit, focusing now, on his own release. He drives into you, little whines still falling from your lips as exhaustion sets in. "I COULD STAY LIKE THIS FOREVER." He declares with a grunt as he floods your walls with evidence of his orgasm. He stands there holding you for a while, wondering if moving you would break you. Eventually, he moves you to the couch and lays with you on top of him. Now that he's experienced this, knows the warmth of you, it's something he refuses to go without again. Whether you want this or not Venom is yours now and will always find his way back to you.

***

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

fem reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, reader gets into a fight, this fits into the weirdo! shouto ficlet i wrote, older bro touya au, shouto's scar, kindaaa non neurotypical shouto hinted if you squint lol, shouto n reader are lil misfits, lemme know if i missed sum else !

"can i help you, young man ?"

"i hurt my knee."

you're laying in the nurses office when a familiar voice hits your ears.

"oh really ?" no verbal response but you assume there's a nod because the nurse continues "what happened ?" she sounds skeptical.

"i fell." the person, a boy, replies. the nurse sighs, complaining to herself about kids these days coming to the nurses office for every little thing. you're still pretending to be asleep, not wanting to go back to class yet because you know your classmates won't leave you alone. your face is turned away as you hear the office door shut and soon after there's shuffling in the bed next to you.

your eyes snap open and you turn to see a scarred boy looking right at you, blinking slowly.

"shouto !"

"hi." he answers simply. unmoving, he lays on his stomach. after getting over your shock you copy him. "what're you doing here ?" you ask. your friend blinks in response.

"i hurt my knee."

you look at him incredulously "what are you really doing here ?"

shouto lays quietly simply staring at you. he has a habit of doing that, you've heard your classmates call it weird, but you like when he looks at you. his eyes are pretty. his gaze trails off towards the sheets, "i wanted to come see you." he admits. your eyes widen and you feel your ears burn. shouto doesn't seem affected by his confession, his face as deadpan as it usually is.

"everyone is talking about you in class." your nose scrunches up at his words, huffing with a scowl. "what're they saying ?"

"that you won."

that makes your scowl shrink a bit. your eyebrows raise and you shuffle a bit on the bed and hum. shouto only stares. he isn't much of a talker. you've noticed it's because he just doesn't realise that you're supposed to keep making conversation when you're talking with someone. your classmate mahoro says it makes things awkward, but shouto has such kind eyes when he looks at you, you don't mind. and sometimes, you don't really feel like talking either.

"you didn't have to do that you know." is what he says after a while, you blink at him like you'd already forgotten and he continues. "you didn't have to push tanaka like that, it wasn't a big deal."

tanaka, just the mention of the boy's name is enough to make your scowl return full force.

he's one of your classmates that keeps making jokes that all his other friends laugh at that aren't even funny. he doesn't bother you much, but he's kind of a bully and he makes a face whenever you end up on his team for dodgeball. he makes sure you see it too.

you don't care about him much, because he doesn't bother you. but he bothers shouto. you think he does so because shouto doesn't care to confront him about it so he thinks he's stupid. but shouto's the smartest in your class. today though, he went too far and it made you mad, so you shoved him and he'd shoved you back and suddenly you were surrounded by a group of kids screaming in your ears. your face stung from where he'd hit you and then a teacher was pulling you away from him. then you'd ended up here.

shouto hadn't been coming to school for a bit a while ago and when he did come back he had a huge bandage over his left eye. you'd tried to ask him about it but he never told you. so you never pried, but you heard the (not so quiet) whispers from your classmates and shouto who never seemed like he cared, furrowed his brows and slightly clenched his fists underneath your shared desk whenever he'd hear them. and it got worse when he took the bandage off, revealing a big red blotchy scar.

shouto doesn't usually mind what people think, but he'd asked you if he looked ugly and you assured him that you thought he looked super cool. (you'd never seen his eyes so wide and shiny, so pretty.)

tanaka had disagreed with you though. he opened his big mouth and told shouto he looked better with his bandage on. and you'd snapped. you hated that stupid bandage because it'd make his usual face so gloomy. because you only got to see one of his kind eyes and you loved looking at both.

and so, here you were.

"he had it comin', he made fun of you !" you scowl, shouto's brows furrow the slightest bit as well, mildly irritated. "but you got in trouble."

"well, he made fun of you !" you repeat. you both stay unmoving, laying on your stomach while the nurse is out on lunch break. shouto's lips move up into a pout and for the first time ever you hear him huff.

"i wasn't mad about it. i was fine." he insists, his eyes drift towards his fingers picking at his sheets. "you got hurt because of me, and i don't like that." he mumbles sadly. his cheek smushed against the hard pillow makes him look like a little puppy. you hear your heart in your ears.

"well, i didn't just do it for you," you try, "tanaka's always pickin' on everyone, so i taught him a lesson." you huff. you believed you sounded convincing, but shouto looks anything but convinced. others can't see it well, but you can.

"but everyone's gonna think you did it for me. and they're gonna call you weird again," shouto grips and pulls at the white sheets, you're worried they'll rip off and he'll get in trouble. "even though you're not."

you don't care, you'd been called weird plenty of times at your old school. but shouto's bothered for you and your heart beats in your ears "do you think i'm weird ?" shouto quickly shakes his head, as best he can in the position he's in. your chest feels warm and you smile.

"then i don't care what everyone thinks."

the sound of sheets crinkling stops, and shouto stares at you again. he sits up to instead go sit down on your bed. you bring your legs closer to yourself to make space for him.

"i still don't want you to get hurt, even if it's not just for me." his pretty eyes, one surrounded by red zero on you " i don't like it."

shouto never seemed picky to you. except when it came to his lunch (which was always cold soba) and the order in which he started his day at school (first he changes his shoes, then he takes off his jacket and then went to sit in his seat. exactly like this every day.)

he never told you he particularly liked or disliked anything, usually always shrugging. but he said he doesn't like seeing you hurt. it had made him panic when people started pushing him away to see the fight and he couldn't see you anymore. your classmates were talking about you and he didn't like it. the nurse stood in his way and he didn't like it because she kept him away from you for longer.

he does not like tanaka because he'd punched you in the cheek, your cheek that rises up like the sun when you smile at him.

i don't like when you get hurt, he says. i don't want you to hurt because of me, he thinks. you've got a bandaid on your cheek where you'd gotten punched, but you grin and your cheek rises like the sun, shouto hears his heart in his ears.

you hold out your pinky and promise him you won't do it anymore. holding onto your pinky is comfortable and even after promising he doesn't let go. not even when the nurse checks up on you and scolds you when you shamelessly tell her why you'd landed in her office. he doesn't let go in the hallways even when others are looking. they'll think you're weird for hanging out with him, but you told him you didn't care, and shouto feels like he's floating.

( he only lets go when you get to the principal's office. but he ignores the teacher who passed by and told him to get to class and wraps his pinky right back around yours when you walk back out. your smile is pretty like the sun.)

one time, touya-nii had called you weird, and touya-nii is always right. but this time shouto knows he's wrong. because your smile doesn't dim despite the bandaid on your cheek and you only look at him when you get back to class, despite the people calling for you, your pinky stays tightly wrapped around his, only moving so you can readjust and hold it better.

touya is clearly wrong, and shouto knows you're the nicest person in the world.