#reading that did still make me chuckle I see the joke

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

I saw your insomnia post for Shadow and oh my god I loved it, especially since sleeping is one of my greatest issues so I thought I'd request something as well! Today I got one of my worst migraines I've ever had but after I recovered from it with some medicine and a long nap I thought it'd be an interesting idea to see what Shadow would do if the reader got a migraine? You're free to write this however you like, Im excited to see it!

“A Huge Pain (in the head)”

Pairing: Shadow the Hedgehog x Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: You didn’t have migraines often, but when you did, they were hell. Luckily you had your partner to help you out this time.

Notes: Oughh I love excuses to write fluff and excuses to write for Shadow, even if almost every request in my inbox right now is Shadow- But either way! I hope you enjoy!

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

(TW: Swearing.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Today was already shit.

You woke up cold, your partner, Shadow, had already left the bed, and worst of all?

You had a migraine.

“But [Name], it’s just a migraine!” some might say.

But your migraines were. The. Worst.

They could take days to disappear, and you were always more irritable. You always felt horrible about it, but when on a migraine, everything annoyed you.

Today was going to be garbage.

Grumbling while holding your head, you throw what little covers you have on off, rummaging through the closet and putting on the first decent outfit you have. Good thing you’re off work today. That would’ve made today even worse.

Opening the bedroom door, you get a whiff of something in the kitchen.

Something good.

Smells like french toast, one of your favorite breakfast foods.

You walk into the kitchen and Shadow notices you, him letting off a small smile.

“Morning, [Name],” Shadow says. “Sleep well?”

“Eh, kinda…” you mutter, sitting at the table, rubbing your temple. “I woke up with a killer migraine.”

“A migraine, hm?” Shadow asks. “Let me finish making breakfast and I’ll help you take care of it.”

“What, are you gonna massage the pain away or something?” you joke.

“That’s part of it, yes,” Shadow states.

You blink twice, your face tinting red.

You were not expecting that answer.

Not long after, Shadow sets your french toast down in front of you, along with a glass of water, which you quickly down before anything else. Water usually helps slightly with your migraines, after all.

The two of you enjoy your breakfast, and after having brushed your teeth, you and Shadow head over to the couch at Shadow’s request, and he has you lay your head on his lap before starting to massage your scalp. You smile softly from the sensation, sighing happily, your eyes shutting on their own.

“You’re too kind to me sometimes, Shadow,” you mutter. He lets out a chuckle.

“You’d do the same for me if I had a migraine,” he states.

“You’re not wrong,” you say. “Regardless, this feels nice.”

“I’m glad,” Shadow says. “If it still bothers you after this, we can go cuddle on the bed.”

You make a hum of affirmation, allowing yourself to melt into the massage.

You were glad to have a partner like him.

[marifilue]

Part 10: What Remained Of Us

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader - Slow burn, no use of y/n.

Warnings: Violence, Angst, Mature content

Word count: 24.8k

A/N: This turned out to be longer than I intended because I really wanted to give these two a proper goodbye. Apologies for taking more time than usual, and thank you for reading this final part. I've written 92k words which is roughly 300 pages for this fic series, so enjoy! :D

What Makes Us Human Completed

<- Part 9

Einstein was right about his theory of relativity, not that you were the biggest fan of physics class back then, but sure, you caught a thing or two. The past three weeks had felt like the longest you’d ever experienced. Since that collar was... Wow, you can't believe you could say it in a past tense now. Since that collar was restraining your ability, three weeks had felt like a three goddamn shitty years.

You didn’t even feel that way when you were nothing more than a servant to the military. Back then, the concept of time blurred as you grew strangely fond of your well, forced mutation. As much as you despised the idea, you’d made peace with yourself, the ability is cool as fuck. You’ve had it for twenty eight years now yes, you counted. Twenty eight years is longer than the age you received those injections: twenty seven.

Back to that theory of relativity, one you could actually apply right now, in your daily life. You swore the clock was lying when you glanced at the table to check the time, how many hours had you spent with Logan on this bed? The two of you had agreed to clean up together after this mess—the one both of you, but particularly him, had made. Yet, you kept saying, “Five more minutes,” as you lay there, cuddled in his arms, skin to skin.

Both of your naked bodies were tucked under the warmth of the blanket. His left arm served as your human pillow, while his right hand roamed over your body, tracing circles with his fingers. Your right hand never left the toned muscles of his abs. You’d had your intrusive thoughts about licking them earlier—which he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, judging by his expression, he enjoyed it. That look on his face would never leave your mind, and it made you smiled to imagined it again, as your fingers trailed down his happy trail. Only after that blissful moment, which felt like heaven on earth, did you finally glance at the clock. It was already dark outside, but seriously—eight p.m.?

"Shit, it’s eight." Your head whipped from the clock back to Logan.

He let out a weak chuckle. "Still wanna shower?"

You shrugged, letting your palm glide over the popped veins on his bicep. Good god, he really was a sight. For a guy who’d been around since forever, he definitely hadn’t wasted a second of it achieving this every man's dream physique.

Before you could answer, not wanting to pass the chance to shower with his Greek marble statue-like figure, a muffled knock echoes from the hall. The sound is faint, making it clear it didn’t come from your room’s door, you assume it’s Logan’s room, across from yours.

You glance toward your door, pulling the blanket higher over the two of you. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

Logan continues to squeeze your waist gently, as if he could reassure you. “Probably Marie. Kid can’t breathe five minutes without seein' me.”

You let out a low chuckle, knowing that despite the joke, the two of them have grown attached to each other. You can’t help but think Marie might have a little crush on him, but you don’t really see that as a problem. She’s a teenage girl, and Logan found her during a hard time, like a savior kinda way. It’s a pretty reasonable feeling for her to have.

Still, you can see Logan loves her like she’s one of his own, like a daughter. Damn, he’d make a great father, you think to yourself.

But then, a voice pulled you out of your thoughts about Logan—a voice you’d become all too familiar with.

"Logan? I’m coming in." Ororo voice faint.

The steps faltered as the door handle jiggled, only to stop short. You glanced up at Logan, sharing a silent, mutual hope. This was kind of a fucked-up situation. Shit.

Thank god you’d insisted Logan lock the door.

"That’s new," Logan muttered, more to himself than to you.

You clutched him tighter, shrinking into his warmth as if trying to make yourself as small as possible. Other thoughts began creeping into your mind now, like how the team would react to this. You and Logan? Nobody could’ve seen this coming.

The two of you didn’t say a word—not that it felt awkward. In fact, it was comfortable, really. Such a safe feeling, one you hadn’t realized you’d been longing for all this time.

Then the silence broke with the one thing you dreaded most at that moment: a knock. And it wasn’t just any knock—it was on your door now.

Shit, shit, shit.

You straightened up immediately, your body tensing as if facing an active threat. Ororo called your name, her voice loud and clear.

Instinctively, you whispered to Logan, "Go! To the bathroom, now." He half-frowned in response, clearly taken aback by the sudden secret-affair role he didn’t remember signing up for.

"Why?" he asked, with the audacity to question you in this situation. You shot him a look.

"It’s Ororo!" you whispered harshly, your tone low but not lacking bite. "The door opens straight this way—she’s gonna see you. C’mon, chop chop, mutton chops." You chuckled softly at your own words. God, you hadn’t called him that in what felt like ages.

Another knock came, firmer this time, followed by Ororo’s voice, clearer and more insistent. "I can hear you in there. Open the door."

You didn’t miss the way he rolled his eyes, accompanied by that signature grunt of his. Was he really going to risk everything by staying in your bed for Ororo to see? Dear god, you had a reputation to uphold here.

When he didn’t move fast enough, you gave his body a shove, forcing him to get up. Standing, you pointed firmly toward the bathroom. He picks up his clothes and walked as if it was the heaviest task in the world, each step deliberate and slow.

Meanwhile, you scrambled to pick up your panties from the end of the bed and your shirt from the floor, throwing them on to look at least somewhat appropriate. Pacing toward the door, you took a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever came next.

Now standing in front of your door, you glanced back at Logan—he hadn’t even reached the bathroom yet. "Close the door, c’mon, faster!" you whispered urgently, not even sure if he’d hear you. Finally, he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Your focus shifted back to the door. With a sigh, you unlocked it and opened it halfway.

Ororo’s expression immediately shifted from irritated to slightly shocked. She lets out a small gasps, her jaw dropping before she quickly covered it with her palm.

You raised your eyebrows, smiling awkwardly. "Ro?" you asked, clearly puzzled by her sudden reaction.

She scoffed, then broke into the widest smile you’d ever seen. "The collar!"

The realization hit you as your hand instinctively went to your neck, your fingers brushing against bare skin. It was a feeling you hadn’t taken the time to savor, too busy savoring Logan earlier.

"Yeah, Hank figured it out," you said softly, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

Ororo stepped forward, her joy radiating as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Dear god, you hoped she wouldn’t mind the sweat on you, or the lingering smell. You returned the hug, wrapping your arms around her back.

As she briefly opened her eyes, her gaze landed on the mess of your bed. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, but she said nothing. It definitely wasn’t her business—but judging by the faint shift in her expression, she could’ve guessed.

She pulled back, flashing another wide smile, her shining teeth on full display. "I thought Hank was messing with me," she said, her hands lingering on your shoulders before letting go completely.

"He did a really great job. I couldn’t be more thankful," you replied, smiling.

Ororo’s gaze softened briefly before she glanced around the room. "Where’s Logan, by the way?"

Panic hit you like a freight train, and without thinking, you blurted, "I haven’t seen him all day."

The lie spilled out so suddenly that it caught even you off guard. Ororo furrowed her brows, her head tilting slightly. "That’s strange. Hank told me he gave the chip to Logan to unlock your collar," she explained, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

You clicked your tongue, realizing you’d been caught red-handed. "Right, of course," you stammered, quickly pointing a finger at Ororo. "Sorry, I just woke up. He did bring the chip to unlock the collar, but then he left."

You were doubling down now, lying even more. Ororo’s expression tightened—she wasn’t buying it.

"Alright then," she said, clearly unconvinced but choosing not to press further. "Anyway, the Professor left for another conference. Scott thought it’d be great for us to hang out—just at the bar down the street. I’m heading there with Jean and Hank. You wanna come? We can ask Logan to look after the kids. It’s Friday night, after all."

Your response came a little too cheerful, the faux excitement evident even to yourself. "That would be great!" you chirped.

"I know, right? We'll just have to find Logan first" she said, her tone bright.

You chuckled nervously. "But I can’t," you said, shaking your head.

Ororo blinked, taken aback. "Why? Come on, you deserve it."

You nodded with a soft smile. "Yeah, don't worry about me you guys have fun. I’ll stay and look after the kids. Besides, Logan’s nowhere to be found, and I’m just feelin a bit tired, s’all." You placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, hoping to ease her concern.

Though your excuse was flimsy, Ororo relented with a sigh. "Fine, but I’ll bring you something, don’t worry."

You smiled again, leaning slightly toward the door, hoping she’d leave soon. "I’m counting on it," you said with a light chuckle.

As Ororo turned back and disappeared down the hallway toward the stairs, you finally closed the door and leaned against it.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you glanced at the bathroom door. You’d just hidden Logan—from Ororo—in your room.

You walked toward the bathroom door, reaching for the handle. When you pressed it, it didn’t click open—Logan had locked it from the inside.

"Logan?" you called, but there was no answer.

"They’re going out to the bar. You can join them if you want to," you said, raising your voice slightly toward the door. What the hell was he doing in there? You knocked again, this time with a little more force, guessing he hadn’t heard you the first time—but that didn’t seem possible.

"Logan? Open the door," you said, your tone firmer now.

Inside the small bathroom, Logan was already pulling on the jeans he’d picked up from the floor earlier. His shirt rested by the sink, forgotten for the moment as he stared at his own reflection—specifically, his eyes. What the hell was going on with him?

It wasn’t exactly the first time a woman had hidden him. Hell, once, he’d even been stashed in a wardrobe. He had a reputation for getting involved with women already in relationships. He’d even eyed Jean a few times when he first settled into the mansion.

But it had always been just a stupid fling to him—something meaningless. He didn’t care. He never did. At least, not until now. What had changed?

You?

Seriously?

He frowned, running a hand through his hair, trying to shake the thought loose. He felt embarrassed.

You weren’t even in a relationship—there was supposedly no reason for you to hide him. At least, not in his logic. Why’d you have to hide him like that? Were you embarrassed?

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You were both adults, and so was Ororo. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of... right? Still, the knot in his chest refused to loosen.

Then a thought hit him, one so obvious it almost made him feel stupid for not realizing it sooner. He didn’t actually know if you were in a relationship or not.

The realization stopped him cold. He’d never asked. You’d never mentioned anything. For all he knew, there could be someone else in your life.

The idea gnawed at him, an unexpected twist of jealousy and unease stirring in his gut. Should he ask? Right now, while you were still outside the door knocking and calling his name?

Hell yes, he should. At least then, he’d know.

But then again, did he really want to hear the answer? What if it was something he didn’t want to deal with? What if it changed everything?

He let out a frustrated grunt, running a hand through his hair. His reflection in the mirror stared back, eyes conflicted and filled with questions he didn’t have answers to.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. His attention shifted when something on the floor caught his eye.

A delicate gold necklace with a red heart-shaped pendant lay near his feet, gleaming faintly in the light. His brow furrowed as he crouched to pick it up, holding it carefully between his fingers. For a moment, he studied it, his thumb brushing over the smooth surface of the pendant.

The knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Without a second glance, Logan slid the necklace into the pocket of his jeans and turned toward the door.

"Logan?" you called again, your voice edged with concern. "What are you doing?"

He ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply before finally making a move toward the door.

The door suddenly creaked open, and there he was, standing in the doorway, shirtless displaying full muscles, jeans hanging low on his hips. Logan’s expression was unreadable, though the faint furrow of his brow hinted at something simmering beneath the surface.

His eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made you freeze mid-knock, your hand still hovering in the air. You opened your mouth to ask what was going on, but he beat you to it.

“You seein' someone?” he asked, his tone gruff, low, and uncharacteristically direct.

The question knocked the air right out of you. For a moment, you just stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said—and why the hell he was asking.

“What?” you managed, blinking.

“You heard me.” His eyes searched yours, his jaw set tight. “You got someone in your life or not?”

It wasn’t the question itself that unsettled you, honestly? A reasonable one to ask someone you just had sex with, well. But it was the way he asked it. His voice carried something raw, like he wasn’t just casually curious. Like the answer mattered to him in a way that didn’t quite make sense.

Your lips parted to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you studied his face, the lines around his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. Something had clearly gotten to him, but the reasons behind it were a mystery you couldn’t crack. Was this about Ororo catching him here? Or… was it about something else entirely?

“I don’t… I don’t have anyone,” you finally said, your voice slower, more deliberate. “Why suddenly ask?”

He didn’t flinch, but the shift in his posture was subtle. He leaned against the doorframe, one arm braced against it, his knuckles white. His eyes narrowed slightly, though not in anger.

“I don’t get it,” he said, his tone clipped. “You hid me in here. Why?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The way he phrased it, the accusation buried in his words, made your stomach twist. “I didn’t want Ororo to see you because I didn’t feel like explaining. S'all.”

“Explaining what?” he shot back, his voice sharper now.

“That you were in my room!” you snapped, frustration spilling over. “Do you have any idea how that would’ve looked?”

“And why do you care if it would look like anything?” he asked, stepping closer. “Why do you care so damn much what she thinks?”

You took a step back, suddenly feeling cornered even though he hadn’t raised his voice. His presence was overwhelming, and his words, his questions—they all felt like a trap you hadn’t prepared for.

“I don’t know,” you said, throwing up your hands. “I just didn’t want her to think… I don’t know! That we’re… involved or something. God, this is ridiculous. What is wrong with you?”

His jaw tightened, his eyes dark and stormy as they bore into yours. For a moment, you thought he might actually say something real, something honest. But instead, he straightened up, stepping back toward the bathroom.

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, but still laced with tension. “Forget I asked.”

“Forget you—Logan, what the hell?” you demanded, but he was already turning away.

“Drop it,” he said firmly, grabbing his shirt from the sink and pulling it over his head in one swift motion.

You stood there, stunned, as he brushed past you and headed toward the door. You should’ve let him go. You should’ve let it slide. But something about the way he asked—that vulnerability buried beneath all the bravado—stuck with you.

“Logan,” you called, your voice softer now, but he didn’t stop. He didn’t even turn around.

The door slammed shut behind Logan, the sound echoing in the quiet room and leaving you rooted to the spot, staring at the space he’d just occupied. Your heart pounded in your chest, not from fear or shock, but from sheer frustration.

What the fuck was that?

You try to make sense of the whirlwind that had just stormed through your room. He had the audacity to grill you about your personal life, and then shut down without so much as an explanation? It was infuriating. But then again, wasn’t that just Logan? Always halfway out the door before you could get a real answer, always keeping people at arm’s length.

Fine. Let him brood. You weren’t going to waste your energy trying to figure him out.

The clock on your nightstand read 8:12 PM. Scott, Ororo, Jean, and Hank had definitely left for the bar, excited for a rare night out. You’ve waved Ororo off, claiming you weren’t in the mood. Now, standing alone in your room, you regretted it. At least at the bar, you’d have a distraction.

Instead, you were here, stewing over Logan.

With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself to move. Stressing around mulling over his cryptic nonsense wasn’t going to get you anywhere. You grabbed a fresh change of clothes and headed for the bathroom, letting the sound of running water drown out your thoughts. By the time you’d finished cleaning up and pulling yourself together, it was close to nine.

You sit down on the edge of the windowsill, propping one foot up as you tighten the final knot of your shoelace. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting soft patterns on the floor. As you lean back slightly, adjusting the fit of your shoe, your gaze falls on the unlocked collar resting nearby.

For a moment, you just stare at it, the light glinting off its cold, unyielding surface. A wave of melancholy washes over you, pulling you into a haze of memories you’d rather forget. Slowly, you reach out and trace your fingertips along the thick metal, its weight almost tangible even without wearing it.

A short, bitter chuckle escapes your lips, breaking the silence. Without warning, you grab the collar and slam it against the concrete edge of the windowsill. The sharp clang echoes through the room, and with enough force, the metal bends slightly. You strike it again and again, as if each blow might break more than just steel.

When the anger subsides, you toss the collar onto the floor, standing over it for a moment. Then, with a final stomp, you turn away, leaving it behind as you step out the door.

You wandered the halls of the mansion, your footsteps light on the wooden floors. Few of the kids were settled for the night, and the usual buzz of activity had quieted down. As you passed the TV room, you caught sight of Logan sitting on the couch, surrounded by a few of the younger kids.

They were watching some old action movie, the screen’s glow casting sharp shadows across Logan’s face. He looked calm, almost relaxed, the gruff tension from earlier smoothed over like it had never existed. He didn’t even glance your way until you moved to leave, your quiet presence catching his attention at the last second.

Finding your usual corner, you pulled a book from the shelf and settled into one of the chairs. You let the silence wrap around you, doing your best to push Logan—and all the tangled emotions he seemed to stir—out of your mind.

His eyes was on you as you turned and walked away and you didn’t stop.

Instead, you headed to the library. The heavy wooden doors creaked slightly as you pushed them open, the familiar scent of books and aged paper washing over you. The quiet here was different—soothing, intentional. You let out a long breath as you stepped inside, your tension easing slightly as the door clicked shut behind you.

As you turned the pages of your chosen book tonight, seated in the most comfortable chair the library had to offer, a loud commotion broke your concentration. The rhythmic patter of children’s hurried footsteps echoed through the halls, accompanied by frantic voices. Your immersion in the world of Wuthering Heights shattered, pulling you back into reality. It was nearly ten o’clock—far past curfew. What on earth was going on?

Curiosity pricked at you, and with a reluctant sigh, you closed the book, setting it carefully on the side table. Rising from your chair, you walked toward the source of the noise.

Outside the library, the chaos unfolded before your eyes. A crowd of panicked children filled the hallway, their anxiety palpable. The swarm of them seemed to converge at the backyard door, spilling out onto the cobblestone path illuminated by faint outdoor lights. From afar, you caught sight of Logan kneeling infront of a boy.

“Back to your rooms, everyone,” you called out, your voice firm but calm. Some of the older teenagers lingered, their curiosity outweighing their obedience. Turning to one of them, you asked, “What happened?”

“I heard there’s a student missing,” a teenage girl replied, her voice trembling.

Your brow furrowed at her words. Missing? Anxiety crept into your chest as you shifted your gaze back to Logan, still kneeling in the yard. Urging the gawking children to disperse, you repeated, “Come on, everyone, back to your rooms. Curfew’s long past.”

As the reluctant crowd thinned, you made your way outside, stepping onto the cool cobblestone steps. Logan’s voice carried through the crisp night air as he spoke to the young boy.

“Listen, Carter, I need you to tell me anything you saw. Did you see a logo? A picture? Maybe a name?”

The small frame of the boy trembling however he chimed in, “I saw a letter. It was on their phone.”

You stepped closer, careful not to interrupt, though Logan briefly glanced over his shoulder, his eyes locking with yours for just a moment before returning to the boy.

“Phone?” he repeated.

“Yeah, it was black and had... like, a long antenna,” the boy explained innocently.

“A handy talk,” Logan muttered, lowering his head slightly as if trying to piece it together. “What letter did you see?” he asked, shifting his attention back to the boy.

“Sac, I can read,” he replied with the same innocent tone.

Logan frowned, a slight furrow in his brow as he repeated the word back to her, confused. “Sak?”

The boy nodded eagerly, as if confirming his guess. “Yeah, Sac.”

Logan shook his head, his confusion growing. “How do you spell it?”

Before the boy could respond, something clicked in your brain. The pieces fell into place, and you couldn’t stop yourself from stepping in.

“S-A-C,” you said, spelling it out clearly, each letter cutting through the tension.

The little boy's eyes lit up as he pointed his small finger at you. “That’s right!” he said brightly.

Logan’s expression darkened, the weight of the realization settling over him. He glanced back at you, his jaw tightening.

“SAC, Special Activities Center,” he repeated, this time with understanding—and dread.

The word hit you like a cold slap. You folded your arms against the chill, the night air biting through your sweater.

“Thanks, Carter. You head back inside now.” Logan stand on his feet as he pat the child gently, sending him towards the mansion's backdoor.

Once he scurried off, you stepped closer to him, your voice low but urgent. “What's going on?”

Logan rose to his feet, brushing his hands on his jeans. “That's Carter he's Maya and Ellie friends.”

Your stomach dropped. “Maya? Where’s Maya?”

Logan hesitated, taking a deep breath. “The three of them were playing hide-and-seek out here earlier. Maya wandered out here to find them... she finds Ellie first, then Carter saw two people in black clothes take them two.”

“SAC take them?” you repeated, the weight of the revelation sinking in. “They're connected with the CIA. The fuck do they want?”

Logan’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know. But if they’re involved, this isn’t just about them mutants children—it’s about all of us. They’re watching, and now they’re making their move.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your thoughts racing as dread settled heavily over you both. The children inside weren’t safe, not anymore. The larger force at play had finally made its presence known, and the mansion, once a sanctuary, had turned into a trap.

“Shit” you said finally, meeting Logan’s grim gaze. “We need to find them.”

His nod was slight, but the determination in his expression was unmistakable. “We will.”

The team gathered in the common room for a late midnight meeting no one would expected, their exhaustion palpable. Scott slumped in his chair, the scent of alcohol faint but unmistakable, while Ororo leaned heavily against the armrest, her eyes half-lidded with fatigue. Jean sat cross-legged, her fingers massaging her temples, and Hank rubbed his eyes behind his glasses.

The situation frustrated you as bad as it already was. Fuck this. If it weren’t for the team’s fun night out, all of you would be out there looking for the poor little girls. You thought about doing it alone—after all, you were the only adult who wasn’t drunk or exhausted. Wait... there’s still Logan.

Fuck him. You're not going anywhere with him. The two of you still hadn’t addressed whatever the hell was going on between you.

If you waited until morning, they’d sure as hell be hungover or nowhere near the appropriate condition for a mission like this. And knowing these people all too damn well, they wouldn’t let you sneak into a CIA headquarters alone.

But you’d do it anyway.

You’d have to sneak your way out of this. Screw them. They’d be thankful as fuck when you took matters into your own hands.

“We have to address this in the morning,” Jean said, her voice steady but weary. “The professor will know the best approach.”

Of course, one of them would eventually say it. You had guessed it would be Scott, but maybe Jean read his mind first—like she’s probably doing to you right now. Fuck, I should clear my mind, you thought to yourself.

Hank sighed, his fingers tapping the edge of the table. “I’ve done some preliminary research, but it’s just theories right now. The CIA base we suspect isn’t far from here, and given Killebrew’s ties to the military, this might all be connected. If I’m right, they’ve been operating covertly, experimenting on mutants in ways we haven’t fully grasped yet.”

Ororo straightened, her brow furrowed. “That’s not something we can charge into without a solid plan. It’s dangerous.”

Scott waved a hand, his tone slurred but determined. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Right now, we all need rest.”

Jean nodded, glancing around the room. “Agreed. Maya and Ellie will need us at our best when we go after her.”

One by one, the team dispersed, their heavy steps echoing down the mansion’s halls. But you couldn’t shake the weight in your chest. The image of those girls—scared, alone, possibly suffering—played on a loop in your mind. By two in the morning, sleep had become impossible as you kept staring at the ceilings with eyes wide open, contemplating your plan which you came with none.

"Fuck this." You quickly changed into black cargo pants and a tight black long-sleeve shirt that pressed against your figure.

As you stood by the sink, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to steady your nerves for what was to come. But when you reached for the towel, your eyes flicked to the small accessory holder where you usually kept your mother's necklace.

It wasn’t there.

A knot of anxiety tightened in your chest. You leaned closer, scanning the sink area. It had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe it had just fallen off? You crouched down, searching the floor around the sink, your fingers brushing across the tiles in frantic movements. Nothing.

“Come on,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding as you pulled open the cabinet doors beneath the sink. Still nothing.

You swallowed hard, the realization sinking in that you might have lost or misplaced it. The thought made your stomach churn—it wasn’t just any necklace; it was your mother’s.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it. Maya and Ellie needed you, and every second you spent searching was a second wasted. Clenching your fists, you forced yourself to push the worry aside.

You turned back to the mirror, taking a final glance at yourself. Tight black long-sleeve shirt, black cargo pants. "I look like a goddamn ninja," you muttered, trying to inject a bit of humor to steady your nerves.

The necklace would have to wait. Right now, you had to focus.

You grabbed your gear quietly, careful not to wake anyone. The mansion was still, the night cold against your skin as you descended the stairs with heavy black boots. You had just reached the kitchen when you froze.

Logan stood by the counter, cigarette in hand, the faint glow of its tip casting shadows on his rugged features. He didn’t look surprised to see you.

“Figured you’d try somethin’ stupid,” he said, his voice a gravelly rumble.

You adjusted the strap on your gear, feigning nonchalance. “I need to get some air.”

Logan chuckled dryly, taking a drag of his cigarette. “Air. Right. All geared up for a midnight stroll?” You frowned but didn’t reply, moving to the sink to double-check your supplies.

“You think sneakin’ out alone is a smart play?” he pressed, stepping closer. “What, you gonna take on the CIA single-handed?”

“I'll take my chances, better than doing nothing.” you snapped, spinning around to face him. “They're out there, and every second we waste, they could be hurting.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “And every second you’re out there without backup, you’re walkin’ straight into their hands. You heard what Hank said—Killebrew’s probably involved. You really think they won’t have another collar?”

You hesitated but clenched your fists. “I won't let such fear stop me. I won’t leave Maya and Ellie to them, Logan. I don’t care what’s waiting for me out there. It’s not like they can kill me.”

Logan’s jaw tightened as he stubbed out his cigarette in his palm. You could never get tired from the sight of him rolling his eyes at the slight burn sensation on his skin that amused you—well, more than amused in different circumstances, really.

If only he hadn’t been so confusing earlier tonight.

His voice dropped, low and dangerous. “It ain’t about killin’ you. It’s about breaking you. They don’t need you dead—they just need you broken enough to get what they want.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you, but the image of the girls wouldn’t let you relent. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. I’m leaving.”

Logan’s nostrils flared, and for a moment, you thought he’d let you go. But then he stepped back, grabbing his jacket. “You’re a stubborn pain in the ass, you know that?” You blinked as he shrugged into his jacket.

“If you’re hellbent on gettin’ yourself killed, I’m not lettin’ you go alone,” he growled.

Despite the tension, a flicker of gratitude warmed your chest. He might be impossible, but at least you wouldn’t face this alone.

Logan gripped the steering wheel tighter as the car cruised down the empty highway, the hum of the engine the only sound between you. You stared out the passenger window, the dark road illuminated by the occasional passing streetlight. The silence was unbearable, heavy with unspoken tension, until you reached out and turned on the radio.

Bye Bye Bye blasted through the speakers, the upbeat rhythm shattering the quiet.

Logan groaned audibly, his hand darting out to switch it off within seconds.

'Don’t wanna be a fool for.....'

The music cut off abruptly, leaving an awkward void. You furrowed your brows and glanced at him, annoyed, but said nothing. He didn’t either, his jaw tightening as he kept his eyes firmly on the road.

This is gonna be a hell of a ride.

Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence, the clock on the dashboard glowing faintly. You stifled a yawn, the lack of sleep catching up to you. Logan glanced in your direction briefly, his expression unreadable, before returning his focus to the road.

“Sleepy already?” he finally asked, his tone gruff but quieter than usual.

You blinked at the window, counting the sparse cars around you. “Oh, so you talk,” you shot back coldly, not bothering to look at him.

Logan sighed heavily, side-eyeing you before speaking again. “I don’t know whaddya want me to say,” he muttered, his tone carrying a hint of frustration.

Your patience snapped. “Fuck you, Logan. You’re the one pretending like nothing happened between us.”

His eyes flicked toward you briefly before returning to the road, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “I thought that’s what you wanted.” he said, his voice steady but edged with tension.

“No! I don’t want that! Why are you acting like an asshole?” you snapped, shifting in your seat to face him fully.

Logan kept his focus ahead, his jaw ticking. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, but he didn’t raise his voice. “What do you want then?” he asked gruffly.

You opened your mouth to answer, ready to unleash everything bottled inside, but second thoughts hit you like a brick wall. Your throat tightened, and instead of speaking, you clamped your mouth shut and pulled your knees up, hugging them to your chest. Your gaze drifted back to the window, the darkened landscape blurring as tears threatened to sting your eyes.

Logan glanced at you from the corner of his eye, guilt flickering across his face, though he quickly masked it. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered under his breath, barely audible but just loud enough for you to catch.

You swallowed hard, your nails digging into the fabric as you tried to steady your breathing. There was so much you wanted to say, so much that needed to be addressed, but this wasn’t the time. Maya and Ellie needed saving, and there was no room for emotions to get in the way.

You sat there, curled up in the passenger seat, clutching your knees tightly as the car glided through the quiet, empty highway. The faint hum of the engine filled the air between you, a stark contrast to the chaos in your chest. The longer the silence stretched, the heavier it felt, suffocating in a way words never could.

“M’sorry,” you whispered finally, the words escaping your lips before you could stop them. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for exactly, but it felt like the right thing to say.

Logan glanced your way, his brow furrowing. You didn’t meet his gaze, your focus glued to the closed window, your reflection staring back at him. The image unsettled him—the way you sat curled into yourself, dressed in black like you were trying to look intimidating, but failing miserably with your chin resting atop your knees. You looked small, vulnerable, as though you were trying to shield yourself from something unseen.

He clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him as he returned his eyes to the road.

Logan took a deep breath, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. What the hell was he supposed to say now? Did you even realize how much he cared for you? How deeply?

Hell, he was out here driving through the freezing cold at two in the goddamn morning. Sure, finding that poor, innocent girl was the priority—but you were the real reason he’d agreed to this. He already knew how reckless and half-baked this plan was, especially with just the two of you. The team is going to be furious, he could already imagine the earful Scott would give him in this situation.

But he couldn’t fight you on it, he knew you too damn well. It was either he came along, or you’d go alone—and the thought of you facing this without him was something he couldn’t bear. Hell, he wouldn’t allow it.

If he had to, Logan would tear the whole goddamn world apart just to stand beside you. Whether to be an acquaintance, a friend, a partner, whatever you’d let him be. He would never leave you to deal with this on your own, not as long as he was still breathing.

“Don’t,” Logan muttered, his voice gruff as if the word was dragged out of him.

You blinked, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, unsure of what he meant.

“I’m sorry,” he growled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I was being a dick.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, surprised. Then, without warning, a small chuckle escaped you.

Logan’s head snapped toward you, confusion written all over his face. “What’s so funny?”

You bit your cheek, trying to hold back your laughter, but it only made it worse. Finally, you shook your head, letting out a soft laugh. “I just... I didn’t think you’d fall for it.”

Logan’s frown deepened, his confusion growing. “Fall for what?”

You shifted in your seat, lowering your legs and leaning back like you didn’t have a care in the world. “It’s okay. Now we’re both sorry.” You grinned at him mischievously. “I just didn’t expect you’d actually admit that you’re a dick.”

His expression darkened further, and he shot you a flat look. “Oh, fuck off.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, the sound bubbling out of you as his frown became more pronounced. “You’re a horrible person,” he muttered, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

“I know,” you said smugly, leaning back even further and resting your arm behind your head, clearly enjoying your victory.

But your moment of triumph didn’t last long. Logan’s eyes glinted with a mischievous edge as his foot suddenly slammed on the brakes.

The car jerked to a halt, and you—without your seatbelt fastened—were flung forward, hitting the dashboard with a loud thud.

“Ugh!” you grunted in pain, your hand rubbing to your forehead as you turned to glare at him. “What the fuck, Logan?!”

He was still in his seat, untouched thanks to his seatbelt “Sorry,” he said mockingly, his tone laced with sarcasm. “There was a cat crossing the street.”

He didn’t even try to hide his smug grin, leaning back in his seat like he didn’t just commit attempted murder. “Next time, buckle up, tough guy,” he said, his tone dry, but the amusement in his eyes betrayed him.

Your jaw tightened as you fastened your seatbelt with an angry click, not that you should even care because crashing would literally kill none of you, really. But you wouldn't take the chance to be a part of his petty joke again. “You’re so petty,” you muttered, slumping back into your seat, arms crossed.

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “I know.” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as the car resumed its journey. The tension that had once suffocated the air now felt lighter, though your annoyance with him lingered.

You’d get him back. Somehow.

Logan parked the car a few hundred meters away from the high-security compound, the faint glow of cameras scanning the area. The building stood tall in front of you, a modern fortress with high, wire-topped fences and armed guards at every corner. This wasn’t going to be easy.

You both exited the car in silence, you popped the trunk, revealing your gear neatly packed. You reached for the heavy black duffel bag, pulling it out and unzipping it with quick hands. The bag was full of weapons built for efficiency and speed, the kind you knew you could rely on in a tight spot.

You grabbed the Heckler & Koch MP5, its compact frame sitting comfortably in your hands. The submachine gun was built for quick action, a weapon perfect for close-quarters combat. It was lightweight but packed a punch, with its 9mm rounds designed for high velocity and rapid fire. You checked the magazine, making sure it was fully loaded, before slinging the strap over your shoulder. The weapon's compact size made it ideal for maneuvering through tight spaces, and the sound of the safety clicking off was a sound you were all too familiar with.

You ran your fingers over the soft, rubberized grip, knowing you could rely on it when things went south. The bag also held extra mags, each one loaded with 9mm rounds, quick to reload and ready for action. You gave a quick glance at Logan, his eyes now locked on you again, but you didn’t let the moment last too long, the weight of the gun a comforting reminder of your readiness.

He gave a low grunt. “This is a bad idea.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you muttered, adjusting your gloves. The plan was simple: Get in, find Maya, get out. No alarms. No mess. The problem was, nothing ever went according to plan.

Logan took the lead, moving with his usual predatory grace. The two of you made your way through the shadows, careful not to alert the guards. The compound was surrounded by tall, overgrown hedges, giving you some cover as you approached the back entrance. You crept toward a side gate, its lock weak enough for Logan to pry open with ease.

"You always make it look easy," you whispered, impressed despite yourself.

He grinned, his eyes gleaming in the dark. "Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You slipped through the gap, your footsteps silent on the cold concrete as you moved deeper into the facility. The perimeter was quiet, but the tension in the air was suffocating. Logan led the way, his keen senses constantly scanning the area. Every creak of a door, every flicker of a light, had you on edge.

You reached the back of the building, a narrow, unlit hallway leading inside. Logan paused, giving you a sharp glance. “Ready?”

“No shit,” you said, determination hardening your voice. You weren’t backing out now, no matter what.

He pulled open the door and ushering you inside. The air was cool and sterile, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the cement floors. You crept down the hall, moving in sync with Logan, every step calculated.

At the end of the hallway, you spotted a guarded door—high-security, with a keypad and a camera positioned just above it. Without hesitation, Logan stepped forward, grabbing the guard’s arm from the shadowed corner and pulling him into the darkness. He was out before he could make a sound, leaving behind nothing but a faint smell of burning skin.

You shuddered slightly but stayed focused. This was just part of the plan. Getting in and out.

Logan keyed in the code he'd swiped off the unconscious guard’s wristwatch, the door clicking open with a soft beep. He held it open, letting you slip inside first. The room was dark and cold, filled with computers and high-tech equipment. At the far end, a small holding cell, barely visible in the gloom, had a single figure slumped against the wall.

“Maya,” you whispered urgently, your voice cracking.

She looked up slowly, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear. But when she saw you, her lips trembled, and for a moment, you could see the faintest glimmer of hope. "You came..."

You rushed to her side, kneeling beside her, gently brushing a strand of her hair away to get a better look at her face. She was bruised and battered, her small frame trembling, but nothing seemed life-threatening. Still, the sight of her like this ignited a fierce protectiveness in your chest.

“Where’s Ellie?” you asked, your voice soft but urgent.

Maya flinched at the question, her lips quivering. “I-I don’t know,” she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We... we were playing together, and then—” Her words broke off, her small body trembling as tears welled up in her eyes.

“It’s okay, Maya,” you said quickly, your tone firm but comforting. “We’re getting you out of here. You’re safe now.”

Logan moved around, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any signs of further threats. “We don’t have time for this,” he muttered, already heading toward the door. “We need to move. Get her to safety first.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep looking for Ellie, but Logan’s tone left no room for argument. He glanced back at you, his voice low but commanding. “We’ll come back for her. Right now, we’ve gotta get Maya out before we’re cornered.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded and reached down to help Maya to her feet. Her legs wobbled, and she winced at the effort, but she clung to you tightly. “We’re getting you out,” you reassured her again, though the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen.

As you moved toward the door, the beeping of the security alarm behind you confirmed the worst. Logan’s eyes flicked to you, his expression grim. “Move it,” he said sharply.

Grabbing Maya’s hand, you pulled her along, your heart pounding as you navigated through the dim hallway. Logan led the way, his senses on high alert. You reached the stairwell, but your stomach sank as you saw more guards below.

Logan growled low under his breath, his fists clenching. “Stay behind me,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Without hesitation, Logan leaped into action, taking down the first guard with brutal efficiency. You followed closely, keeping Maya tucked safely behind you, your body positioned as a shield.

Your MP5 hung at your side, a secondary measure tonight. Every movement was calculated, every glance behind ensuring Maya’s safety. No harm would come to her—not a single scratch.

Logan cleared the path with a relentless fury, and together, you pushed forward, determined to get Maya out of this nightmare and to safety. Only then would you think about going back for Ellie.

You would have the time of your life alongside Logan taking these guards down, but tonight your MP5 was nothing more than a safety measure, secondary to your true focus. Your attention was entirely on Maya, making yourself her shield, her protection. No harm would come to her—not a single scratch, not the faintest injury. You positioned yourself between her and the chaos outside, every move calculated to ensure her safety above all else.

Logan’s claws came out, the metallic sound cutting through the air. With every strike, another guard fell. You couldn’t help but watch in awe at the way he moved—fierce, unstoppable. He cleared a path toward the exit, but it wasn’t without cost. You could hear the distant sound of reinforcements arriving, the compound now fully alerted to your presence.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath. There was no turning back now.

But you didn’t need to. Maya was free. That was all that mattered.

As you reached the exit, the lights behind you began to flash. You could hear the sirens, feel the pressure of the situation mounting. But Logan was already pushing you forward, his voice low and gruff. "Keep moving. I’ll cover you."

You barely had time to process what was happening before you burst through the door, the cold air hitting your face like a slap. The car was still a few hundred meters away, but there was no time to hesitate. Without a word, you crouched and scooped Maya into your arms. She instinctively clung to you, her small arms wrapping tightly around your neck, her feet curling against your stomach to secure herself. Her muffled cries broke your focus, soft and trembling as she buried her face into your shoulder, her fingers gripping your shirt like a lifeline.

You ran as fast as you could, every step echoing in the silence of the night, Logan keeping pace just behind you. The weight of Maya in your arms was nothing compared to the drive to get her to safety. You could feel her little hand clutching you tighter with every sound of pursuit behind you, her breath hitching against your collarbone.

You reached the car first, yanking the back door open and rushing Maya inside. Her tiny arms loosened around your neck as you gently set her on the seat, her tear-streaked face burying deeper into your shoulder for a moment. You whispered, "Stay here, sweet girl," before pulling back just enough to slam the door shut. You didn’t waste time sliding into the passenger seat as Logan bolted into the driver’s seat beside you.

The engine roared to life as Logan turned the wheel sharply, tires screeching against the cold pavement. The car bolted forward, but the horror started almost immediately. Gunfire erupted behind you, bullets slamming into the rear of the vehicle with sharp metallic thuds.

"Get down!" you yelled instinctively, your voice sharp and commanding. Maya screamed, a high-pitched cry that sent a pang through your chest. "Maya, keep your head down, baby. Stay as low as you can," you urged, already crawling from the passenger seat to shield her in the back.

The gunfire intensified, the attackers closing in. Logan growled under his breath as he adjusted the rearview mirror. “They’re catching up. Bikes.”

You twisted, catching sight of two motorcycles weaving in and out of the shadows. Their riders aimed and fired, their bullets shattering both side windows. Glass shards rained into the car, cutting into the chaos.

Logan flinched, jerking slightly as a bullet grazed his arm, tearing through his jacket. He hissed but kept his focus on the road. “Damn it,” he muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel.

Another bullet grazed your shoulder, burning through your jacket. The sharp sting was brief, dulled by your healing factor, but it still sent a jolt of frustration through you. "Logan, they’re on both sides!"

One biker closed in on Logan’s side, leveling his weapon for a clean shot. Logan swerved sharply, slamming the car into the bike, but the rider steadied himself. Without hesitation, Logan growled, "Hold on," and yanked the car door open.

In one fluid motion, Logan leaned out, his left arm shooting forward to grab the man by the neck. The rider’s eyes widened in shock as Logan yanked him clean off the bike, slamming him to the ground with brutal force.

On the right, another rider closed in, aiming for the car. You didn’t hesitate. The MP5 was already in your hands, and with a calculated burst of fire, you hit his front tire. The bike wobbled violently before tipping, sending the rider skidding across the asphalt.

"Fuck!" Logan snarled as another shot blew out the rear tire. The car lurched violently, metal screeching against the road as it ground to a halt. Logan slammed the wheel in frustration, his chest heaving. "Get her up. Now!"

You scrambled to Maya, pulling her carefully into your arms. She was trembling but responsive. “Come on, baby,” you murmured, trying to steady your voice.

By the time you turned, Logan was already at one of the fallen bikes, inspecting it for damage. "This’ll do," he muttered, hauling the machine upright. He swung onto the seat, revving the engine.

Then you saw it. Maya’s head lolled against your chest, and the dark stain on her shirt caught your attention. Blood seeped from a cut on her neck, spreading too quickly. Your stomach clenched.

"Logan!" you shouted, your voice cracking. "She’s bleeding bad!"

Logan’s head whipped around, his expression hardening. “Get on.” His voice left no room for argument.

Clutching Maya’s fragile body, you climbed onto the bike behind Logan, holding her close. Logan revved the engine, and the bike sped off into the night. You pressed Maya’s small frame against yours, one hand trying desperately to stem the bleeding at her neck.

“Stay with me, baby,” you whispered into her hair, your voice breaking as the cold wind whipped past. “Please, Maya, just hold on.”

4:27 a.m. You stood frozen, staring at Maya’s unconscious form in the medbay. The room felt distant, the sterile white lights blurring everything into a haze. Hank and Jean had been woken up barely ten minutes ago by Logan, and now they were rushing back and forth in their white coats, their voices low but urgent.

You should’ve felt bad for pulling them into this mess, dragging them out of bed at this hour. But even that guilt was nothing compared to the pit of self-loathing eating away at you. This was your fault. Maya’s condition, her pale face, her blood staining your hands was because of you. Reckless. Stupid. You didn’t fucking think before-

"Hey," Logan’s voice broke through the storm in your head, soft but steady.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t respond. You barely even registered his presence, the sound of Jean’s voice faintly breaking through your fog. She was explaining something to Hank, something about Maya losing too much blood, needing to confirm her blood type. But the words barely landed.

You clenched your arms tighter across your chest, folding into yourself. The weight of everything—Maya’s fragile state, your own failures was suffocating. Logan stepped closer, watching you carefully. His hand reached out, resting gently on your shoulder, his thumb brushing against you in a calming rhythm.

The small, unexpected gesture made you shiver. The knot in your chest tightened, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to spill. Slowly, your head dipped, your defenses crumbling under the weight of it all. You couldn’t stop the overwhelming tide of emotions crashing down on you.

"Go clean up. Let Hank and Jean do what they need to." he suggested.

A word didn’t even leave your lips. You felt lost, unmoored in a storm of emotions that you couldn’t navigate. You didn’t know what to do, how to move, how to think. You needed guidance, even if it was something as small and straightforward as Logan telling you to clean up. His words cut through the fog, and for a fleeting moment, you felt a sense of obedience—a familiar pull to follow orders. That was what you were good at, after all. What you were once best at: following orders.

Your eyes flicked up to Logan, searching for...something. His palm remained steady on your shoulder, grounding you, his thumb moving in a small, repetitive motion that somehow kept you from spiraling. His gaze met yours with the quiet reassurance there was enough to steady your nod.

You stepped away, walking out of the medbay, his hand falling from your shoulder as you moved. The absence of his touch left a strange void, but you pushed forward, heading toward the stairs. Logan followed silently a few steps behind, his heavy footsteps echoing softly against the walls. He didn’t push you, didn’t fill the space with meaningless words, but his presence lingered with constant, quiet support.

You climbed the stairs mechanically, every step feeling heavier than the last. The exhaustion, the guilt, the overwhelming swirl of emotions, they pressed down on you, threatening to crush you with each passing second. As much as Logan worried about Maya, you both knew there was nothing more either of you could do. It was Hank and Jean’s turn now. That truth didn’t make the wait any easier.

When you reached your room, you stopped in the doorway, gripping the frame as if it could hold you upright. Logan paused behind you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He watched you closely, his sharp gaze catching every tremble in your hands, every shaky breath.

Your fingers fumbled with the straps of your gear, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Frustration bubbled up, and you let out a low growl as you yanked the vest off and dropped it unceremoniously onto the floor. Bloodstains smeared across the fabric caught your eye, and your chest tightened at the sight.

Logan pushed off the wall and stepped inside, crouching down to pick up the discarded vest. He set it aside carefully, his movements slow and deliberate, as though giving you the time and space to process.

“I'll stay here,” he said again, his voice quieter this time, almost gentle.

You nodded again, your movements sluggish, and turned toward the bathroom. The weight of the day settled on your shoulders, dragging your steps, but you kept moving.

You stepped into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you, you turned around to lock it immediately. The smell hit immediately—dried blood, sweat, and the lingering metallic tang of Maya’s injury. It clung to you like guilt, heavy and suffocating.

With trembling hands, you stripped off your clothes, dropping them into a heap on the floor. The fabric stuck to your skin in places where blood had dried, and the motion sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through you.

Standing at the sink, you turned on the faucet, the rush of water almost deafening in the quiet. You scrubbed your hands, desperate to rid yourself of the blood staining your skin. Maya’s blood. It was there, literal-fucking-ly on your hands, and no matter how hard you scrubbed, it felt like it wouldn’t come off. Your breaths grew erratic as the image of her unconscious face looped endlessly in your mind.

You turned the faucet off abruptly, the silence that followed almost unbearable. Moving to the shower, you twisted the knob to the hottest setting, steam immediately rising to fill the small space. You stepped in, holding your hands under the boiling stream, watching as the dried blood finally washed away, swirling down the drain.

The searing heat burned your skin, but the pain felt satisfying—a punishment you thought you deserved. It wasn’t enough to hurt you, not with your healing ability, but it gave you a brief, fleeting sense of control.

The water cascaded over you, from the top of your head to your toes, scalding and relentless. You gritted your teeth as the heat bit into your skin, but the pain wasn’t what broke you. The weight of everything did.

Your legs gave out, and you slid down onto the cold tiles, your back pressed against the wall. Hugging your knees to your chest, you buried your face in them, letting the boiling water pour over you as sobs wracked your body. It wasn’t the pain that made you cry—you weren’t even sure what it was anymore. You just needed to let it out, to feel something other than the crushing guilt.

Outside, Logan sat by your windowsill, his arms crossed as he stared into the night. His nose twitched as a faint scent wafted through the air—burned flesh. He furrowed his brow, his senses sharpening as the smell lingered. It didn’t fade. If anything, it grew stronger.

Concern etched into his features, he pushed off the sill and headed toward your bathroom door. The scent was unmistakable now, and worry gnawed at the edges of his composure. He knocked gently.

“Hey,” he called, his voice calm but firm. “You okay in there?”

No response.

He tried again, calling your name louder this time. “I’m gonna break this door if you don’t answer.”

Still nothing.

Logan muttered a curse under his breath, his patience snapping as the smell of burning flesh only intensified. With a heavy thud, he slammed his shoulder into the door. The wooden frame groaned but held. Another slam, then another, until the lock finally gave way, the door flying open to release a rush of hot steam that hit him like a wall.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, waving a hand in front of his face in a futile attempt to clear the air. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, curled up on the shower floor, water pouring over your trembling, bare figure.

“Shit,” he whispered under his breath, his jaw tightening as the scene before him sank in.

The scalding water hissed against his arm skin as he reached for the shower handle, shutting it off with a groan. His own flesh burned at the contact, but it healed almost instantly. He turned his focus to you, crouching beside your slumped form, his heart breaking at the sight of your vulnerability.

Grabbing a towel from a nearby rack, he opened it wide and carefully wrapped it around you. His movements were gentle, deliberate, as though afraid he might break you further. His voice was soft when he finally spoke.

“Hey,” he murmured, his hand brushing against your damp hair. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s get you out of here.”

You didn’t respond at first, your head lifting only slightly as you noticed his presence. His face was etched with worry, his sharp features softened by the sorrow in his eyes. His hand came up to cup the side of your jaw, his thumb tracing lightly over your tear-streaked cheek.

You swallowed hard, your voice caught in your throat. The overwhelming emotions left you unable to speak, and all you could do was stare at him, your swollen eyes searching for something—comfort, reassurance, anything.

Logan shifted to sit beside you, his broad shoulder brushing against yours. He opened his arms, a silent invitation. Without thinking, you leaned into him, tucking your head against his chest as his arms enveloped you. The dampness of your hair soaked into his shirt, but he couldn't care less. His chin rested atop your head, his steady presence anchoring you as you sobbed quietly, the tears flowing freely now.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Logan stayed there, holding you as though his presence alone could shield you from whatever storm was raging inside. His arms tightened just enough to remind you he was there—not pushing, not forcing, just being. His thumb drew absent circles against your arm, a silent comfort that kept you tethered to the moment.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours; time seemed to lose meaning. The bathroom remained cloaked in a haze of steam, the air thick and humid, but neither of you moved. The water had long since stopped running, leaving only the faint drip-drip of the showerhead to break the silence. Logan didn't rush you; he seemed to know you needed this space, this moment to fall apart without judgment.

Eventually, your sobs quieted, leaving you drained and trembling in his arms. Your head stayed tucked against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was grounding, a lifeline you hadn't known you needed. You felt small, raw, like a wound left open, but for the first time in hours, the suffocating weight of guilt started to ease—just a little.

Logan broke the silence first, his voice a low murmur. "I know you think this is all on you, but it’s not."

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you nodded faintly, your face brushing against the damp fabric of his shirt. He took the gesture for what it was, a small step forward, and didn’t press for more.

After a moment, he shifted slightly, one arm still wrapped around you as the other reached for the towel. He adjusted it, making sure it covered you properly before pulling back just enough to look at you. His piercing gaze softened when it met yours, his eyes filled with an understanding you hadn’t expected.

“You’re freezing,” he said, his brows knitting together. “Let’s get you outta here, yeah?”

You blinked, realizing for the first time that your body was shaking—not from cold, but from the aftermath of everything you’d been holding in. Still, you nodded again, letting him help you to your feet. His hand stayed steady on your arm as he guided you out of the shower, careful not to let you slip on the wet tiles.

He grabbed another towel, wrapping it around your hair with surprising gentleness. The care in his actions almost undid you again, but you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold it together.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he said quietly, motioning toward your dresser. “Just sit tight.”

You sank onto the edge of your bed, the towel still wrapped tightly around you as you watched him move. His presence filled the room—not in an overbearing way, but in a way that made you feel less...alone. He returned a moment later with a fresh set of clothes, setting them down beside you.

“You good to change?” he asked, his voice soft but firm, like he was giving you the option to say no.

You nodded, and he took that as his cue to turn away, suddenly finding your window so interesting to glance at. Giving you privacy while still staying within arm’s reach. His respect for your boundaries didn’t go unnoticed, and it made your chest ache in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

Once dressed, you hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice hoarse from crying. “Logan?”

He turned back to you immediately, his eyes meeting yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, the words trembling with guilt. “For dragging you into all of this. You didn’t deserve it.”

His expression softened, a mix of concern and frustration flickering in his gaze. “Don’t start with that,” he said firmly but not unkindly. “You didn’t drag me anywhere. I’m here because I wanna be. Got it?”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling over you like a fragile reassurance. Your eyes flicked to the clock by your nightstand—5:03 a.m. The realization made your stomach twist, the hours slipping away faster than you could think.

“I need to check on Maya's condition,” you said suddenly, your voice steadier but still strained.

Logan’s hand, still resting lightly on your shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The hallway leading to the med bay felt like it stretched on forever, each step dragging like a weight tethered to your ankles. Logan walked beside you, silent but present, his steady pace offering a grounding presence you barely noticed through the storm raging in your chest. The fluorescent lights overhead hummed softly, an unbearable mockery of normalcy as dread curled in your gut.

When you reached the med bay door, it opened with a quiet hiss, and the world seemed to tilt. The room was unnaturally quiet, the air heavy, oppressive. Jean stood by the bed where Maya lay, her figure tense, arms crossed tightly over her chest. A bag of blood hung from a metal stand, but the tube dangled loose, disconnected. Hank sat slumped in a chair nearby, his head bowed low, the white of his coat streaked with red that had long since dried. He didn’t even look up when you entered.

Jean turned as the door clicked shut behind you, her gaze snapping to meet yours. Her expression was grave, her face drawn and heavy with something unspeakable. The weight of her silence crushed you instantly.

“What’s going on?” you demanded, your voice trembling as you crossed the room in hurried strides, your pulse roaring in your ears. The question tasted bitter on your tongue, dread bubbling up in your chest. You didn’t want to know the answer, not really. You clung desperately to the fragile hope that what you feared wasn’t true.

Jean didn’t answer. Her lips parted, but no words came, only a flicker of helplessness in her eyes that made your stomach plummet. You turned your attention to Hank, sitting motionless, his large hands limp in his lap. Still, no response. It was the silence that told you everything. The kind of silence that only follows the unspeakable.

Your breath quickened as your eyes fell on Maya’s still form on the bed. You reached out, your fingers trembling as they brushed against her cold skin. The moment you touched her, you recoiled. No. This can’t be real.

“Maya,” you whispered, your voice cracking. The panic rose inside you, but you fought to keep it in check. You pressed your fingers to her neck, hoping against hope for a pulse, for any sign of life. There was nothing. The stillness suffocated you. “No, no, no—this can’t be happening.”

You couldn’t stop the tears that welled in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You blinked rapidly, your chest tight, trying to hold it all in. Your knees buckled slightly, and you steadied yourself by gripping the bed rail. Your breath came in shallow bursts, but you forced yourself not to break down completely. Not here, not now.

“What happened?” The question slipped out of you in a broken, quiet voice, and you turned to Hank and Jean, your eyes searching for an answer they couldn’t give.

Jean’s gaze dropped to the floor, her voice soft but heavy. “She was gone before we could stop the bleeding,” she said, and her words cut deeper than anything else in the room.

“No.” You shook your head violently, your hands gripping the bed rail as if it could anchor you. “You’re lying. She’s not—she’s not gone. She can’t be. It’s my fault. I should’ve—” Your voice broke, your chest heaving as the truth slammed into you like a freight train.

Logan’s hand was on your shoulder then, warm and steady. “They've tried their best” he said, his voice low but certain. “So did we, so did you.”

Your tears finally slipping free, but you didn’t sob. It was quiet, contained, but the weight of them felt unbearable. You swallowed hard, wiping your face, but the tears came regardless, leaving silent trails down your cheeks. The grief sat heavily in your chest, raw and unyielding.

You looked back at Maya’s small body, your heart aching, the guilt still gnawing at you. “I should’ve—” Your voice faltered again

“Stop,” he said, his voice low and firm, cutting through the chaos in your head. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

Logan's arm rests steady by your shoulder, with a slight pressure, as if he's trying to pull you into his embrace. As inviting and comforting as it seems, you can't accept such affection from him—you simply cannot.

His heart shatters into pieces at the scene before him: the sweet girl who doesn’t deserve this, and you, torturing yourself with it. He can feel the guilt radiating from your very core, and whilst he's not a much of a believer at this very moment he wishes he could make it better, could make you feel better, if only he knew how. His vain attempt at a gentle pull to draw you closer goes unnoticed by you—or at least, that's what he thinks.

You felt worthless, an absolute failure. You thought you are a failure when Maya's injured but now to cost her a life too? Is there even a word for that, something lower than a failure, a disappointment perhaps. She deserved better, if only you didn't storm in like a rookie and thought everything would go as planned, maybe she'd be alive. If only you didn't let the paranoia get the best of you, letting yourself to work as a team with the others.

You stepped back, the nauseating feeling washing over you once again—one you could never get used to. It was overwhelming. Logan’s arm fell from your shoulder, and he glanced at you immediately, searching for your eyes.

You didn’t know why, but a sudden urge to hide overwhelmed you. Embarrassment crept in like a heavy shadow. They would acknowledge your grief, yes, but they would also acknowledge the truth you couldn’t escape—that it was all because of you. Your fault. No matter how hard they tried to mask their silent judgment, it was always written plainly on their faces.

You wanted to run away from all of it. Like you always do—an avoider. “Excuse me,” you said, your voice quieter than intended, as your hand relentlessly wiped at the stupid tears streaming down your face. Your feet, weighed down by guilt, carried you out of the medbay in seconds.

Logan's confusion was palpable. He would’ve expected you to mourn in a much different way—maybe saying a final goodbye to Maya with heavy, fat tears. Instead, your reaction left him unsettled. Turning his attention back to Maya's body, he murmured softly, “M’really sorry, girl,” a quiet apology and farewell meant more for her than for himself. He tried to be tough, for his own sake and, in part, for yours.

When he looked up again, his focus shifted to you disappearing down the hallway. With a deep sigh, he turned to Jean and Hank. “I’m sorry, Jean, Hank.” he said simply, nodding at each of them before walking out with heavy, deliberate foot steps.

With your arms wrapped tightly around your body, as if they could shield you from the crushing weight of your shame, you walked briskly, desperate to disappear before anyone could see you. But your hope shattered when Logan’s voice rang out from behind, calling your name—once, twice, and then multiple times.

That didn't stopped you, why would it be. You need a time, an alone time obviously.

You kept walking, your pace quickening with every step. Logan's voice called after you, his tone growing sharper, more insistent, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Your feet moved on autopilot, carrying you toward your room as if it were the only safe harbor in a storm. You needed space—alone time, desperately—because facing anyone, even him, was unbearable right now.

Reaching your door, you fumbled with the handle, slipping inside just as Logan's footsteps came up behind you. The door clicked shut, and you locked it immediately, the sound echoing in the suffocating silence of your room.

Your legs gave out beneath you, the weight of everything dragging you down. You fell to the floor with a quiet thud, your back sliding against the door until you were sitting, knees pulled to your chest. Your hands trembled as they wrapped around your legs, holding yourself together as though you might otherwise shatter completely. The tears came fast and hot, spilling down your face in relentless waves as sobs wracked your body.

Outside, Logan stopped just short of colliding with the door. He stared at it for a moment, frustration and worry warring on his face. His hand came up, hesitating before he knocked gently, his voice barely audible over the sound of your muffled cries.

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he said, his words soft but edged with a quiet plea. “C’mon. Let me in.”

Your sobs didn’t stop. If anything, they grew louder, raw and broken, tearing through the fragile silence like jagged glass. The sound twisted something deep inside him, and Logan let out a frustrated growl under his breath. His hands curled into fists at his sides as he leaned his forehead against the door, the cool wood doing little to ground him.

He could hear every breath you took, every hitch in your voice, every agonized cry that told him exactly how much pain you were in. And it was killing him. Logan wasn’t the type to sit idly by, but now, he had no choice. You had locked him out—both literally and figuratively—and no matter how badly he wanted to rip the door off its hinges, he held himself back. Barely.

“Dammit,” he muttered, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. His fists uncurled, one hand coming up to press flat against the door, as if somehow that small gesture could reach you.

Inside, you heard his words, but they felt distant, like a faint echo buried beneath the tidal wave of your guilt. Your breaths came in sharp, shallow gasps, your chest heaving as the weight of everything pressed down on you. Maya’s face flashed in your mind—her lifeless body, the blood, the stillness—and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through you.

Logan's voice came again, this time firmer, though still gentle. “You’re not the reason this happened. You hear me? It wasn’t your fault.”

But you couldn’t hear him—not really. The voice in your head was louder, crueler, drowning him out with accusations and blame. It was your fault. You should’ve done better, been better. You shouldn’t have stormed into the mission so recklessly, thinking everything would go as planned. Maya was gone because of you, and nothing anyone said could change that.

Outside, Logan’s patience snapped. He slammed his palm against the door, the loud crack startling even him. “Lemme in,” he demanded, his voice rough, a thread of desperation woven through it. “Lemme in, Jesus.”

But there was no response. Only the sound of your quiet, choked cries bleeding through the door. Logan clenched his jaw, his frustration bubbling to the surface. He wanted to be angry at you, to yell at you for shutting him out, but he couldn’t. Not when he could hear the sheer agony in every sound you made.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned back against the door, his body a tense line of restraint. The urge to break down the barrier between you was almost overwhelming, but he stayed put, knowing you’d only push him further away if he forced his way in.

“Please,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, almost a whisper. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.” His words hung heavy in the air, unanswered.

Logan’s heart twisted painfully as he realized he couldn’t reach you—not like this. You kept putting distance between yourself and everyone else, a distance that felt impossible for him to cross. He wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms, to hold you until the storm inside you calmed, but you wouldn’t let him. And that broke something inside him more than he cared to admit.

Sliding down to sit on the floor outside your door, Logan rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He stayed there, silent but present, listening to your muffled cries. His claws itched to tear the door apart, but instead, he let out a quiet sigh, his voice barely audible as he spoke again.

“M'not going anywhere,” he said softly, his words meant for you and you alone. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”

•••

The sun had begun its slow ascent, casting a dark blue hue over the horizon visible through your window. The shadows of the night retreated inch by inch, but the heaviness inside you refused to dissipate. You hadn’t moved from your spot by the window, knees drawn to your chest, the tears long since dried on your cheeks. An hour had passed, maybe more, though it felt like a lifetime.

Then, Professor Xavier's calm, commanding voice broke the silence, resonating in your mind. “I need you in the meeting room.”

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm inside you. Rising to your feet felt like a monumental effort, but you managed. You opened the door and froze at the sight of Logan seated by the wall just outside, his head resting against it, eyes closed but still alert. He looked up instantly, his gaze locking onto yours.

He stood quickly, his movements fluid despite the obvious exhaustion etched into his features. "Xavier?" he asked, his tone neutral but edged with concern.

“Yeah,” you croaked out, your voice raspy and weak, accompanied by a small nod. You avoided his gaze, focusing on the floor as you closed the door behind you. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward the stairs, your feet moving automatically.

But you hadn’t gone far when Logan’s hand gently caught your wrist, halting your steps. “Hey,” he said softly followed by muttering your name, his voice a plea more than a call.

You froze, your body stiffening at the contact. For a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn, couldn’t bear to see the worry or frustration in his eyes. But his pull was gentle, almost reluctant, and it broke through your hesitation. Slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze falling to where his hand wrapped around your wrist.

“You don’t have to go,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm. “I can talk to Charles.” His thumb brushed lightly against your wrist, the touch grounding in its tenderness.

“No, Logan,” you said, shaking your head, your voice steadier this time. “This is my responsibility.”

His grip loosened but didn’t fall away, his thumb still tracing soothing circles on your skin. “Alright,” he muttered, his tone almost resigned, though his words carried an undercurrent of understanding.

His voice pulled your gaze upward, and for the first time, you met his eyes fully. They were heavy with exhaustion and unspoken emotions, a reflection of everything he wasn’t saying but felt nonetheless. You swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at you as your eyes flicked from his to his lips for the briefest moment—a fleeting, subconscious act.

Realizing what you’d done, you flinched slightly, pulling your wrist free from his grasp. “I’ll be fine,” you mumbled, turning quickly and walking toward the stairs without sparing him another glance.

Behind you, Logan let out a quiet sigh, his frustration palpable. He followed a step behind, unwilling to let you face whatever awaited you alone, even if you didn’t want his company.

The room fell silent as you stepped in, Logan following close behind. All eyes turned toward you, their gazes heavy, searing into your already fragile composure. You glanced around the table, forcing yourself to take in each expression, though you couldn’t linger for long.

Scott’s face was a mask of barely restrained fury, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line. Even behind his visor, you could feel the weight of his disappointment. It radiated off him, sharp and cutting, like a physical blow.

Beside him, Jean sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with red. She wasn’t just mourning—she was devastated, her grief a palpable force that seemed to drain the room of warmth.

Ororo’s expression was harder to decipher. Her lips pressed together in a grim line, her eyes clouded with a mix of emotions—grief, perhaps, but also a quiet sadness that hinted at disappointment.

Hank sat hunched over, his hands clasped tightly on the table, his brow furrowed in an almost pained expression. His guilt was etched into every line of his face, though you knew this wasn’t on him. Still, it weighed on him as if it were.

Finally, your eyes landed on Charles. His face was as composed as ever, his expression neutral and unreadable. Yet the silence that lingered between you spoke volumes. There was no condemnation in his gaze, but no reassurance, either—just the quiet presence of a man who had seen too much.

The weight of their collective stares became unbearable, and you looked down, focusing on the floor as you moved to take an empty seat. Logan’s hand lightly brushed your back, a silent anchor, before he stepped around you to take the chair beside yours.

The silence in the meeting room was oppressive as Charles cleared his throat, his voice calm yet heavy with the weight of the situation.

“We’re here to discuss the unfortunate events that has occurred,” he began, his tone measured, “And to prepare for Maya’s funeral this morning.”

The mention of her name sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over you. You stared at the table, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

Scott, however, wasted no time, his voice sharp and biting. “She needs to explain herself.” His gaze burned into you, and though you couldn’t see his eyes behind the visor, the fury in his voice was unmistakable. “A student is dead, because she couldn’t keep her head straight.”

Logan shifted in his seat beside you, his fists curling against the table. “Ease up, Summers,” he growled, his tone low and menacing.

“No,” Scott shot back, his voice rising. “You think this is something we can just brush off? Maya’s gone, and someone needs to be held accountable!”

Logan leaned forward, his voice cold and deliberate. “Accountable? You wanna talk about accountability, Scott? Maybe we should start with who came back drunk last night.”

Scott froze, his jaw tightening as Logan’s words hit their mark.

“She was trying to do the team a favor” Logan continued, his gaze hard.

“Logan,” Charles interjected, his tone a quiet warning, but Logan ignored him, his focus locked on Scott.

“You weren’t out there,” Logan said, his voice sharp as claws. “You didn’t see what we were up against.”

Scott looked like he wanted to fire back, but Jean placed a hand on his arm, her touch calming him just enough to make him sit back.

Charles turned to you, his expression gentler. “Please, tell us what happened,” he said, his tone more of a request than a command.

Your hands tightened into fists against your knees, your voice trembling as you began.

“Logan and I got her into the car, we were already leaving from the facility and her condition was well” you said quietly, your throat tightening. “I thought we were clear, but then…” You hesitated, the memory of that moment flashing vividly in your mind.

“They catch up with bikers and started shooting, the window shattered” you continued, your voice breaking. “A bullet… or maybe a glass, it nicked through her neck.”

You couldn’t say more, your words catching as your breaths grew shallow. Logan’s hand moved, his rough palm settling atop your trembling one where it gripped your knee tightly. His warmth anchored you, his touch gentle but grounding.

“We almost got her,” Logan said, his voice low but steady, cutting through the tension in the room. His tone carried a weight of guilt, even though you knew it wasn’t his to bear. “I couldn’t drive fast enough.”

His admission hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, as if he blamed himself when the truth was far from that.

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, your voice barely audible, but firm. “It was mine. It was my idea to move faster, to take the risk.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, a silent protest against your self-blame.

The room remained quiet for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. Even Scott, though still fuming, seemed to falter, the sharp edges of his anger dulled by the rawness of what had been said.

Charles’s gaze lingered on you and Logan, his expression unreadable but thoughtful.

Jean was the first to break the silence. “And Ellie?” she asked softly, her voice laced with concern.

The reminder hit you like a punch to the gut. Ellie. You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “We didn’t find her. She’s still out there.”

Scott’s scowl deepened. “So, we’re sitting here, wasting time when we should be focusing on finding her.”

“We will,” Charles said firmly.

Ororo looked to you, her expression thoughtful but troubled. “Why would they target children, especially girls?” she asked. “It seems deliberate.”

You took a deep breath, choosing your words carefully. “Because girls are less likely to be seen as a threat,” you said, your voice steady. “They’re easier to overlook, which makes it simpler to take them without raising alarm. And if they’re young enough, they’re more vulnerable—less likely to fight back or escape.”

You paused, glancing around the room. “But it’s not just about control. Girls are often underestimated, even when they have powerful abilities. Someone like Maya, with her supersonic scream, or Ellie, who can manipulate fire—that kind of power in someone people don’t expect to be dangerous? It’s exactly what these people want. They can groom them into weapons without the same resistance they’d face from boys or adults.”

Ororo’s expression hardened as your words sank in, the room falling silent under the weight of the revelation.

Hank nodded solemnly. “Their methods align with that theory. The equipment and resources we’ve seen point to calculated, targeted operations.”

“We need to find Ellie,” Scott said, his tone resolute. “And we need to stop SAC and Killebrew before they take anyone else.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, his hand still resting lightly atop yours. “We gotta face something bigger” he began, his voice steady but edged with tension, “This wasn’t just random. The SAC, they’re mixed up in this probably alongside with CIA and Killebrew too. This ain’t the first time we’ve crossed paths with the man, he could be deep with all this.”

Scott’s scowl deepened, and he crossed his arms. “We’ve dealt with Killebrew before,” he said sharply. “There's not enough solid proof he was behind these new experiments. Just speculation. The man's old, he's running out of time.”

“Speculation doesn’t get us anywhere,” Ororo said softly, though her tone carried a distinct edge.

Jean leaned forward, her voice low. “If Killebrew is involved, we need to connect him to SAC and whoever else is funding these operations. Otherwise, we’ll just be chasing shadows again.”

Hank adjusted his glasses and sighed. “The attack on Maya and the equipment used tell us a lot. I analyzed the bike, custom made. It’s clear their resources are not only military-grade but could also specifically designed for counter-mutant operations. This suggests direct involvement from SAC, with Killebrew’s expertise likely supporting their goals.”

“What exactly are their goals, Hank?” Charles asked, his tone even but probing.

“From what we’ve gathered so far,” Hank said, his voice growing more serious, “it’s not just containment. SAC is using Killebrew’s methods to experiment on mutants. They’re trying to weaponize abilities. Think back to the enhanced weaponry we encountered—they’re taking mutant DNA and turning it into tools for warfare.”

A heavy silence followed as the weight of Hank’s words settled over the room.

Logan broke it, his voice rough. “We need to hit their base again. There’s gotta be somethin’ there—a lead, intel, anything. Webknow what we’re walkin’ into this time.”

Scott scoffed, his frustration bubbling over. “Yeah because this time nobody's gonna be harmed” His voice was sharp, his anger directed more at the situation than any one person.

Logan’s jaw clenched, but his voice stayed level. “Can you stop being such an asshole for five fucking minutes?” he said pointedly, as Scott referencing the recklessness of his and your recent off-mission behavior.

The tension between them was palpable, but before it could escalate, Charles raised a hand. “Enough,” he said firmly. His tone left no room for argument.

Jean quickly stepped in. “Let’s focus. We can’t afford to splinter as a team.”

Hank nodded, his voice steady. “Logan’s right. Returning to their base may provide us with the evidence we need to finally pin this on Killebrew and SAC. We should move quickly before they clear out any remaining traces.”

Ororo glanced at Charles. “And Maya?”

Charles’ face softened slightly, though his voice carried the weight of leadership. “We will lay her to rest in the garden this morning. She was one of us, and she deserves to be honored as such. Afterward, we’ll plan the mission in detail.”

The group exchanged solemn glances, unified in their grief but also in their determination.

Logan gave your hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “We’ll figure this out,” he said quietly, his gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment.

The room fell into a heavy silence after Charles dismissed the team, his parting words lingering in the air. "Pay your respects for Maya soon. She deserves it." One by one, everyone stood, somber and weighed down by grief.

You pushed yourself to your feet, still clutching your arms around your body for some semblance of comfort. The ache in your chest was unbearable, making it hard to even look up at the others. Logan followed closely behind as you stepped toward the door. By the time you exited the room, his palm rested gently on your back.

The touch was warm, steady—an anchor in the storm you felt raging inside. A shiver ran down your spine, one you couldn’t suppress. His voice broke through the haze, low and calm, “You should eat something.”

The suggestion felt like an afterthought in your daze, but it stirred a faint awareness of the emptiness in your stomach. You were too weak to respond, too wrapped up in your own exhaustion, but Logan’s sharp ears caught the faint growl from your stomach.

His lips twitched slightly, just enough for you to catch the ghost of a smirk. “I could make omelette and potatoes,” he said casually, as though trying to lighten the mood. “Like that one time, huh?”

A faint memory surfaced—Logan fumbling in the kitchen, you relentlessly judging his cooking skills for making something so basic. You’d teased back then, earning a gruff chuckle and a sarcastic quip.

Now, despite the heaviness pressing down on you, a weak laugh escaped your lips. You glanced up at him, catching the faint amusement in his expression. His palm remained firm against your back, grounding you, while his other hand rested casually in his pocket.

But the small moment was shattered by a sharp voice from behind.

“Right, keep her tame like your little pet.” Scott’s words were venomous, startling you as you turned, not realizing he’d been walking behind you. Logan froze mid-step, his hand dropping from your back as he turned to face Scott.

“Whatddya said?” Logan’s voice was low, his tone barely controlled, carrying an edge that made you flinch.

Scott met his glare with one of his own, unflinching. “You heard me, I said keep her tame like you—”

Scott never got to finish. Logan’s fist flew faster than you could react, connecting with Scott’s jaw in a sickening crack. You flinched, your body tensing as the scene unfolded before you.

Scott staggered back, his hand shooting to his jaw as he scowled. Without hesitation, he retaliated, throwing a punch that caught Logan square on the nose. Blood trickled down, but Logan barely seemed to notice. Instead, he grabbed Scott by the jacket, pulling him close.

You swear you couldn't care less about their immature behavior, you got too much on your plate and barely enough energy to raise your voice for them to hear. “Please, just stop” you said weakly, stepping forward, but the two were frozen in place before you could intervene.

You blinked in confusion, your voice uncertain as you took a cautious step closer. “Logan?” you called, your concern palpable as you inspected their frozen forms. Logan’s hand remained clenched around Scott’s jacket, while Scott’s arm hovered mid-air, inches away from his visor.

From behind you, a familiar voice broke the tense silence, tinged with exasperation. “They’re getting too old for this,” Jean said dryly, stepping into view.

“Since when could you do that?” you asked, glancing back to see Jean emerging from the meeting room.

She shrugged, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Professor taught me a while ago.” She clicked her tongue, strolling closer to inspect the scene. “Look at them.”

Despite yourself, a weak chuckle escaped. Jean nudged you lightly with her shoulder. “It’s kind of amusing,” you admitted, your voice soft but tinged with a hint of laughter.

Jean smirked, crossing her arms. “Aren’t they?”

Charles and Hank appeared from the hallway, both glancing at the spectacle before them. Charles sighed but didn’t stop strolling, his voice calm but firm. “Jean, let the poor gentlemen go.”

Hank shook his head but said nothing, following Charles without breaking stride. Jean tilted her head slightly, and in an instant, Logan and Scott were moving again.

Logan blinked, releasing his grip on Scott’s jacket as he stepped back. Scott stopped his arm mid-motion, lowering it reluctantly as he glared at Logan.

“Not cool,” Logan muttered toward Jean, his voice rough with irritation.

Jean just smirked, her attention already shifting. Logan turned back to you, his features softening immediately. “C’mon,” he said, tilting his head and gesturing for you to follow.

You clutched your arms tighter around yourself, your exhaustion evident as you walked to his side. His palm found its place on your back again, steady and comforting.

Jean and Scott trailed behind, their voices low.

“Are they together or something?” Scott whispered, his tone both bitter and curious.

Jean gave him a look, her lips curving into a faint smile. “I don’t know.”

Scott frowned, skeptical. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re a telepath.”

Jean rolled her eyes, her smile widening as she glanced ahead at you and Logan. “Some things are better left unanswered, Scott.”

The garden was silent except for the soft rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. The students and staff of Xavier’s School had gathered in somber rows, faces etched with grief. The small tombstone stood freshly planted in the earth, its inscription simple yet heartbreaking:

Maya Fernandez

Gone but not forgotten.

You stared at it, the weight in your chest growing heavier with each passing second. The sound of Charles’s voice delivering a eulogy barely registered, muffled as though you were underwater. You couldn’t bring yourself to look anywhere else, not even as the team began to disperse after the ceremony.

Logan stood across from you, his arms crossed tightly, his sharp eyes fixed on your still figure. He hadn’t moved since the gathering started, lingering at a respectful distance but watching you closely.

One by one, the others left the garden, the sound of footsteps fading into the background. Ororo cast a last glance in your direction, her expression heavy with sympathy before walking away. Jean lingered for a moment, exchanging a look with Logan before she too left, leaving only the two of you standing there.

Logan’s boots crunched softly against the gravel as he approached. His presence was solid, grounding, but he hesitated as he neared you. His jaw worked, as though he was trying to find words, but nothing came out.

Finally, he stood by your side, silent. His hand hovered near your back before finally resting there, his touch tentative at first, seeking permission. When you didn’t flinch or pull away, his palm slid gently to the curve of your waist. The pressure was light but steady, a silent invitation to let him be there for you.

Without looking up to him, you stepped closer, leaning into his side. The movement was instinctive, your body desperate for some kind of support as your legs threatened to give out beneath you. Logan’s arm tightened around you slightly, anchoring you to him.

Your left arm reached around his back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like a lifeline. The closeness sent a faint shiver down his spine, but he said nothing, letting you take what you needed. Your right hand rested against his chest, your fingers brushing over the soft shirt he wore as you wiped away tears that seemed endless.

“You're always have been the resilient one,” Logan murmured, voice low and rough but carrying a gentleness.

You shook your head. “Not today.”

He exhaled deeply, his hand moving in small, soothing circles against your waist. “And that’s okay,” he said quietly.

The words, simple as they were, broke through the dam holding back your emotions. You buried your face against his chest, muffling the quiet sobs that racked your body. Logan stayed still, his broad frame solid against you, his warmth a shield against the cold weight of grief.

By the time darkness had fallen, the team was already prepared for a calculated mission to find Ellie, putting the grief of Maya aside to save, hopefully, the living one. You'd picked a twin pair of handguns—glossy black—safely secured in their holsters.

The Blackbird took off as usual, with Hank in the pilot’s seat and Ororo co-piloting. Logan, as always, secured his favorite spot next to you on the long bench in the cabin, various straps holding his broad frame in place.

However, unlike the rest of the team, Logan wasn’t dressed in the usual black suit—no tactical gear, no uniform. He just sat there in a pair of jeans and a simple black shirt alongside with black leather jacket, like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

Scott eyed him, his lips twitching in mild exasperation. "You're seriously not going to wear the team gear?" he asked, an eyebrow arched.

Logan shot him a quick glance, his usual smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nah. Don't need it."

"Party pooper," Scott muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Logan didn’t bother responding, keeping his focus on the mission ahead.

It was a smooth takeoff at first, but soon heavy clouds began shaking the Blackbird. Despite its sophisticated technology, it couldn’t fully defy nature's might. The turbulence wasn’t unfamiliar to you, but the violent tremors made even you a bit uneasy. Your mutation would protect you if anything happened, but you couldn't help wishing this particular flight would remain incident-free. After all, this plane carried the only people you truly cared about in your half-century of life.

You glanced toward the cockpit. Hank’s normally calm demeanor was strained as he gave Ororo instructions, his voice steady but clipped. Ororo nodded, adjusting the controls to lower the jet and avoid the worst of the storm. Their calm professionalism grounded you, even as the turbulence worsened.

Jean and Scott sat across from you and Logan. Scott’s expression was unreadable behind those glasses, his posture relaxed as though turbulence were just a minor inconvenience. Jean, gripping her seatbelt casually, seemed equally unbothered. Your gaze drifted left to Logan, though, and what you saw surprised you.

His eyes were shut tight, his jaw clenched, and his hands gripped the safety straps like they were his lifeline. A sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, and his normally robust complexion had turned pale. His lips were pressed together so hard they almost disappeared.

He was scared. That was new.

“For someone who can’t die, you kinda sucks at it,” you quipped, hoping to lighten the mood.

Logan’s eyes snapped open, meeting yours, but the stress etched into his features didn’t soften. The lines on his forehead deepened as he shook his head silently, a clear sign he wasn’t in the mood for your jokes.

Realizing you’d misread the situation, you softened your tone. “It’s just a little turbulence,” you said, trying to reassure him, but the jet betrayed you as another violent jolt rocked the cabin. Logan grunted, his grip tightening on the straps.

“Little’s a strong word,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his knuckles white from the pressure of his grip. His breathing grew short and shallow, a rhythm that immediately set off alarms in your mind.

“Logan, breathe,” you said gently, leaning closer. His eyes locked onto yours, and you exaggerated a deep, steady breath, silently urging him to follow. Slowly, he began to mimic you, his breathing evening out with each deliberate inhale and exhale. Another slight shake hit the jet, but this time he managed to stay calm, his breathing steady under your watchful gaze.

You nodded to him, and he returned the gesture before breaking eye contact, his hands finally relaxing their death grip on the straps. He let them slide down to rest on his thighs, his shoulders sagging as some tension left his body.

Then another violent jolt struck, causing Logan’s hands to clench into fists on his thighs. You caught snippets of conversation from the cockpit as Hank and Ororo discussed a change in altitude to escape the worst of the storm. Acting on instinct, you placed your hand over Logan’s right arm, the one gripping his thigh.

His gaze darted to your hand, a flicker of surprise and, perhaps, gratitude flashing across his face. Almost immediately, his grip relaxed, his arm going still under your touch. You rubbed small circles on his forearm with your thumb, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor him further.

From across the cabin, Jean caught your eye, her expression laced with quiet amusement. She smiled softly, and you pressed your lips into a thin line, feeling warmth creeping up your neck. You quickly shifted your focus back to Logan, whose arm beneath your palm now felt steadier, the tension in his body beginning to ebb away.

Jean turned slightly, nudging Scott with her shoulder. Without speaking, she sent him a telepathic message: "They’re going to end up together by the end of the week."

Scott glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in amusement. His thoughts answered hers with a teasing tone: "End of the week? Please. I give it forty-eight hours."

Jean raised an eyebrow back at him, her lips twitching in a restrained smile. "Oh yeah? Wanna bet?" The spark of challenge in her tone was unmistakable.

Scott smirked, meeting her gaze. "Sure. If I win, I’m picking the next Saturday movie night."

Jean’s nose wrinkled in mock disgust. "Ugh, not a three-hour boring war movies. Fine, but if I win, we’re going on a picnic Sunday morning. No excuses."

Scott tilted his head, feigning consideration before nodding. "Deal."

Their expressions mirrored a conspiratorial delight, both barely containing their amusement as they exchanged a subtle smile. Scott leaned back, looking smug, while Jean cast another knowing glance in your direction.

Neither you nor Logan noticed the silent exchange, too absorbed in the moment between you. Logan’s grip had relaxed completely now, and your thumb instinctively moved in small circles over his arm. Whatever storm lingered inside him seemed to settle under your touch.

Jean fought the urge to laugh, her amusement evident as she leaned slightly toward Scott. Telepathically, she added: "Better start picking your movie, Summers."

Scott's response came swiftly, with equal confidence. "Better packing that picnic basket, Grey."

The rough flight to the SAC headquarters had unsettled the team, though Logan hid it better than most. The turbulence seemed almost symbolic, foreshadowing the chaos they were about to face. When the Blackbird finally touched down, everyone was tense but laser-focused. Logan led the charge during the initial infiltration, his claws carving a silent, efficient path through the guards. Behind him, Ororo and Scott cleared the way for Hank and Jean to access the facility's systems. You followed suit, the rhythm of combat grounding you in the moment.

The team split up for efficiency. You found yourself alone, navigating the sterile hallways. The lab doors loomed ahead, and when you stepped inside, a sight far worse than you'd imagined greeted you.

Stacks of files and records lined the walls, their labels clinical and cold: Mutation Experimentation Logs, Specimen Decommission Reports. You hesitated, dread coiling in your gut. Pulling out a file at random, you scanned the contents, each word cutting deeper than the last.

The SAC wasn’t just experimenting on mutants—it was cross-breeding them with animals to create grotesque hybrids. Descriptions of failed experiments leaped off the page, detailing lives spent in agony before termination. Your breath hitched as you stumbled across a photo clipped to the file: a child, no older than ten, with reptilian scales covering half her body. The caption read: Deceased – Subject incompatible with human host.

Your hand trembled as you shut the file and grabbed another. This one bore a name you recognized—Ivan Sokolov. A pit formed in your stomach as your eyes skimmed through the familiar handwriting: Killebrew's.

"Subject terminated following loss of viability due to prolonged suppression of mutation. Will be sent to battlefield without request for funds. Further trials planned with new candidates."

The words blurred for a moment, but your gaze snapped back to a single phrase that sent a chill down your spine: "prolonged suppression of mutation."

Mutation? Ivan was a mutant?

Your breath caught, your pulse pounding as you scrambled to reread the lines, searching for anything that might explain. Ivan, your closest friend in that desolate sea of blood and cruelty, had never hinted at being anything other than human. He hadn’t had the enhanced strength or agility some mutants wore like badges. He hadn’t shown any signs of powers you could remember.

The realization struck like a thunderbolt—he never told you. Or perhaps, he couldn't. The military had kept his secret, used him just as they had used you. But why? What was his mutation? Questions clawed at your mind, unanswered and unanswerable, now that Ivan was gone.

Your vision blurred as you returned to the file, flipping through pages frantically. Buried amidst the clinical notes was a vague mention: "Unidentified genetic anomaly. Presumed linked to cognitive augmentation." Cognitive augmentation? Your chest tightened. Ivan had always been the strategist, the one who saw patterns, who seemed to anticipate moves before they happened.

The finality of Killebrew’s words—discarded like so many others—hit you with full force. He wasn’t just a casualty of war. He had been erased, his humanity stripped away in the same cruel experiments that had stolen so many others.

Ivan had been a flicker of light in your darkness, the anchor that kept you grounded when the horrors of the battlefield threatened to swallow you whole. And now, that light was snuffed out, leaving you alone with the knowledge of the secret he had carried to his grave.

Your hands shook as you shut the file. But this time, it wasn’t just grief. It was rage—cold, seething, unrelenting rage. Ivan had deserved better. They all had.

A sound behind you snapped you out of your daze. Whirling around, you saw Logan emerging from another hallway, flanked by four wide-eyed children. Their faces were pale, their thin bodies trembling with fear.

"There's more?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Another batch of kids these bastards managed to catch," Logan growled, his tone a mix of rage and quiet grief. “Still no sign of Ellie.”

Your jaw tightened. “Take them back to the jet. I'll keep looking.”

Logan's eyes narrowed. "Not alone, you're not."

“Logan,” you said firmly, your eyes locking with his. “They need you more than I do. I’ll manage.”

He stared at you for a moment, torn between arguing and trusting you. Finally, he relented. “Fine. Be careful.”

You nodded and moved past him, your steps purposeful despite the storm of emotions churning inside you.

Deeper into the facility, you found another lab, and your heart sank at the sight. Ellie sat inside a cage, her small frame curled up in a corner. A thick collar rested around her neck—the same mutation-suppressing device you knew all too well. Her tear-streaked face lifted at the sound of the door opening, and your chest tightened.

“Ellie…” you whispered, stepping closer, but your movement was halted by a voice that sent ice down your spine.

“They found a way to unlock your collar,” Killebrew said, emerging from the shadows with a smug smile. “Still playing the hero, them disgusting mutants band messed with your head.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “Let her go.”

Killebrew ignored your demand, circling the room with calculated steps. “Do you ever stop to think, my dear? Everyone who comes near you ends up dead. Ivan. Your father. Your mother. You’re a curse.”

The mention of your parents made you freeze. “What did you say?”

He tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Your father’s betrayal was just the beginning, wasn’t it? But your mother—oh, she broke after his death. I heard she didn’t last long. A few months, maybe?”

The words sliced through you, but you refused to show weakness. “What did you do to Ivan?!” you hissed.

Killebrew chuckled, leaning casually against the workstation. “Face it—you’re nothing but a harbinger of death to those around you. Maybe your new guy can’t die this time, but I suspect something far worse than death is already creeping up on him. The big bad Wolverine with fire and flesh... Oh, they call you ‘Hollow’ now, don’t they? I have to admit, you two make such an exquisite pair.”

Rage boiled over. With a growl, you launched yourself at him. The fight was vicious, Killebrew surprisingly agile for his age. He dodged your first swing, reaching for a scalpel, but you knocked it away. As the scuffle continued, you kicked over the cage holding Ellie, breaking it open.

“Run!” you shouted at her. “Find the others!”

Ellie hesitated, her wide eyes darting between you and Killebrew. “Go!” you yelled, your voice raw. Finally, she bolted, disappearing into the hallway.

Killebrew used the distraction to strike, slamming a piece of equipment into your side. Pain flared, but you ignored it, throwing yourself back into the fight with renewed fury.

Ellie stumbled into Scott first. “I found her!” he called into the comms. “She’s alive, but we need to move. Everyone, back to the Blackbird!”

Jean and Hank joined quickly, carrying armfuls of documents. By the time they reached the jet, Logan was already there with the other children, his expression dark and searching.

“Where is she?” Logan barked, his eyes scanning the group. When no one answered, he yelled your name.

“She’ll manage,” Scott said firmly, strapping in. “We can’t risk the kids.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, his rage simmering just below the surface. “Fine,” he snapped, storming out of the jet. Jean called after him, but he ignored her, leaping down and heading back toward the facility.

“Logan, wait!” she yelled again, but he was already gone.

Scott shook his head. “Start the engines,” he ordered, leaving no room for debate. The roar of the Blackbird filled the air as Logan disappeared into the woods, determined to bring you back.

That old age isn’t lying; Killebrew is slow and can’t put up with your fight for so long. You manage to tie him to the laboratory chair with cable and some rope—god knows for what. His ridiculous face whining in pain and gray hair striking under the harsh light is absolutely amusing.

You shake your head, the view is amusing, but you can’t shake the question out of your system. What the fuck happened to Ivan? So you pull a chair and sit across from him.

“What’d you do to Ivan?” you manage to ask calmly, despite the raging storm.

“Injected him with the formula I bought from Russia. It was so expensive, he was practically a waste of funds.”

“Waste of fucking funds?!” You grunt in disgust. “Why didn’t he ever tell me? Why didn’t you?”

Killebrew shakes his head, confused. “Tell you what?!” he yells in frustration.

“That he was a mutant?! All this time, I thought he was human. Some random guy that got tangled under the filthy US government military that he probably didn’t even know half of what was going on. And I just fucking find out he’s one of your projects, just like me. Why’d you keep it from me?” you cry in frustration.

Killebrew’s brows narrow together. “Why on earth would I fucking tell you that? I’m rather surprised he didn’t tell you,” he says, leaning back with the slightest grin forming on his lips.

You shake your head. Of course, he didn’t fucking care. And here you are, thinking he kept it all away for a reason, but it’s all on Ivan. He didn’t tell you anything, and you thought you knew him, only to be proven that you didn’t know him at all, years after he was gone.

You sit in silence, letting this new fact that alters a big part of your life sink in. Your head feels heavy, and it suddenly drops as you look at the floor.

A whole year, maybe even a little more than that, you were stationed together. Sure, a year is a pretty short time to get to know someone new, but it’s a different case when the only time you didn’t see each other was a week out of that one year. You and Ivan, alongside ten other human soldiers—or at least you thought they were human because now Ivan has you questioning everything—were stationed under that sergeant whose name you can barely remember. But you remember every minute you spent with Ivan.

He told you his father was in the military. It was a common ground that instantly clicked between you two. You remembered his witty jokes: “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this? I bet ten dollars your father served.” To which you instantly replied, “And I bet you twenty your pops also served.” That day, you lost ten dollars but also gained another ten.

He’s from Montana, he told you that. His father served in the military and wanted him to be a real man and serve their country for being so kind to them as refugees. His father used to say their family owed America their lives, which you both laughed your asses off at. Owing America your life... what a shithole nightmare of a life to live.

He left Russia when he was six and never came back. He told you that. He pretty much fucking told you everything about his life because none of the other ten soldiers were fun to talk to. You did the same thing—told him pretty much everything about your life, even the experiments Killebrew had done and how they affected you. He had shared his sincere apology to you for it, but that was all.

You two lived the same life. He never told you that part. He never told you he was also an experiment, someone whose choices were taken and rights violated?

“So, Ivan’s father also sold his son to you?” you ask, finally breaking the heavy silence and lifting your head.

“Sold? He volunteered,” Killebrew says.

Before you can speak, Killebrew opens his mouth again. “It was because of you. He adored your ability and wanted to have what you have. That one week off, when all of Sergeant Cooper’s soldiers were sent back to regroup, Ivan willingly came to me. His body just rejected it.”

Your breath comes in shallow at another heartbreaking piece of information dropped like some atomic bomb on your head. What the actual fuck? Why would he fucking do that? His blood is actually on your hands? Gosh, he’s so fucking stupid—you should never have told him about your experiment.

You’re upset, angry about his decision. You can’t wrap your head around it. Just why? You feel like throwing the chair across the room. Your hands go up to your head, massaging your temples, then rest on your thighs as you bend slightly forward in the chair.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

As you’re distracted, too busy controlling your breath, Killebrew slips himself free with a piece of broken glass hidden under his white coat sleeve. He cuts the knot on his hand and lunges at you, stabbing you in the neck with the glass.

You scream in pain as he frees himself from the other knot. Your hand instinctively covers the stab wound, carefully pulling the glass out and letting your skin knit itself back together.

He runs toward one of the lab’s drawers and opens a metal door. You try to chase him but stop in horror at the sight of what he grabs.

A mutation inhibitor collar.

“One step closer, and you won’t fucking survive this time, bitch!” he spits, holding the collar out toward you as you stand a few steps away, raising your hands smartly to avoid getting caught in that shit again.

Fuck him.

You run toward him and lunge, knocking him in the stomach until his body drops with a loud thud onto the floor. You pin him in place, and he drops the collar.

Combat isn’t your strong suit, but right now, you want nothing more than to punch him bare in the face. Your fist curls, and you land a fat punch straight to his nose. He grunts in pain and manages to grab a piece of steel, smashing it into your head.

The fight isn't over. You slam Killebrew's head into the wall with a sickening thud, his skull making contact with the concrete. Не lets out a sharp cry of pain, but you don't stop. You keep smashing his head, again and again, until there's a small pool of blood trickling from the back of his skull. He slumps against the wall, his body barely staying upright, but still conscious.

Footsteps approach. Logan walks in, his gaze immediately locking onto the scene. He stops just in time to see you standing over Killebrew, his figure now small and pitiful, sitting and leaning against the wall, panting heavily.

"Hey," Logan calls your name softly. You turn at the sound of his voice. His expression softens when he sees you, his eyes scanning you for any sign of injury. "You okay?"

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. His hand reaches for your shoulder briefly, giving you a comforting squeeze.

Logan looks down at Killebrew, who's still breathing heavily, his face twisted in pain. "Look at you two," Killebrew sneers, his voice ragged. "Gonna outlive every single person you knew on this earth, until nobody's left but the two of you. A match made in hell, an eternal damnation."

Logan glances at you, and you start walking away. He follows, his voice lowering. "Aren't you gonna finish the job?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Let him suffer."

Logan steps in front of you, halting your progress. "Woah, woah, what if someone finds him and rescues him?" He looks at you, concern flashing in his eyes.

You pause, eyes flickering to Killebrew as he struggles for breath. "If I kill him, I'm just proving his point," you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

"You're not what he created," Logan's gaze softens as he processes your words. He nods in understanding. "If he survives, he won't stop."

"I know," you sigh, running a hand through your hair. "You might think I'm crazy, but I just... I'm proving this to myself. That I'm much better than him." Your gaze falls to the floor, your emotions a mess.

Logan steps closer, his breath steady, his tone gentle. "Do you want him dead?"

"Logan, I-"

"It's a yes or no question," he says cutting you off, more firm now, his voice low but unwavering.

You take a deep breath. "Yeah." You sigh, the word heavy on your chest.

Without another word, Logan walks past you, his figure casting a shadow over Killebrew's beaten form. He kneels down in front of Killebrew and curls his fist, bringing it to the man's chest. His claws emerge with a sharp, unmistakable snikt, and without hesitation, he stabs them right into Killebrew's heart.

The life drains from Killebrew's eyes, and his body goes limp. Logan pulls his claws out, the blood dripping slowly down his wrist. He retracts them, wiping his other palm across the blood-stained hand without a care in the world.

He stands up and looks at you, your eyes flickering with something, gratitude, maybe. He approaches you, his hand warm as it rests gently on your back.

"C'mon," he says softly. "Let's get outta here."

You nod, and together, you walk away, leaving the body of Killebrew behind.

The two of you walk down a desolate road, surrounded by dense woods whose name you don't even know. Glancing at your watch, you note it's half-past midnight. You still can’t believe Logan had no better plan for getting back to the mansion than walking. It’s freezing, and the single piece of black leather you’re wearing does nothing to help. And now, left alone with Logan again, you can’t ignore the awkwardness lingering between you two.

A question drums against your skull, one you’ve yet to address properly. You cringe at the thought of saying it out loud, but it keeps circling in your mind.

What the hell are we?

Maybe drop the "hell"—just what are we? Dear god, it sounds absolutely pathetic. Maybe Logan does this often, y’know, the casual thing. You’re not against it, but the idea doesn’t sit right with you. Especially since, well… it’s Logan. He gave you the best head you’ve ever had.

Or maybe it’s better left as is. No strings, no drama. No breakups, no obligations. Nobody gets left behind because there wasn’t anything to fulfill in the first place.

The two of you keep walking down the road. A few cars pass by, and Logan halfheartedly sticks his thumb out for a ride. You quickly point out that it’s not the brightest idea.

Then, a light catches your eye—a building, glowing in the dark with a bright orange sign. "You hungry?" you ask, nudging Logan with your shoulder and nodding toward the diner across the road, about a hundred yards away.

Katz Diner, the sign reads, gleaming through the gloom of night.

"We don’t have any money," Logan says, his boots crunching against the gravel.

"You don’t have any money," you reply, reaching into the pocket of your holster and pulling out two neatly folded hundred-dollar bills.

Logan scoffs, clearly amused. "You’re carryin’ cash around on a mission?"

"What? This is a survival kit." You flash him a wide smile, and his husky chuckle follows, warm and familiar against the cold night air.

The two of you finally make it to the diner, your steps quickening as the glowing orange sign promises warmth and food. But as you reach the glass door, the truth dawns on you. A "CLOSED" sign hangs in clear view, mocking your misplaced hope. You groan, your breath fogging up the glass as you clutch yourself against the biting cold.

"Asshole," you mutter under your breath, shivering as you glare at the locked door.

Logan glances down at you, his expression unreadable except for that flicker of mischief in his eyes. Without a word, you already know what he’s about to do.

"Logan, don’t—"

Before you can finish, his fist smashes through the glass. You flinch at the sound, but Logan barely reacts, calmly reaching through the jagged shards to unlock the door. Pushing it open, he gestures for you to go in first.

"You’ll have to leave the hundred bucks on a table," he says, stepping aside with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, walking past him into the dark, empty diner.

"We’re gonna get arrested," you tease, glancing around the quiet interior. Your gaze catches a red light from CCTV camera mounted in the corner of the ceiling.

"But maybe if there’s no footage," you quip, pulling your gun from its holster.

The loud crack of the gunshot shatters the stillness, and Logan startles, snapping his head toward you. "Geez, give a guy some warning, will ya?"

"Where’s the fun in that?" you reply with a grin, holstering your weapon as you take stock of the diner.

Behind the counter, you push open the swinging door to the kitchen. A quick glance around reveals a treasure trove of ingredients—raw chicken, beef, potatoes, eggs, butter, pasta, tomatoes, sausages, bacon, and more.

"Jackpot," you mutter, pulling a few items off the shelves.

Logan steps into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you inspect the food. "You planning to cook or hoard?"

You toss a bag of potatoes at him, which he catches with ease. "Both," you shoot back.

Within minutes, the two of you are working side by side, a light banter filling the room as you chop, stir, and fry. Logan handles the meat, seasoning and grilling the chicken and bacon with surprising skill. Meanwhile, you focus on the carbs, boiling pasta and mashing potatoes.

"You're getting better with that," you remark, watching as Logan flips the bacon in a pan.

"Had to learn," he replies with a shrug. "Ain't gonna risk the chance of you callin' my meal closer to inedible, again..."

You chuckle recalling your own joke to him "I really did hit a nerve there huh?" you tease.

Logan smirks, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Wound still fresh"

The playful tone lingers in the air as you finish cooking, the warm scent of food filling the room. You walk from the kitchen to the table first, balancing your plate carefully, eager to sit and eat. But as you place it down, Logan appears behind you like a shadow, plate in hand, following without a word.

You turn back toward the kitchen, remembering your forgotten glass of water, and nearly crash into him. You freeze as he blocks your way, standing so close that you feel his warmth against the cold air of the diner. Startled, you glance up, and for a brief moment, his heavy, tired eyes bore into yours. It’s like he’s seeing through you, and you’re not sure if you want to look away or keep holding his gaze.

The tension breaks awkwardly as you both shift to move, but in the same direction, cutting each other off. You chuckle nervously. "You want water?"

Logan’s lips twitch into a soft smile, rare and disarming. "Yeah."

You gesture to his right, stepping aside to give him space. "Okay, I’ll go this way, you go that way," you say, slipping past him and retreating to grab two glasses.

Your breath feels shaky as you fill the glasses, your mind stuck on that split-second where he had looked at you. Only if he knew how much he was affecting you, how much you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you.

When you return, Logan is already seated, waiting. You slide the glass to his side of the table, his quiet "Thanks" breaking the silence as you take your seat.

You eat in silence at first, avoiding his gaze, your eyes fixed on your plate. The chicken looks unappetizing, under-seasoned and bland, but you tell yourself it’s fine—you’ve had worse.

Logan, on the other hand, occasionally glances up from his plate to you. His fork pauses midway to his mouth as he studies you, the way your focus stays locked on your food, the way you keep your head down.

Finally, he speaks. "Y’alright?" His voice is steady, cutting through the quiet scrape of utensils against plates.

You shrug without looking up. "Yeah."

Your gaze shifts to the window beside you, the yellow streetlight casting a faint glow against the black of night. It’s easier to stare at that than at him. After a moment, you bring your attention back to your plate, but the awkward weight of his question still lingers in the air.

Logan’s fork clinks softly as he sets it down, leaning back in the booth. His sharp eyes don’t leave you. "What’s wrong?" he asks again, his voice gentler this time, but persistent.

"Nothing," you reply quickly, a little too quickly, cutting another piece of your chicken as though focusing on the task would shield you from his gaze.

He doesn’t let it go. "Look at me," he grumbles, his tone low but firm, the kind that makes your hand freeze mid-motion.

You hesitate, but eventually tilt your head, meeting his eyes. They’re heavy with something you can’t quite put into words—concern, maybe frustration, but most of all, care.

"What’s wrong?" he repeats, this time softer, your name slipping from his lips like an anchor, grounding you.

You hate that. Hate how much his concern cuts through your walls, hate the way it makes your chest tighten. It’s unbearable, so you break the contact, dropping your gaze back to your plate.

"I don’t know," you admit, your voice small, barely above a whisper. You spear the last bite of chicken and shove it into your mouth, hoping to end the conversation.

But Logan doesn’t move. He doesn’t pick his fork back up, doesn’t shift his attention elsewhere. You can feel him watching you, his patience unnerving.

"You do," he mutters, his voice calm but resolute.

You glance up briefly, your brow furrowing. "No, I don’t," you insist, the words coming out sharper than you intended.

Logan leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. "You’re not a good liar, y’know that?"

The corner of your mouth twitches, but you don’t let the smile break through. "Guess I need more practice."

His lips quirk in a faint smile, but his eyes remain serious. "You don’t need practice. You need to talk."

You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed under his unwavering attention. "Not now, Logan. Can we just… drop it?"

For a moment, it seems like he might push further, but then he exhales heavily, leaning back again. "Fine," he says, though his tone suggests he’s not letting it go forever.

You stood up quickly, desperate to put some space between you and Logan, the weight of everything hanging in the air. You felt a mix of frustration, confusion, and something you couldn’t quite place. But before you could walk away, his voice stopped you.

"Hey."

You froze, heart pounding, and turned to face him. His eyes were locked onto you, steady and unyielding. He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out your mother’s necklace, holding it out to you. The sight of it hit you like a punch to the gut, and you could barely process it.

Your breath caught in your throat as you stepped closer. "Where the hell did you find that?" you demanded, your voice coming out shakier than you intended as you snatched the necklace from his arm.

"Your bathroom’s floor," Logan said, his tone almost too casual, like it was no big deal. A smirk tugged at his lips, but there was no hint of apology.

"My bathroom’s floor?" You repeated, disbelief taking over. You could feel your anger rising, the frustration bubbling up. "What the fuck, Logan? Why the hell would you put it in your pocket?!"

Logan's eyes narrowed, and he shifted, standing up from the booth in one smooth motion. He was inches from you now, his body tense with frustration. "Jesus, calm down. It’s just a necklace."

"Just a necklace?" You snapped, voice rising. "It’s my mother’s! You don’t just take things and shove them in your pocket like it doesn’t matter!"

You stood there, fury coursing through your veins, your heart pounding in your chest as Logan continued to stand in front of you. He looked almost unbothered, his stance relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes were anything but.

"You always do this," you said, stepping closer, your voice low but trembling with frustration. "You make me feel like I’m the one losing my mind while you—" you gestured sharply at him, "just stand there like nothing’s wrong!"

Logan’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. "And you think I’m not losing my mind too? You think I don’t feel this—" he waved vaguely between you both, his voice rising, "whatever the hell this is?"

"This?" you shot back, your chest tightening. "This is you pushing and pulling untill I don’t even know where I stand with you!"

His laugh was bitter, almost a scoff. "Yeah? Well, try being on this side of it. Try waking up every day thinking—" He stopped abruptly, his words catching, and his eyes darted away.

"Thinking what?" you demanded, stepping closer. "Say it, Logan. For once, just say it!"

His head snapped back toward you, and his voice dropped, low and rough, like he was forcing the words out. "Thinking that if I get too close, I’m gonna ruin you. And if I stay away, I’ll hate myself for the rest of my goddamn life."

The air between you felt like it might break. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you couldn’t look away from him.

"Then what do you want me to do?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips parted, but the words seemed to stick, his throat working as he searched for something to say.

"Stay," he murmured raw and pleading. "For once in your damn life, just stay."

You shake your head hesitantly. "Why?" Your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes stinging as you fight back tears.

Logan steps closer, the warmth of his body radiating toward you. His gaze searches your face as if memorizing every detail, etching it into his mind.

"Because we need each other," he says, his voice rough but steady. "You and I... we can be quite destructive on our own. But together—" he pauses, his jaw tightening as if the words are caught in his throat, "we cancel that out."

Your fingers tighten around the heart-shaped pendant in your hand. He reaches for you, his touch impossibly gentle, and you resist, unwilling to let go of this fragile barrier. But the tenderness in his hand disarms you, and slowly, your grip softens.

Logan carefully takes the necklace, holding it as though it’s something sacred. His gaze softens as it locks onto yours. "I've been the best version of myself when I'm with you. And I think—no, I know—you feel the same."

He steps behind you, his movements slow, deliberate, as he fastens the necklace around your neck. You close your eyes, his nearness overwhelming. The familiar scent of him—leather, smoke, and something distinctly Logan—wraps around you, grounding you and pulling you apart at the same time.

"Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll stop," he says softly.

You don’t answer. Words fail you as his fingers brush the back of your neck and lift your ponytail for adjusting the clasp. Your breath catches when his hand grazes your waist, the touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

His voice drops, barely audible. "Just one chance. That’s all I’m asking."

You lean into his touch despite yourself, your head tilting slightly as his breath warms the curve of your neck. When his lips hover, hesitating, your resolve weakens entirely.

"Logan..." you whisper, though you’re not sure what you’re asking for.

He exhales sharply, the sound laced with longing. His palm rests firmly on your waist, and his other hand grazes the zipper of your suit. Your heart pounds as he begins to pull it down, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

Unable to take the tension any longer, you turn to face him, the suit unzipped halfway. His hands find your waist again as you rest yours on his shoulders, grounding yourself against the storm building between you.

"What do you want?" you ask, your voice trembling as his forehead touches yours, his nose brushing against you in the smallest, softest gesture.

"You," he breathes. "I want you."

His hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing your skin with a gentleness that sends heat spiraling through your chest. Before either of you can think twice, you close the gap, your lips crashing into his.

Logan kisses you back with equal intensity, his lips moving against yours in a way that feels both desperate and certain. It’s messy, passionate, and utterly consuming. When your tongue slips past his lips, he meets it eagerly, a low growl escaping his throat.

Without warning, a wild thought flickers through your mind, and you bite down on his bottom lip hard enough to hurt and leave an impression. Logan pulls back with a sharp inhale, his eyes wide with surprise.

You grin, mischief playing on your lips as you watch the small wound heal almost instantly. He licks the blood from his lip tasting the iron.

He cooed "Easy there" the corner of his mouth curving into a smirk.

You grab his wrist after he moves to wipe the blood away and bring his finger to your lips. Slowly, deliberately, you lick the crimson from his skin, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan lets out a low, disbelieving chuckle. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he growls, his voice thick with desire.

"Then I’ll make sure it’s slow and satisfying," you reply, your voice a whisper dripping with challenge.

He doesn’t give you a chance to say anything else, his lips crashing into yours again, hungrier this time. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel his body tense against yours as if holding himself back from unraveling completely.

"Logan," you moan against his lips.

"Say it again," he murmurs, his voice raw as his lips trail down to the edge of your jaw.

Your breath stutters. "Logan..."

The way he reacts, the way his name seems to break something inside him, sends your heart spiraling.

Logan pulls back suddenly, his gaze darting to something behind the counter. His expression is unreadable as he peeks over, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

“Logan, what—?” you start, but before you can finish, a familiar tune blasts through the speakers.

'I could stay awake... just to hear you breathing... Watchin’ you smile while you are sleeping.'

Your eyes widen as you recognize the opening chords of Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing by Aerosmith fill the room.

Logan steps back toward you, a mischievous grin on his face. With a slow, deliberate motion, he extends his arm, inviting you to take it.

“What are you doing?” you ask, half-laughing, but you instinctively reach out, letting him guide your hand to his.

“Dance with me,” he says confidently, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You let out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking your head but allowing him to pull you closer.

“Didn’t take you for a sucker of romance,” you tease, laughing softly as he spins you around the empty diner.

His movements are surprisingly smooth, his hand guiding yours to his shoulder while the other stays firmly at your waist. “Yeah, well,” he smirks, “I don’t even know how to dance.”

“Sure you don’t,” you reply with a grin, noticing how effortlessly he leads.

'Every moment spent with you is a moment I treasure.....'

As the music swells, your eyes meet his, and the warmth in his gaze makes your chest tighten. This song—it hits every nerve just right. And then, as if on cue, the two of you burst out in unison:

“Don’t wanna close my eyes…”

Your voice is off-key, and so is his, but neither of you care. You’re singing with abandon, your joy filling the room.

“I don’t wanna fall asleep, ‘cause I’ll miss you, babe!”

Logan laughs, a deep, husky sound that makes your stomach flutter, and you can’t help but join in.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing!”

You yell out the lyrics, your voices echoing through the diner. Logan suddenly lifts you off your feet, spinning you around, and you shriek with laughter, clinging to his shoulders.

“‘Cause even when I dream of you…” Logan sings the line. You laugh so hard tears prick your eyes.

“The sweetest dream will never do…”

You quiet down, your smile fading into something more genuine as he carries you in a slow, swaying circle.

“I’d still miss you, babe…”

Your chest tightens, emotion welling up as you press closer, resting your forehead against his.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

Logan’s grin softens, and he pulls you even closer. His chin rests gently on top of your head as the two of you move in slow, easy steps to the rhythm of the song. Your hand squeezes his arm, and you close your eyes, letting the moment take over.

The beat of his heart is steady beneath your ear, grounding you. His hand at your waist tightens, his touch warm and reassuring. For the first time in a long time, everything feels right—no fights, no pain, just the two of you and this perfect, fleeting moment.

'Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we’re together, And I just wanna stay with you, In this moment forever, forever and ever.'

The song continues to pour through the diner speakers as the two of you move in slow, deliberate steps. You pull your head away from Logan’s chest, your eyes flickering with unspoken gratitude. He holds your gaze, leaning in closer, and brushes his lips against yours in a soft, tender kiss.

Outside the diner, across the road, Scott and Jean stand in their gear, clearly fresh from their mission. Ellie and the children have been safely returned to the mansion, and with the tracker embedded in your suit, it wasn’t hard for them to find you and Logan in the middle of nowhere.

What they didn’t expect was… this.

Under the diner’s bright lights and with its large glass windows, you and Logan are clearly visible, completely absorbed in each other.

Scott lets out an incredulous sigh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable,” he mutters.

Jean chuckles, nudging him playfully. “Man, can’t believe we both lost this one,” Scott grumbles.

Jean smirks. “Lovebirds,” she teases, crossing her arms as they continue watching the scene unfold.

Scott huffs, stepping off the curb. “Alright, let’s break this up.”

The two of them approach the diner, standing awkwardly just outside the glass. They exchange a glance, silently debating what to do. Finally, Scott knocks loudly on the glass, startling you both mid-kiss.

You jolt, pulling away from Logan as your heart jumps into your throat. “Fucking hell,” you mutter, your face flushing as you spot Scott and Jean standing there, Scott looking thoroughly unimpressed and Jean offering a thin, awkward smile.

Logan doesn’t look even remotely phased. He’d sensed their presence long before the music even started, but he hadn’t cared. With a soft grunt, he reaches behind you and zips your black leather suit back up, taking his sweet time.

Scott and Jean step carefully through the broken glass on the diner floor, their expressions half-amused and half-annoyed.

“I had high hopes for you two,” Scott says, his tone dry as he surveys the scene.

Logan raises an eyebrow, his hand still resting on your lower back. “You’ve got a point, Summers, or are you just here to gawk?”

Jean laughs lightly, shaking her head. “Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking because he bet you’d get together in the next forty-eight hours.”

Scott scowls. “And she bet it’d take at least a week,” he grumbles, gesturing at Jean. “Turns out, we were both wrong.”

You blink in disbelief, glancing at Logan, who looks utterly amused. He lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Guess you two underestimated us,” he says, flashing a smug grin before leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips—right in front of them.

Your cheeks warm, but you can’t help the wide smile spreading across your face as you lean into Logan’s side.

Scott groans, throwing his hands up. “Alright, get a room, you two. Your ride’s outside. Time to go home.” He turns, wrapping an arm around Jean’s shoulders as they head for the door.

'Don’t wanna close my eyes… I don’t wanna fall asleep… I don’t wanna miss a thing,'

the song continues, fading behind you as Logan intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Home,” you murmur with a soft smile, glancing up at him.

Logan’s lips press gently against your temple, his touch grounding and warm.

“Home indeed,” he echoes, voice filled with quiet contentment.

Together, you walk out of the diner, leaving the music behind and a two-hundred-dollar bill on the counter by the radio.

[dragontamer05]

Biologically no but I mean Minos is very much at fault for / played a part to a degree in the Minotaurs existence- if the man just fucking did as was asked and sacrificed the White Bull like he was supposed to do none of it would have happened.

Minotaur is not a species

The Minotaur was named that because he was the son of King Minos. Anyone with a bull head has to be named after their dad, like the Kyletaur or something.

[goblin-enjoyer]

I swear why are half the things i like/fandoms im in made of mostly younger people while the other half are mostly older people? what are the zoggin odds with that?

How it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 30-40 somethings.

VS how it feels being 20 in a fandom with a bunch of 14-17 somethings.

like am do i just have extremely odd luck with things i like or is this just what being 20 is like?

[chleem]

Mr & Mrs Starkey

One shot: husband drew x wife yn 

Summary: In which your 5 year-old son catches you kissing santa claus, oblivious to the fact that it's just drew under the costume.

Genre: fluff, smut (shower sex , read at own caution

⋆.˚ please dont copy or translate my work!

♡⸝⸝ merry xmas! | mistletoe | halloween

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You lean against the doorframe of the shared bedroom, watching ‘Santa Claus’ place wrapped gifts under the Christmas tree. 

Drew’s movements are very sloppy, due to the big red suit he’s wearing. 

“Seems like Santa needs to lose some weight,” you tease, not even trying to hide how funny you find his situation. 

Recently, your son, Ben learned about Santa Claus and how he brings presents to kids, and like any curious five-year-old, he's completely captivated by the idea of ‘catching’ Santa. The details of his plan are a little hazy to you—he mentioned it about a month ago, but you forgot the specifics.

You told Drew that no costume was necessary; just eat the cookies on the table and put the presents in place. But Drew insisted. And now, here he is, awkwardly fumbling around in a full Santa suit. 

Placing the last gift under the tree, he turns around, his white beard and hat threatening to slip off. His blue eyes meets yours with annoyance, lips pressed in a thin line. “Well, usually my elves do this.”

You giggle, finding Drew’s dedication to the part funny and cute. “Okay, Mr Claus,” you walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, “take a break and have some cookies, huh?”

The annoyance in his eyes fade away, his shoulders relaxing under your touch. “You could’ve been my elf,” he murmurs, hands wrapping around your waist. 

“But I’m Mrs Claus, remember? I stay home, do dishes, yadayada,” you joke, rolling your eyes dramatically. “leave the heavy work- important work to you.”

Drew parts his mouth, looking down at you with a knowing look. 

“I did wrap the presents, didn’t I?” You continue to say. “Doesn’t that count for being an elf? I picked out the gifts, payed for it, set the tree up with Ben-“

Drew’s lips aggressively thrusts itself into yours; tongue fighting for access. You gasp into his mouth; taken aback by the abrupt action. That allows the slip of his tongue, tangling in with yours. 

The cheap fake beard makes it hard to concentrate though; the rough hairs getting in between. 

You pull away from him; eyes hooding with a soft smile on your lips. “Rude.”

“You talk too much sometimes,” he murmurs, a hand going up to cup your face. 

“Isn’t that why you married me-“

He plants his lips on yours again, and you giggle against his lips. 

Drew laughs too; the warmth between you two palpable, the quiet intimacy of the moment almost too perfect. Drew’s hand, still cupping your face, gently tugs you closer, his thumb brushing over your cheek in that way that always makes you melt. The kiss deepens, slow and soft, as if he’s savoring every second of it. 

When you finally pull away, both of you breathless, you find yourself caught in his gaze. It’s that look—the one that makes your heart race, the one that feels like he’s seeing straight into you. You smile, your heart fluttering a little more than it should.

“Maybe I do talk too much,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smirks, his fingers tracing along the line of your jaw. “You can talk as much as you want... as long as it’s with me.”

The attempt to sound sweet and lovely is ruined by your incapability of staying serious; because how could you, when Drew’s fake beard is crooked and he’s got this silly red suit with the big belly on? 

“What now?” Drew murmurs, eyeing the silly grin on your face.

“I’m kissing Santa Claus,” you chuckle, reaching up to give his beard a playful tug.

He pauses for a moment, his eyes looking at you with a mischievous glint to them. 

“You naughty girl,” masked with a chuckle, a seductive tone is laced in his words, matching the smirk that’s hidden beneath the white beard. Drew leans in again, catching you in another kiss. 

This time, however, his hands start to roam around your body, feeling the material of your thick hoodie. 

His lips travel down your neck, kissing wherever is exposed. 

You let soft moans escape your mouth; the erotic feeling building in your lower stomach. With a hitched and breathless voice, you ask, “hey Drew?”

He lazily hums against your skin, hands resting just above your ass. 

“Wanna help me shower?” you whisper seductively into his ear, tugging the Santa hat off his head.

Drew pulls back slightly, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he looks down at you. “Y’know you don’t need to ask…”

You plant a kiss on his jaw, soft but deliberate, before moving away, your hand tugging at his sleeve as you make your way toward the bathroom. But Drew doesn’t follow, a thoughtful look painted all over him. 

“Stockings…” he murmurs, looking over his head at the fireplace, with the stockings that he needs to fill as ‘Santa Claus’.

You sigh, knowing exactly where this is going. After all, both of you are suckers for your son, always willing to put everything aside just to see his smile. You glance at Drew, trying to look annoyed, but the soft smile on your face betrays the affection you feel for him—and the family you’ve built together.

“Fine. I’ll shower alone,” you start, readjusting the fake beard he has on. “And I’ll leave Santa to his duties.”

“Thank you,” he sourly replies, his frown evident though the thick beard. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, your lips matching the expression he has. You pat his shoulder, before turning around, making your way to the bathroom. 

You make sure to add an extra sway to your hips, a lame attempt to convince Drew to ditch his costume and join you. 

But nope. Not even when you start stripping, leaving the door open for him to peek. 

——

The bathroom was thick with steam, the fog clouding the mirror as the water poured from the shower head.

You stand underneath the spray; getting ready to wash your body next. 

When you reach for the soap, a much larger hand takes hold of yours, stopping you. You glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, Drew, who presses his body close. 

“Hi,” you flirtatiously start, which comes out more hitched. 

Feeling the soft press of his tip against your back, the breathing gets much harder to steady. 

The temperature in here is definitely rising- not because of the shower. 

“You mad?” Drew’s voice comes out low, a soft smile on his lips as he turns you around to face him. 

You don’t miss the quick glance down to your tits; his gaze lingering longer there than it should be. 

You cock your head to the side, pretending to think it over, but the teasing glint in your eyes gives you away. His hands move to your waist, rubbing circles over your skin, his blue eyes searching yours for an answer.

Your lack of response serves as an invitation for Drew to start planting kisses along your neck, lingering longer on your sweet-spots. 

“Drew…” you softly moan, the thoughts forgotten as he starts sucking the skin on your neck. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer than he already is. His hands find themselves traveling down your body, squeezing your waist, ass, thighs, anywhere he likes. 

“I like this,” he murmurs against your skin, as his hand squeezes your ass again. 

“Mhm,” you lazily hum, running your hands through his wet hair, feeling his aroused dick brushing against your pussy. Shit.

His hands hook under your thighs; lifting you up effortlessly. And because of all the times you've done this, you instinctively wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pinning you against the tiled wall. 

This position causes his dick to brush against your inner thigh; your tits brushing his chest. 

“I like….”

Leaning against the wall, your gaze locks with his hooded blue eyes, feeling the weight of his stare on your lips. “…the way you take me in.”

You chuckle at Drew’s attempt at talk dirty, something you’ll always find amusing throughout your marriage with him. Okay, you liked it, but who were you if you didn’t play along with it? “Well, show me how much you like it.”

A dorky grin Drew fails to suppress shows on his lips, his hands’ gripping tightly on your flesh. His eyes flash down look at the closed proximity you both are in; before quickly flickering back up. 

That makes the blood rush to your cheeks, a flush creeping over your skin. 

“Gonna-“ he leans in and catches your lips in a messy kiss, his teeth pulling on your bottom lip. “-fuck your brains out.”

You breathlessly giggle at that too, your eyes softly focused on Drew, a smitten look in them. 

Without another comment, Drew adjusts his hips, and you feel his cock slowly entering you. Glancing down, your breath hitches as he thrusts in; deeply nested inside. 

“Fuck,” you moan out, tilting your head to rest against the wall.

The showering water that flows down might as well serve as lubricant- yet your walls still feel tight.

Your eyes close for a moment; and you feel Drew’s lips on your neck again- kissing hard enough to leave hickeys. He eventually trails down, lips coming in contact with your breasts. 

He groans as your hands travel down his neck, before tightening around his shoulders. Your nails dig in, averting the pressure there. 

“Drew…” you whine, hoping he starts moving, your eyes flustering open. 

He pulls away, his mouth opened slightly with the same smitten look in his eyes. “…looking at you like this-“ he delivers a thrust to your core; the shock of it causing a loud moan to escape your lips. He chuckles at that, before finishing his words, “makes me wanna put another baby in you.”

“Shit,” you breathe out, as his hips start to roughly slam into yours; one of his hands coming up to play with your tits. The sensation of his thick cock thrusting into you is enough to blur out his words. 

Your body bounces with each rough push his hips drill into your pussy- matching the moans escaping your mouth. He grunts, the sound matching the rising heat in the room, each exhale thick with the intensity building between you.

“F-feels so good,” you mumble.

“Feels good, yeah?” He chuckles lowly, repeating your words. You watch as a grin tugs itself at the corner of his lips, his blue eyes staring lustfully into yours. “Buried with my cock- you look pretty, babe.”

His words, the fast pace, his hands roaming all over sends an alarm to your core, your orgasm building and threatening to explode. 

“Fuck,” you moan, your walls clenching around him as he readjusts you; allowing his dick to thrust into the familiarity of your g-spot. “I’m, c-close”

“Yeah?” Drew kisses the corner of your lips, his moves never stopping. “Right on my cock, baby.”

His lips catches yours again, kissing you clumsily and swallowing the soft sounds you produced. 

The knot in your stomach goes undone- and you feel the warm liquid erupting out of you, over Drew’s cock. You clench around him again, as he continues his pace to chase out his own high. 

His moves become sloppier, his lips pulling away as his dick twitches inside of you, his cream painting your walls white. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, slowly pulling out to leave the tip inside you, just to push fully back in again. 

You chuckle tiredly at that, as he shoves his cum deep into your cunt. “Oh, Drew…” your tone comes out almost like a whine, your throat going hoarse. 

You don’t even try to hide how limp your body is, muscles giving out on holding onto Drew. 

“My beautiful wife,” he almost purrs, blue eyes staring into yours in a smitten way that makes the butterflies in your stomach to fly widely loose. He sets you down on the floor slowly, helping you regain your balance. 

You let his warm hands brush away the hair sticking to the side of your face, the shower head pouring warm water over both of you.

You stand in silence, staring into each other's eyes, both trying to regain your composure from the intensity of the sex. 

“Love it when you talk dirty to me,” you suddenly say, your tone a mix of teasing and heat, a sly smile playing on your lips.

Drew catches onto that; his lips curving into a smirk. His hands slips back to your waist, settling there as if it belongs. “I’k what my girl likes.”

“Geez, what a man,” you tease, your breath catching as his fingers trace over your skin. “Knows what his girl wants.”

You lean in and kiss him briefly, yet pouring your emotions into it. He returns it; bringing one hand up to cup your face, angling it to allow access to his tongue. 

Fuck.

After six years of marriage, he can still easily turn you on like a switch—effortlessly, every damn time. 

You pull away, catching the fucked-out look in Drew’s eyes, the blue beaming down at you. “I’m sleepy,” you murmur, which was your meaning of ‘fuck me in bed, I’m tired’.

“‘Kay,” he murmurs, rubbing circles along your jaw, “let me, give you the princess treatment first, yeah?”

You snort at his words, as he reaches behind you to grab the soap. You don’t miss his low chuckle, even finding his own words funny. 

You relax, and let Drew give you the luxurious ‘princess treatment’, cleaning you up and ready for bed. 

——

Christmas morning

“Ben’s acting weird…”

You whisper to Drew, as you place the dishes into the sink. You spare subtle glances over at your son, sitting on the couch. 

His attention is fixed on the TV, his new toy in hand—opened first, his excitement obvious.

Drew leans against the counter, sipping on the third cup of coffee he made this morning. Last night, well, both of you didn’t get much sleep. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, before shrugging. “No?”

“Um, not to you,” you keep your voice low, standing next to Drew as you both watch the living room.

During breakfast, Ben had been shy, avoiding your gaze and giving short answers to your questions. But he seemed perfectly fine when you tucked him into bed yesterday. “Did I do something last night?”

Drew snickers, and when you glance at him, he casually unzips his jacket. With a smug grin, he reveals the hickeys you’d left on his neck last night. 

Shit. This man is a dad, and he can’t seem to be serious at all during times like this.

His grin escalates into laughter when you roll your eyes at him, pushing his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious. Ask him for me, will you?”

“Alright, alr- I’ll do it.”

Drew doesn’t move, taking another sip of his coffee. 

You send him a glare, along with aggressively zipping his jacket back up. 

“You mean now, got it,” he chuckles, putting the cup down. You shake your head at him, a smile reappearing on your lips as he walks away. 

You busy yourself by scrolling through your Insta, liking posts you don’t care about. The soft whispers you hear are barely audible, drowned out by the TV and the occasional rumble of Ben’s toy.

It’s about two minutes in when you hear Drew’s throaty laugh through the house, Ben hurriedly yelling, “daddy! Quiet!”

“You got anything to support that?” Drew’s voice comes through, his attempt at keeping quiet failing miserably.

You glance up just in time to see Ben jump off Drew’s lap, rushing toward his room.

Meeting Drew’s gaze, you raise an eyebrow, skeptical. You walk over and sit down beside him, waiting for an explanation.

“You’ll see. It’s hilarious,” Drew says with a grin, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. You give him a sideways glance, not buying it for a second. 

Ben runs back, his familiar blue eyes meeting yours for a split second before he quickly looks away.

“Wanna show Mommy what’s in your hand?” you chirp, your gaze landing on the toy camera you bought him a few months ago, now clutched tightly in his small hands.

He ignores you; walking straight into Drew’s arms. 

“Well that’s rude,” you murmur, but both father and son remain oblivious, their attention now fully on the toy camera.

As you try to sneak a peek, Drew leans away with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying whatever he’s looking at. Ben, on the other hand, glances at it nervously, his small brow furrowing in worry. 

Your curiosity grows by the minute, heightening when Ben says, “is mommy in trouble?”

His big, doe blue eyes meets yours again, and he looks like a sad puppy (much like his dad sometimes). It melts your heart; again proving you could never be mad at this kid. 

His dad, on the other hand, you might choke him to death if he doesn’t explain what’s going on right now. 

“Why don’t you tell mommy?” Drew teases, his hand rubbing Ben’s stomach in an assuring way. 

You can see the thought process on Ben’s face, the pout deepening as he concentrates. His small brows furrow, eyes narrowing in serious contemplation.

Finally, Ben points his little finger at you, his voice loud and clear. “Mommy kissed Santa Claus!”

Your mouth drops open in shock as your mind races through the events of last night. Shit. You kissed Drew, who was dressed as Santa. Then the shower together- But how did Ben catch you? Was he out of bed? Did he—

Drew flips the small toy camera’s screen toward you, revealing a paused video. There’s no mistaking it: it's you, mid-kiss, with Drew in his Santa costume.

Oh. So this was his great plan of catching Santa Claus. A hidden camera.

Your face flushes as you look back at Drew, who’s struggling to suppress his laugh. You quickly cover your mouth, trying to hide the matching smile creeping onto your lips.

“Oh, Ben, honey,” you start, your voice sweet but a little flustered. His eyes glance up at you, eagerly awaiting your response. Relax, he’s only a five-year old kid. “Santa needed help with the presents…and mommy helped him.”

You flash a small smile, hoping he’ll understand. Ben looks up at you with a puzzled face, clearly not buying it. 

Dammit, five-year olds are getting too smart these days. 

“Don’t worry; mommy’s on the good girls’ list,” Drew adds on, clearly enjoying this. 

You shoot him a glare - really? “Ben, mommy would never kiss Santa,” you say firmly. “I was hugging him- see?”

“But you kiss daddy like that all the time,” Ben loudly comments, fidgeting nervously. 

A soft laugh leaves Drew’s mouth, absolutely no help to his situation. Great, just another reminder to yourself to maybe keep the affectionate touches to a minimum around Ben in the future.

“Okay,” you start, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “Yes, Mommy and Daddy kiss sometimes, but Santa—he's just, well, he’s just here to deliver the gifts. That’s all.”

You glance at Drew, who’s still trying (and failing) to hide his grin. “Right, Drew?” you add, shooting him a look that says get it together.

“Right, right,” Drew says quickly, trying to sound serious. 

“So, Ben,” you turn your gaze back to your son, holding his tiny hand. Gosh, he’s adorable. “Santa's just doing his job to make Christmas magical. Okay?”

Ben nods slowly, his tiny face scrunching as he seems to take it all in. “Okay, mommy.”

You smile fondly at him, reaching your arms out.

He lets out a laugh that’s eerily similar to Drew’s, a lighter sound as he buries into your embrace. The sound of his laughter fills the room, bringing a sense of joy to your heart.

Somehow, with all its goofiness, it’s moments like this that make everything feel so right.

You press a kiss to the top of his head, as he snuggles against you, you can’t help but think—god, he’s basically a mini version of Joseph Andrew Starkey.

“Mommy loves you,” you say, as Ben pulls away. 

“I love you too, Mommy,” he mumbles, his voice soft but genuine. Like every kid, though, his attention span is short. His eyes drift over to the Christmas tree, where a few presents remain under the glittering lights. “Can I open the rest?”

You nod at him, and Ben takes off immediately, racing towards the Christmas tree. You can't help but smile as you watch him grab the first big present in front of him, tearing it apart. 

Although, your smile falters as your eyes drift back to Drew. He’s lounging on the couch, a lazy smile on his lips as he watches Ben, clearly amused.

Without thinking, you slap his stomach a bit roughly, causing him to flinch in his seat.

"Hey!" Drew protests quietly, his eyes widening in surprise as he looks at you. "What was that for?”

“Really? ‘Good girls’ list’?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him.

He scoots himself closer to you, his smirk deepening, “you definitely took it like a good girl last night.”

Fuck. 

You freeze, his words hanging in the air, sending a shockwave through your chest.

"God, you're impossible,” you groan, slapping his hand away, the one trying to slip under your cardigan. 

Drew’s throaty laugh escapes again, wanting to further tease you when Ben interrupts the short conversation. 

He proudly shows off the present he got from ‘Santa’; a toy truck that he’s been begging for since forever. His small hands grip the toy truck, eyes wide with excitement.

The warmth of the moment radiates off you, and everything else fades away. Ben’s joy fills the room, and for a moment, it’s as if time stands still. 

The Christmas tree lights flicker softly in the background, casting a gentle glow, and the world outside feels distant, as if nothing else matters.

What a jolly merry Christmas. 

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

word count: 3.6k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: i want drew's kids. and i hate kids. but i want his.

other | mistletoe | hallow's eve

[gucciforasushirestaurant]

Like You Mean It | H.S

summary: you're tired of only ever meeting trash men, but your best friend and roommate harry shows you that there are still good guys out there, and what it really means to be a giver.

word count: 5.3k

reading time: 22 min

content warning ⚠️: housemate/bff!harry au, nonfamous!harry, friends to lovers, shitty men (not harry), smut, fluff, fingering, penetration (p in v), very light D/s dynamics (if you squint), softdom!harry, dirty talk, nicknames (baby, babe), very light degradation/humiliation kink (if you squint)

a/n:  i saw a text post that said “girl don’t text that man. make yourself cum and forget about him.”(solid advice lol)  and then this happened. also not to be an astrology girlie but he’s an aquarius with libra placements….this man is the perfect fwb.

“Harry, can I get a man's perspective on something?” you ask, turning to Harry next to you on the couch. You had begged Harry out of his room for a movie night as a ruse, but your nose had been buried deep in your phone the whole night. Re-reading and overanalyzing old text messages between you and the object of your anxiety.

You don’t often go to Harry for help with men, but his advice on other areas of your life is always sound, and you respect his opinion.

“If you’re asking me for help, he’s not worth your time.” He sighs, not looking away from the movie, hugging a pillow to his chest. 

“I’m serious, I need your help.” you whine, tugging on his sleeve. He turns and looks at your dramatic pout, “Please.” 

“Alright, I’ll bite.” He huffs. “What is it?” 

“As a man, do you prefer texting or like a call? Or maybe FaceTime?”  

Harry barks out a laugh at the ridiculous question, before looking over at you, and realizing your dead serious. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, tossing his head back against the couch. “I mean I’m more of a talker, and I like seeing who I’m talking to, so I prefer FaceTime. But I guess it depends on the girl and how long I’ve been talking to them. What our situation is, and stuff.  Which one of your boy toys are we talking about?” he asks. 

“Cameron.” you grimace.

Cameron is admittedly your least favorite of the boys on your roster, but your most tenured member. And the one Harry hates most. In the beginning you thought it could be something real. He was sweet and did a decent job at wooing you. That is until - in Harry’s eyes - he coerced you into a friends with benefits arrangement. Harry could tell that you liked him, and to see him treat you as terribly as he did, got Harry’s blood boiling. You deserved better, that much you both could understand. What Harry couldn't understand however was why you would even consider speaking to him again after the last time you were in contact.  

Instead of saying what he truly thought, or giving you a hard time, he just pinched the space between his brow with an exasperated sigh. 

“I know, I know,” you grumble.

“How long has it been since you’ve heard from him?” 

“A while. But he reached out recently and - ” 

“I thought you were done with him.” he deadpans, eyes glued to yours. 

“I was, but we got coffee last week and he apologized.” 

“Coffee?” Harry groans in disgust at the low effort. He pauses the movie, and turns to you, “Don’t text him. Don’t call him. Go back in there,” he says pointing down the hallway towards your room. “Make yourself come, and forget about him. For your sake and mine.” 

“Harry!” you laugh, hitting him with a throw pillow.  

“You think I’m joking, but I’m serious.” he concedes with a chuckle, “You don’t even like him.” 

“I like him enough.” 

“He’s a terrible fuck.” 

“He…gets the job done.” you defend voice cracking. 

“Everytime he leaves, there's suddenly a consistent buzz coming from your bedroom.” He scoffs. You go to defend yourself with heat rising to your face. You stammer a bit but not quite getting words out before he continues, “I’m a grown man, I know what a vibrator sounds like.” He smirks, and you giggle covering your face. 

“Jesus.” you laugh, “Look, I’ve tried your way already…and it’s not doing the trick.” you pout, “So tell me, how pathetic would I be  if I were to reach out to him.”

“I don’t think you’d be pathetic, love.” he soothes 

“Then why are you so against me texting him?”  

Because you deserve better! Why can’t you see that? He thinks, These guys don’t deserve you. If I were them I’d - 

“Harry?” you ask, snapping him out of his thoughts. It’s in the glow of the television, and the small light on the side table that Harry is able to admire your adorable pout and curious eyes. He’s always had a little crush on you throughout the entirety of your friendship. One he knew you could feel and was reciprocated. There were a few drunken confessions of your attraction for one another that were joked about the following morning. Then there was the holiday kiss . One New Year for ‘good luck’. But there was also a promise. A pinky promise, to never risk the friendship you had. To keep things platonic.  It was a promise that was becoming more and more difficult for both of you to keep. 

When you two agreed to move in under the same roof for economic reasons, you knew it would be an adjustment, with both of you having been living on your own for years. But you were excited. Living alone could get lonely and overwhelming. So having your best friend of years, under the same roof and splitting responsibilities felt like a huge weight lifted off of your shoulders. 

But being in such close proximity meant that it was becoming harder to keep your promise. Especially when things just felt so domestic with the two of you. Cooking dinner together, movie nights, cuddling together on the couch. It was hard for both of you not to let your minds wander to a reality where you were more than just friends. 

But you were friends, and as long as that boundary was there, there was nothing stopping either of you from being young, wild and free. So there were parties, and one night stands, and situationships. All in an attempt to distract you both from the truth. Because no matter how pretty the girls were that Harry brought home, no matter how sweet and kind they were. The only face he saw when they were splayed out in his bed…was your. 

And after a very awkward Sunday morning breakfast with one of your one night stands meeting Harry, you stopped bringing guys home all together. Opting for spending weekends away. A change Harry didn’t like, and lectured you over. “It’s not safe. You don’t know these guys. At least if you bring them here, I’m here if you need me.” he’d argued. All that did was keep you from seeing anyone for a while.  Which is how you ended up even considering talking to Camreon again. 

“Look” Harry finally says, turning his body towards you, “if you’re that sexually frustrated I’ll… help you out.” 

You tilt your head, letting out a nervous giggle, waiting for his real response. But it never comes, he just…smirks at you. 

“Oh,” you whisper, heart beating against your ribs. “You’re serious.” Harry nods, biting his lip. The offer was…promising, and the way Harry looked at you was intriguing. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t give you butterflies.  That the last month or so things haven’t  felt different between you two, something less than romantic, but certainly more than platonic. It was messing with your head for sure. But you were friends. Regardless of how fit you thought he was, you didn’t have the right to blow up your over decade long friendship just because you were horny. You clear your throat blinking up at him, shaking your head,“Thanks for the offer, Har but -” 

“Yeah no…you’re right. It’s - dumb idea.” He stammers, “I do think you just need to let off some steam, and then you’ll forget about him.” 

“Yeah. I guess.” 

He sees you deflate a bit at his words, and he realizes you didn’t expect  him to give up so easily. So he tries again a little more directly “And not to be that guy but I’ve been told I’m pretty talented, and if making you come keeps you from making a repeated mistake then I’ll take one for the team.” 

“Gee, thanks.” you scoff. 

“I just mean. You’re my friend, and I’m trying to be a helping hand.” he says sweetly before the smirk returns, “And tongue.” He laughs, and you roll your eyes. “And on a serious note, you’re too special of a woman to have to deal with mediocre sex from a guy that clearly - and I’m sorry to say - couldn’t give two shits about your Love. If you need to…get your rocks off, why not with someone you trust? With someone that actually cares about you?” Harry says sweetly. 

“Really?” you ask, and he nods, “And if we cross this line, it won't ruin our friendship.” 

“Cross my heart.” He says drawing an ‘x’ over his chest. 

“What about Taylor?” you ask, thinking of the pretty blonde that you’ve caught making breakfast in your kitchen a few times. You're trying to give him an out. But he doesn’t take it. 

“Out of the picture.” he smiles, “Has been for a while.” He admits, and before you get a chance to offer your condolences, he asks “So what do you say?”  

“Okay.” 

“Alright.” he smirks, “Come here.” He says softly, reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You scoot closer to him on the couch, your knees touching his thigh.  Your breath hitches in your throat as his other hand rests on your cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb.

He leans in slowly, his breath fanning across your face, his lips inches away from yours. His emerald eyes dart from yours down to your lips, back to your eyes. 

“You’re sure?” he asks. You nod your head slowly, eyes glued to his lips as he speaks. You watch as they curve up into a seductive smirk, “Words, baby. Want to hear you say it.” He coaches. 

He wants to hear you say it because the truth is, he can’t believe this is finally happening. He gets why you both agreed to not cross this boundary for so long. For the sake of your amazing friendship. But being this close to you now, seeing the look in your eye, the want and anticipation. Feeling the way he lit up touching you. It all seemed so silly. Why deny yourselves the pleasure of giving in to such chemistry, when life was so short? 

“I’m sure.” you whisper, “Are you?” 

“Oh, I’m positive.” he purrs, before leaning forward finally bringing his lips to yours. You sigh into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips on yours. Immediately, the kiss feels different than anything you’ve shared in the past. What starts off as a soft sweet pecks, familiarizes yourselves with one another, quickly evolves into a hurried frenzy. Tongues swirling, teeth clicking, and with Harry’s hand having come down to rest on your neck, thumb caressing your jugular possessively your head was spinning. You gasp  into the kiss, trying to catch your breath but all you could do was breathe in more of Harry. It’s when he nipped at your bottom lip licking at the skin after, that you have a moment of clarity. Pulling away slowly you, run your hand through the hairs at the nape of his neck making him look up at you. 

“You okay?” he asks, worry etched into his features. 

“If we’re going to do this,” you begin, “ I have one condition.” 

“Okay.” he prompts 

“Want you to fuck me like you mean it.” you whisper, voice shakily. 

“Planned on it, Love.” He smiles, bringing you back into the kiss, lifting you up onto his lap to straddle him. You drape your arms around his shoulders and lean forward bringing your lips back down to his. Any nerves you’d had earlier slip away with each swipe of his tongue into your mouth, and grind off your hips down onto his hardening cock. He moans into your mouth as you grind your hips into his, and you couldn’t help but smirk into the kiss. 

He sounds so pretty, you thought. 

He lets out another groan, as his hands roam up your thighs to your hips, gripping them firmly and pulling you as close to him as he could. He pulls his lips away from yours in favor of kissing down your neck. His lips roam up and down trying to find your favorite spot, and when he does, you let out a lewd moan, pulling at his hair. He groans into your neck and continues sucking and nibbling. He licks a stirp up your neck, dragging your earlobe into his ear sucking at it. Before he pulls away looking at you with a proud grin on his face, watching you. 

“Why’d you stop?” you pout, leaning your forehead against his. 

“I’m not fucking you on the couch.” He chuckles and you giggle. “Your bedroom or mine?” he asks as he untucks your lip from your teeth with his thumb. “Wherever you’d feel most comfortable.” 

You didn’t have to think for more than a moment before answering. “Is it okay if we go to yours?” you ask nervously. If you were going to get the Harry Styles special, you wanted the whole experience. 

“Of course.” he smiles, giving you a quick peck, “Hold onto me.” he instructs and you hook your arms and legs around him as he stands up and makes his way down the short hallway to his bedroom. He leans in and kisses your cheek 

It is a little strange, how natural it all feels. How your lips seemed to slot perfectly with his, how he grabs your ass so dominantly in his hands, how you instinctually nuzzle into his neck, sucking just below his ear like he did for you. It’s as if  this whole thing, your dynamic, was sitting there all along, just waiting to come to the surface. 

He kicks his bedroom door open, kicking it back closed once inside. Breathy swears falling from his lips as you suck on a spot just below his ear. He sets you down on your feet as you pull away from his neck, bringing your lips back to his. Your hands move from around his shoulders to the elastic of his sweats. You pull at the strings keeping the material around his hips. But Harry stops you, pulling away from the kiss, holding your wrists in his hands.

“Hey, hey.” he coos, tilting your head up to look at him. “This is about you. Remember?” 

“Right.” you sigh, “Sorry.” It was a force of habit. Focusing on pleasing your partner, without much thought of your own pleasure. 

“It’s okay.” he smiles softly, “Don’t worry about me. Just let me take care of you.” He lifts your hands to his lips kissing each of the back of your hands,  “Okay?” you nod and he places a quick peck to your lips,  “Get up on the bed, for me.” There was something in his voice, a tone you’ve never heard before nor could you pin down, but it already had your stomach doing somersaults. 

You crawl your way up the bed, laying down amongst the mountain of pillows and it suddenly hits you what you’ve agreed to. Did you have some nerves about the possibility of ruining your longtime friendship? Of course. But the primary feeling was anticipation. You’ve heard Harry take many women to heaven in this very room, in this very bed through the thin walls of your apartment, dozens of times.  And now as you lay in his sheets… It's your turn.

He watches from the foot of the bed as you settle into his bed, admiring the sight of you there. You're quick to remove your shirt, but you keep your bottoms and bra on. You watch as he strips himself of his band t-shirt, and sweats admiring his tattooed littered chest and arms. Your eyes follow the trail of hair from his navel to the growing tent in his boxer briefs. He notices you admiring, watching as his muscles contract as he moves up the bed to you, a smirk plastered to his lip. 

“Eyes up here.” he jokes, and you snort out a chuckle, as he hovers above you with elbows on either side of your head. You bring your arms, sound his shoulders, pulling him down on you, enjoying the weight of him on top of you. 

“Shut up.” you smile, kissing him. You try to lead the kiss, but eventually give in to Harry, allowing him to choose the pace, too distracted and consumed by the feelings of his hands roaming your body. As he teases your mouth open with his tongue, you nibble at his bottom lip wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in closer to you. You both moan as the tip of his clothed cock catches onto your clothed pussy. Your pussy throbs at the sensation and you roll your hips up into his, begging for some friction. But Harry holds your hip in the softness of his mattress.  He pulls away, caressing your cheek, running a thumb along your kiss bitten lips. 

“Let me take my time. Want you to enjoy this. I’m going to give you what you need. I promise.” 

You nod, looking up at him through your lashes, “Okay.” you sigh

“Just relax.” he leans down, kissing your lips, “Do you trust me?” 

“Yeah - of course.” 

“Good.” Harry smiles, his dimpled smile, before continuing your kiss, hungrily kissing your lips, down to your neck. Kissing and sucking trying to find your most sensitive spot. When he does,  he nibbles and sucks, groaning into you as he feels you relax in his arms, with each swipe of his tongue on your neck. His hand reaches behind you, fiddling with the hooks of your bra. “Can I take this off?” he rasps. 

“Mhmm, yeah.” you rush out, helping him shimmy your arms out of the annoying barrier.  Before you get the chance to pull him back down to you chest to chest, Harry pauses, looking from your chest to your eyes.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous” he whispers, a hand cupping one of your breasts, pinching the pebbled skin of your nipple. He dips his head down, drawing the other nipple into his mouth sucking on the nub, before releasing it with a pop. You couldn’t help the lewd moan that escaped your lips. It’s needy and breathy and if it were anyone else above you,  you’d maybe be embarrassed with just how desperate you sound. But the way Harry is worshiping you, and moaning into your chest, you knew he was enjoying this just as much.

He works his way up from your breasts back to your neck, sucking and kissing anywhere his lips could reach. You wrap your hands around his shoulders pulling him in, for a deep kiss, until you feel his fingers tangle into the loose strings of your flimsy lounge shorts. 

“What about these?” he asks against your lips. “Can I take ‘em off?” 

“Please.” you gasp into his mouth. Without breaking the kiss the best you could, you lift your hips, as you help him get the shorts down your legs. 

With nothing but the thin material of your underwear between you.  You could really get a feel of Harry now as he grinded his hips into yours. He was thick, and just as hard as you were wet. After a few nudges of his cock against your pussy, Harry snakes a hand between the two of you, rubbing you through the thin cotton of your panties in small circles. 

“Mmhm.” you moan, rolling your hips into his hand. 

“This okay?” he huffs, leaning his forehead on yours. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, pulling him back down to your face for a kiss. “More.” 

Harry smirked at you teasingly, but obliged. Sliding your panties to the side, his thick warm fingers making contact with your clit. 

“Oh, fuck.” you huff. 

Harry usually likes to tease. He tells the girls in his bed to be patient, to be good girls and wait for the inevitable earth shattering pleasure he’s sure to spring on them. But you're not just some girl in his bed. You’re…you. And he’s never not given you whatever it is you wanted. Because as far as Harry is concerned, you deserve the world. And the truth is, even if you didn’t realize it, you have him wrapped around your perfectly manicured finger. 

“That feel okay?” Harry asks, rubbing you in tight circles. He dips his fingers further down your folds, collecting  the wetness at your entrance to wet your clit. He rubs at your pussy,  up and down, until you start bucking against his hand. 

“Mmhm” you nod, “so good.” you whimper. 

It’s beginning to become harder to focus. All you feel is Harry. His fingers, between your legs. His tongue massages yours. His breath fanning across your face, when he rests his forehead on yours. His hardening cock pressing into your thigh.  His weight on top of you. He was completely consuming your senses. 

His fingers dip down, teasing at your entrance drawing out a deep groan from you as your grip on his shoulders tighten. 

“What’s got you so wet? Huh?” he smirks into the kiss, as he teases your entrance. Your cheeks warm to his teasing tone.

“You.” you whine, “Feels so good, Harry.” 

“Yeah?” he smirks, “And this?” He coos, as he slowly, finally, slides a long finger inside. “This feel good, too?” 

“Oh, god.” you whimper, arching your back into the mattress, gripping at his shoulders.

Harry kisses your check, pulling back admiring how sweet you looked as his finger worked you open, pumping in and out of you. 

“Look at me.” he coos, curling his finger inside to that spongy spot inside of you. “Let me see you baby. Look at me.” He repeats, sweetly kissing your cheek. Slowly, and with all the focus you can muster, you peel your eyes open to look at Harry. “Good girl,” Harry praises, “you’re doing so good, Love.” Your breath hitches at his words as you feel your pussy tighten around his fingers.  “You gonna come on my hand? Already?” He smirks. 

His light teasing, mixed with the pet names, only has you barling closer to the edge. You're so, very close and the way you're looking up at Harry all blissed out has him ready to bust in his boxers. 

“Har-” 

He can sense the frustration. See how close you were, but not quite. He needed to see you come for him. 

“What is it baby?” he coos, kissing your cheek. 

“More. Harry,” you whine, “Please, please plea-” you whine, through a pout.

“Shhh….Okay. You can have,” Harry slowly inserts a second finger, while his thumb circled your clit, “anything you want.” 

“Fuc-” Your moan gets cut off with a kiss, as Harry continues to work his fingers in and out of you.

“There you go. Better?” 

“Ye- yes. Oh my god.” you whine. 

Harry continues working his fingers in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit as you could feel your orgasm barrelling closer. 

“Come on,” Harry encourages, “come on my hand. Come for me.” he pants, through a kiss, fingers curling, maintaining their pace inside of you. 

“Shit!” you moan out, coming apart on his hand. 

“There you go. Good girl.” he praises, kissing you anywhere his lips can reach. You whimper, a shiver shooting through your body as your orgasm shook through you.  “Shhh, I got you. I got you.” he coos, slowing his fingers to a stop.   He withdraws his fingers from your center, eyes remaining on yours as he sucked his fingers clean, moaning around the digits. 

“You taste good.” he smirks, before leaning down, burying himself in your neck, sucking on the spot just below your ear. He pulls away, looking you in the eye admiring your fucked out state. He plants a kiss on each of your cheeks, and then kisses you deeply nipping at your lip. 

“You did so good.” Harry huffs into your mouth. You rake your fingers through his hair, still reeling from your orgasm, trying to use Harry to bring yourself back down to earth. “You’re pretty when you come.” he smiles down at you, kissing your lips, “Do you need a minute?” 

“No.” you mumble kissing his lips, “Just fuck me please.” Harry nods into the kiss, reaching into his nightstand for a condom. He’s quick to get rid of his bottoms and slip on the condom. 

“Harry.” you plead, rolling your hips up into his, as he slid his cock up and down your slit. He taps the head of his cock on your clit twice.

“Shhh, relax. I got you.” He coos stroking your cheek with one hand as he runs his cock more deliberately up and down your slit with the other. Harry kisses the corners of your mouth, and then places a kiss to your lips. He looks at you, eyes aflame with lust. He leans his forehead against yours, his breath fanning across your face, as he slowly pushes inside. You gasp, grab his shoulders, dig your nails into his skin. Harry hisses, tucking his face into your neck as he slowly worked you open with his cock, little by little thrusting in and out until he was fully settled inside. 

“Fuck, babe.” he sighs. He stays still for a moment, deep inside of you relishing in the feeling of your tight  walls wrapped around him. 

“Oh my god.” you gasp as swears fall from Harry’s lips above you. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls, drawing out more groans from him. “Move.” you whine, rutting your hips up into his. “Please, Harry.” 

He slowly begins to grind his hips down into yours, pulling back only slightly before driving back in, allowing you to feel every inch of him. “Fuck, you feel so good baby.” He praises. He’s quick to find a decent pace, his arms bracketing your head, forehead leaned against yours as he pounded into you with deep strokes. 

“Har- oh my god.” you moan, your pants of pleasure, fanning across Harry’s face, eyes screwed shut. 

“Look at me.” he rasps, kissing the corner of your mouth, “Please. Need to see you.” He moans. And he does. He needs it. You can hear it in his voice, and feel it in the way he caresses your hip. He must be closer to you. He needed to see you, all of you. 

So you grant his wish, peeling your eyes open and looking at him. And your pussy clenches at the sight of him. You don’t remember why you’d close your eyes in the first place. He was beautiful, like this. All kiss bitten lips, and flushed cheeks, curls glued to his brow and lust filled eyes. You threaded your fingers in his curls, brushing his curls away from his eyes. 

“You feel so good.” you gasp. 

Harry smirks, twirling his hips, “So do you.” You pull at his curls, a loud moan rips from your throat,  as a particularly hard thrusts hits your g-spot. Harry’s eyes flash with a new kind of focus, and lust as he hits it again. 

“‘S that it? ‘S that your spot, babe?” he huffs. You nod frantically, eyes glued to his lust filled ones as he continued pumping into you. “I want you to come for me again. I want to feel you. Please,” he pleads, “Need it.”  

“Oh god!” you cry out. The more he talked the closer you could feel yourself approaching your peak. “Harry -” you 

“Breathe through it, Love.” He instructs, keeping his rhythmic pace. As he grinds his hips down into yours, he demonstrates a breath, taking a deep breath in and out. You follow suit, feeling the heat pool in the bit of your stomach warm, as your orgasm grows closer and closer. 

“Harry - oh my god.” “I know, I know.” He gasps, “Let go, Baby.” And you do. Just like that, you coming around Harry’s cock, tightening around him as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. “There you go,” he coos, dropping a kiss to your forehead, before tucking himself back into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “Good girl. Fuck baby.” 

Harry’s thrusts become sloppy as he struggles to hold himself up above you, feeling his own climax quickly approaching. “I’m gonna come baby.” Harry pants. 

“Please.” you whimper, holding his face in his hands. You bring your lips up to his, moaning into the kiss, “I want you to.” 

“Fuck.” He huffs, and with a few more deep strokes, Harry comes apart above you. 

He grinds his hips to a stop, burying himself into your neck, kissing your shoulder, as you run your nails up and down his back, trying to catch your breath. 

You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the weight of him on top of you, and Harry enjoying your hand in his hair. Once he heard your breath slow, he slowly pulled out of you, kissing your forehead, and rolling off of you.

“I’ll be right back.” he smiles.

“Okay.” you whisper with a sweet smile.   

Harry drags his boxer briefs up his legs, looking back at you with a smile before he’s out the door. 

“Shit.” you giggle, looking up at the ceiling. You look over at the clock on his nightstand, and smirk.  Nearly an hour and a half  has passed. I really got the Harry Experience ™ you muse, to yourself. 

Sitting up in bed, you scan the messy bedroom floor to find your clothes. Before you get a chase to put your bra back on, Harry is back with bottles of water, some snacks and a towel. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks,  He sets down the two bottles of water, snacks on his nightstand.

“Getting dressed.” 

“What for?” he pouts, crawling into his bed, lifting his sheets for you to follow,  “Come back here.” you allow him to pull you back into his side, resting your head on his chest.  

“I don’t want to overextend my stay.” you whisper 

“You’re not.  Let me hold you for a bit. Not done taking care of you.”  

He kisses the crown of your head, and it feels almost too intimate, but still you relax in his arms, letting out a deep breath, allowing the gentle motion of his hand stroking your back to calm you. 

“Can you do me a favor?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Promise me that we’ll still be friends.” 

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment. A little too long for your liking before he finally speaks. 

“I don’t think I can do that.” Harry says, and there's a slight panic at his words until you look up at him and see he’s smirking down at you. 

“I got you pussy whipped that quick, Styles?” you joke, poking at his side, and he laughs. 

“Maybe.” he smirks, before looking at you earnestly, “Or maybe hearing you moan my name made me realize it’s something I've wanted for a long time.” 

“Oh.” you sigh. 

“Or maybe I’m just selfish, and I don’t like the idea of anyone else seeing you that way. Especially if they aren’t going to treat you right.” 

“And you want to treat me right?” you smile

“I do.” He says firmly, “Give me a chance. Just one date. A real one. Ideally one where we stay clothed, and vertical.” he smirks.  “And if you don’t want to pursue anything, then…I’m happy to stay friends. But I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t try.” 

You look at him, trying to find a hint of dishonesty, but you couldn’t find it. 

“Okay, Styles. One date.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” you smile, snuggling back into his chest. 

Everything between you two has changed. That’s for sure. But maybe it’s for the better.  And maybe this is just the beginning. 

a/n: imagine harry as your fwb *deep sigh*

✨masterlist✨| ✨yap & request box✨

[ddejavvu]

I just saw an ad Instagram for a thong that said ‘all you can eat buffet’ on it and I am BEGGING you to write James reacting to r wearing it 😭

this post is 18+, minors dni.

It's a gag, nothing more. The block letters are ugly, big white shapes that are already cracking on the surface of the red fabric. But their message is worth it: ALL YOU CAN EAT BUFFET'.

An ad for the thong had jumped out at you during your nightly social media scroll only a few weeks ago, and you'd ordered it while James was snoring beside you. He appreciates a good joke, but he's also been known to appreciate a good meal, and you wonder if the manufacturer had made them personally for you and James.

You wear them beneath the little sleep shorts that drive James crazy, the ones that are so loose he can always catch a glimpse of your underwear beneath them. You're just tucking yourself beneath the blankets, keeping your thigh purposefully visible, when James stumbles into the room with a hand buried deep in his curls, scratching away at them.

He's mid-yawn, and you're slightly taken aback when he refrains from making a comment about your attire. He's usually all over you, and you have no doubt that he'll be nearly on top of you when you're both beneath the covers, but you can't believe he managed to keep a crass comment out of his mouth.

"Sirius wants to try out a new bike repair shop tomorrow," James mumbles, clearly tired as he shucks off his joggers and heads for bed with only his shirt and briefs remaining, "'Says the place opens bloody early- six I think? Closes at nine. So I've gotta haul my ass up before then."

"Oh." You retort, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice as you settle, "Sorry, Jamie. We can sleep early tonight."

He hums encouragingly into the sheets as he gets situated, reaching immediately for you just as you'd known he would. His large hands gravitate towards your waist, and even if he's too tired and responsible to think about sex tonight, his hand snakes into the waistband of your shorts for safekeeping.

He feels the blocky, stiff cool of the lettering on the front of your thong and you feel his brows furrow where his head is pressed into your shoulder. He peeks over it now, stretching the waistband of your shorts open and keeping the blankets lifted so that he can see what you're wearing in the dim lights you have yet to turn off.

"What-" He squints, trying to read upside-down without his glasses, but it's a hopeless case. You're already halfway towards a fit of giggles, and you shimmy out of your shorts to stand proudly on your knees close enough for him to see.

"All you can eat buffet," He reads, murmuring the words while his face lights up and a hearty laugh escapes his throat, "Darling! That's cheeky, where did you get that?"

"I found it online." You giggle, and he braces a hand on your thigh to admire it. He studies you for a moment, still chuckling, and then he moves to sit up, staring at you expectantly.

"Well lay down, darling." He invites you, "Let's see this buffet."

"No, James, it's alright!" You insist, "You have to be up early for Sirius. It can wait, I'll wear them some other time for you."

"No," He whines, sounding petulant, "Your terrible jokes and impulsive financial habits have charmed me. On your back, darling."

"James, you don't-" You shake your head but he takes your face in his hands, pressing his head closer to yours so that you're pushed back and subsequently laid down, "-you don't have to do this, we can-"

"God, you make eating pussy sound like a chore." He mumbles between kisses, kissing next at your chin, then the pudge beneath it as you lay on the bed, "Relax, darling. All-you-can-eats are my favorite, and I've just realized I'm hungry."

[xo100]

Hey, can you write about landos gf breaking her arm and him taking care of her? like having to help her change and shower, doing her hair und stuff line that? thank you <3

In his care - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: request by anon as you can read above this!

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1562

masterlist / community / request

౨ৎ

Lando Norris had always been the playful, light-hearted boyfriend, the type to tease and make you laugh until your stomach hurt. But after three years together, there was a depth to your relationship that went beyond just the banter and the fun. He’d become your best friend, your confidant, and now, your caretaker.

You hadn’t expected to be in this position—broken arm in a sling, unable to do even the most basic things without help. It was a stupid accident, really. A slip, a fall, and now you were stuck in this uncomfortable, frustrating situation. But as it turned out, Lando was more than up for the challenge of taking care of you. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it.

-

The first real test came on day one, when it was time for you to shower. Lando, always the playful one, had teased you when he realized you’d need help.

“So, I get to see you naked... and it’s for ‘medical reasons’? Lucky me,” he said with a wink, earning him an eye-roll from you.

“Lando,” you groaned, cheeks flushing. “This isn’t exactly a fun situation, you know.”

But even as you complained, you couldn’t help but laugh. He had a way of lightening even the most awkward moments. His teasing helped take your mind off the discomfort and frustration of not being able to do things on your own. Lando knew when to joke, and when to be serious.

“I’m kidding, love,” he said, his tone softening as he walked over to you. “I’ve got you, okay?”

And he did. Gently, he helped you undress, his fingers careful around your arm. There was something about the way he moved—confident yet delicate—that made you feel safe. Vulnerable, yes, but never embarrassed. He was Lando, your Lando, and there was no one else you trusted more.

Once you were under the warm spray of water, he joined you, shampooing your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp. It was a strange, intimate experience, but not in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. In fact, it was sweet.

“Maybe I should do this for you more often,” he murmured, lips close to your ear.

“You think I’ll let you wash my hair when I’m fully capable?” you shot back, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, his breath warm on your neck. “You never know, you might like the service.”

But as much as he teased, there was genuine care in the way he handled you. He washed every inch of your body with the gentleness you never knew he had. You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest for a moment, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” he asked softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“For being... you.”

-

You never realized how hard it was to do something as simple as put your hair in a ponytail with one hand. By the third day, you were ready to give up on the idea of leaving the house with your hair looking decent. But, of course, Lando wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Okay, I’m going to do it,” he said, determination in his voice as he picked up your hairbrush and an elastic.

You sat in front of him, trying to keep still while he struggled to gather your hair into something resembling a ponytail. The concentration on his face was adorable—his tongue poking out a little as he focused on the task at hand.

“Lando, it’s fine,” you said after the third attempt. “I can just wear it down.”

“No way,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m getting this right.”

It took another few tries, but eventually, he managed to pull your hair into a somewhat lopsided ponytail. He grinned proudly, admiring his work in the mirror behind you.

“Look at that! I’m a pro,” he said, obviously pleased with himself.

You laughed, reaching up with your good hand to touch the ponytail. It wasn’t perfect, but it was endearing in its imperfection.

“I love it,” you said sincerely.

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your good shoulder. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

“You’re doing a great job, babe.”

-

As the days went on, Lando had to help you with more than just your hair. Getting dressed with one hand was a nightmare, and you hated having to rely on him for something so simple. But Lando, being the cheeky guy he was, turned it into something fun.

“Alright, love, what’ll it be today?” he asked, holding up two of your shirts. “Sexy red or casual blue?”

You gave him a pointed look. “I’m not trying to impress anyone, Lando.”

He smirked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “You’re always impressing me, though.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered at his words. He knew exactly how to make you feel special, even when you were at your most vulnerable.

“Blue,” you said with a sigh, and he grinned.

Helping you get dressed was, of course, another challenge. He was gentle but still fumbled a bit, trying not to hurt your arm as he guided it through the sleeve.

“Sorry, sorry!” he muttered as he accidentally tugged too hard on your sling.

You laughed through the discomfort. “You’re not great at this, huh?”

“Hey! I’m doing my best here,” he protested, but there was no real frustration in his voice. He was patient with you, and that was what mattered.

Once you were dressed, he stepped back to admire his work.

“Not bad, huh?” he said, a proud smile on his face.

“Not bad at all,” you agreed, and he leaned down to kiss you softly.

-

By the end of the week, you were starting to feel a little more like yourself, but the pain in your arm was still a constant reminder of your injury. Lando, ever the attentive boyfriend, noticed when you were getting frustrated or tired, and he was always there to offer comfort.

That evening, you were lying on the couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, when Lando plopped down beside you. Without a word, he pulled you into his arms, careful of your injured arm, and snuggled up close.

“You doing okay?” he asked, his voice soft in your ear.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Just... tired of this.”

“I know,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But you’re doing great. And I’m here, okay? For as long as you need me.”

You smiled, leaning into him. His warmth, his presence—it was everything you needed. You didn’t have to ask for his help; he just gave it freely, without hesitation.

As you lay there together, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on your back, you realized how lucky you were. Not just because he was helping you through this injury, but because he was Lando. The man who loved you unconditionally, who saw you at your weakest and still made you feel strong.

“Love you,” you whispered, closing your eyes.

“Love you more,” he replied softly, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

And in that moment, broken arm and all, you felt more loved than ever.

-

As your arm started to heal, you began to regain some independence, but that didn’t stop Lando from taking every opportunity to tease you. He seemed to enjoy his new role as caretaker a little too much, and he never missed a chance to flirt.

One afternoon, you were sitting at the kitchen table, trying to cut up some fruit with your good hand. Lando walked in, immediately taking the knife from you.

“Let me help,” he said, leaning in close.

“I can do it,” you protested, though you didn’t exactly mind when he was this close to you.

He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, but I do it better, don’t I?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile that tugged at your lips. He knew exactly how to get under your skin, but in the best way.

As he cut up the fruit, he stole glances at you, his smile never fading. “You know,” he said casually, “taking care of you has been... kind of fun.”

“Oh, has it now?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he said, sliding a piece of fruit toward you. “I mean, I get to spend all this extra time with you, take care of you, shower with you...”

“Lando!” you laughed, swatting at him with your good hand.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you. “I’m just saying, maybe I should be your personal nurse more often.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, but your heart swelled with love for him.

“I know,” he replied, his voice soft as he looked into your eyes. “But you love me for it.”

And he was right.

౨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, love’s! Hope you all enjoyed it! If there is something wrong or need to be edited, let me know! Also hey anon! If you read this, I hope that this is what you had in mind!

[nereidprinc3ss]

light of the morning

in which spencer sneaks into bau!reader's hotel room and they share a little more than just the bed

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence x sub reader, munch!spence, unprotected piv sex (dont do that), creampie (hate that word btw) praise, mentions of having to be quiet because morgan is right next door LOL, fluffy, established co-workers/friends with benefits, soooo idiots in love a/n: here is the promised smut. i am literally kicking my feet and twirling my hair and giggling and blushing at my own writing. I'm gonna have a freak out. requests are open like my legs

It’s late when the knock finally comes. Late enough that you’re dozing on the bed above the covers. 

It takes you a moment to reorient yourself—you’re rubbing your heavy eyes when you finally get the door. 

"Hi."

"Hey," says Spencer, hands awkwardly shoved into his pajama pants pockets. It’s funny, really. He never gets any better at this. 

You step aside and he enters the room, looking around as you close and relock the door. 

"Did I wake you?"

"How could you tell?"

"You’re in pajamas. And you look tired. I mean—you don’t look bad. You never look bad, I just meant… you don’t look tired but you’re not—I didn’t mean to—"

"Relax," you yawn, putting him out of his misery. "I was joking. I know I look tired." You glance at the digital clock on the nightstand. "It’s late. We have to be up early tomorrow."

"Yeah, I got, uh, sidetracked. Sorry."

He was reading. If it was anyone else, you'd be offended--but a sinkhole could open up under Spencer's feet and he probably wouldn't notice if he was absorbed in a book.

You shrug, a knowing smile lifting the corner of your mouth. 

"It’s fine. But I don’t know if tonight is a good night. I really am exhausted."

His eyebrows dart up. 

"That’s fine. That’s totally fine. I’ll just, uh—"

When you don’t move from in front of the door, he pauses, unsure. You bite the inside of your cheek, studying his rangy frame and choice of clothing. Blue pajama pants, slippers, grey CalTech zip up hoodie. It feels wrong to describe a 6'1 man as adorable, but that’s how he looks in his sleep clothes. There’s a very real chance, you find yourself thinking, that you are the only member of the BAU to ever see him in something other than slacks and a button-down. He looks so cozy that you kind of really want him in your bed even if he’s not doing anything but sleeping. The invitation slips out before you can think too hard about it. 

"You could… stay, anyway, if you want?"

His mouth parts slightly, and those eyebrows raise again. There’s a moment of awkward silence and you are very much beginning to regret your offer, wondering if you somehow violated the sanctity of your co-workers/friends with benefits situtationship. Clumsily you try to backtrack. 

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you can—"

"No, no! You didn’t, I just don’t want you to feel obligated to invite me to stay in your room. I’m right across the hall, I can go back if you want me to."

You smile awkwardly, silent relief replacing the brief anxiety. 

"It’s fine. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before." And not like you wouldn’t have ended up doing it tonight anyway, if things had gone as originally intended.

He chuckles, looking to the floor and nodding. The blush on his face does not go unnoticed by you. "Fair enough."

It’s incredibly endearing how nervous he still gets after six months of this little arrangement. 

"Do you wanna get your stuff, or…"

"No, that’s okay. I’ll just go back early tomorrow. The chances of someone seeing me leave your room are significantly higher if I do it so soon after entering."

You squint, unable to tell if he’s fucking with you or if that’s an actual statistically sound probability. And then you realize, blissfully, that you don’t really care. 

"Okay, well. Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to brush my teeth."

Once you’re enclosed in the bathroom, hotel vanity lights blinding you as you brush, you find that there is a jittery sort of apprehension buzzing in your chest. But that’s silly. As you yourself pointed out, the two of you have shared a bed many times over the past few months. But the sleeping together is always a byproduct of the sleeping together. Never have you shared a bed in a completely decent, virtuous, strictly non-sexual manner. It’s always been a matter of convenience—less bother if he doesn’t have to worry about sneaking back into his room in the middle of the night when you’re both exhausted. Or maybe that’s just what you’ve been telling yourselves. 

You rinse your mouth out and exit the bathroom, flicking off the light and finding that Spencer has indeed made himself comfortable. The hotel room is dark and he’s already under the covers, fiddling with his phone. 

"What time should I set the alarm for?" He asks, looking over at you as you crawl into bed, drawing the covers over yourself. "I was thinking 6:23. That should give me enough time to—"

"Sounds perfect," you affirm, wiggling under the blanket as you get comfortable. He schedules the alarm and sets his phone on the bedside table, dousing the room in complete darkness. Your eyes stay open despite, waiting for them to adjust. A few moments of utter silence and stillness pass, and you can tell Spencer is completely stiff next to you. 

"Spencer."

“Yeah,” he answers immediately. Like he’s even more wired about this whole situation than you are. 

"You know you don’t have to avoid touching me at all costs, right? I’m not a leper."

He looses a nervous laugh. 

"I know. We’ve just never really done this."

You frown at the darkness.

"We’ve definitely slept in the same bed before."

"Yeah, but… this feels different."

That, you can’t argue with. Can friends with benefits share a bed just to be near each other? Does that blur some line? And why does it feel more intimate than the sex? 

Screw it. If there is one thing you don’t want your relationship with Spencer to be, it is uncomfortable. Uncertain, you can work with. But not uncomfortable. You reach for him, hand sliding under the duvet—and find his hand already waiting for yours. 

"I don’t think it’s that different," you lie, interlacing your fingers together slowly. 

"Prolonged physical non-sexual contact does have measurable health benefits…" the words are murmured, like the moment is fragile and he doesn’t want to shatter it. 

"Can’t argue with the facts," you breathe, trying to modulate the shakiness of your voice. But you have a feeling you’re doing about as good of a job at concealing your nerves as he is. He shifts.

"Can I…"

"Yeah."

Your heart is pounding as he slips one arm under your neck and the other around your waist, pulling you close. Instinctually you curl into him, slinging your top leg over him as you’ve done before, but always dismissed as post-sex brain chemicals making you feel all warm and fuzzy. A neurological reaction that is so solidly scientific, neither of you ever questioned it. But it feels bigger now. 

He exhales as you settle against each other—a sound of relief that mirrors your own. He’s so warm, so safe as he envelops you, physically and sensorially. In such close proximity, so clear-headed, you notice each layer of his scent. Toothpaste, lavender, vetiver, detergent. You sort of feel like a creep, but you can’t deny how comforting it is. Nor can you deny the pirouette your heart does when he begins minutely rubbing your back, like he’s not even thinking about it. 

"Goodnight," you whisper into his shirt. 

"Goodnight," he whispers back. 

You fall asleep pretty quickly after that. 

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

It’s unclear what wakes you up—maybe it’s the blue-grey dawn light filtering in through the filthy window (doubtful, it’s still mostly dark) or maybe it’s the blinking green digital clock on the nightstand. 5:02 AM. Your alarm will go off in an hour and 21 minutes.

Sometime in the night you shifted, turning over in your sleep, but Spencer is still holding you close. The arm slung so casually over your waist is slightly domineering, but you manage to rotate again and face him once more. Mere inches away from his face you can see every detail. His expression is so peaceful, it makes your heart ache. 

But you’re just friends. 

Perhaps he felt you moving, because his eyes flutter open and you watch as they flood with consciousness. He takes you in, takes in his arm over your waist. For a split second you’re nervous he’ll pull away. 

"What time is it?" His voice is scratchy with sleep. 

"Five."

"Why are you awake? We have over an hour til the alarm goes off."

"Sometimes waking up early is okay."

His eyes flicker between your own, and momentarily you’re paralyzed as you realize this is a limbo state for the two of you in which you’ve never operated. You don’t know what’s acceptable. You don’t know what to do. Being close to him feels so good, that the idea of separating hurts. But you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, or—

He leans forward and kisses you softly. In the blue light of dawn, rather than frenzied and hidden in the dark, a desperate tear of clothes and teeth and hands—it’s almost freeing. All the anxiety you were feeling just seconds ago begins to melt. 

Friends. 

"You looked anxious," is his whispered answer after he pulls away a moment later, like a kiss is the simplest remedy in the world. He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear. "We should go back to sleep."

"I don’t want to go back to sleep."

The corner of his mouth twitches as he studies you.  

"No? What do you want?"

Emboldened by your mutual indiscretion, it’s your turn to kiss him. You feel him smile against your lips, hand finding the back of your neck and raking up through your hair to pull you closer. 

The delirium of sleep seems to have softened you, filed down the rough edges of your boundaries and kicked away the lines in the sand. What’s a kiss or two when you’ve just woken up? A small, innocuous display of affection while you’re still barely conscious. Nobody could fault either of you for that. People don’t think clearly when they’ve just been asleep.

So what if your lips part against his, and his other hand finds its way under your shirt to stroke the bare skin of your waist and hips? So what if you hitch that leg over him again and press closer?

Spencer breaks the kiss, still ghosting over your lips. 

"I thought it wasn’t a good night?"

"It’s not night time anymore, is it, genius?"

You sneak another kiss, nipping his bottom lip gently as you pull away. 

Instead of whatever array of responses you were expecting, Spencer smiles slightly, eyes almost sparkling in the faint light. The hand on your hip moves to your face, gently thumbing across your cheek. He begins to say something, and stops himself—biting his lip to hold back the words. 

"What?" you ask, heart dropping. Illusion fracturing. 

"I was just—" he begins, pausing for a moment before the words all come out in a rush. "I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, but I don’t know if that’s something I should say, or if it would feel too… I don’t know…"

He trails off. A rare instance in which he doesn’t have the words. 

You do. Intimate. Real. Romantic. And he’s right, it does feel too much like all of those things. But that doesn’t mean you don’t like it, perhaps more than is strictly good for you. 

"It’s fine. Thank you."

He continues chewing on his lip for a moment. 

"Did I just ruin the mood?"

"No," you laugh, "not at all."

"Thank god," he sighs, surging forward again. 

"Since when do you thank god?" You manage between kisses. 

He moves to press his lips to your jaw and down your neck. 

"Do you want me to talk about the historical and cultural transition of religious expressions into ubiquitous secular colloquialisms right now?"

"Kind of," you breathe.

"No you don’t," he murmurs against your neck as his hands find the hem of your shirt. "You want me to take your clothes off."

Well, he’s not wrong there. 

You help him tug the shirt over your head before leaning back into the pillows as he situates himself over you and lavishes more kisses down your neck and collarbones, pausing to suck a mark only when he knows it’s low enough to be covered by your clothing later. 

You gasp when his lips brush over your nipple, before running his tongue over the sensitive skin. He glances up at you, and though his mouth is occupied, you can see the humor in his eyes. He loves how sensitive you are—how easy it is to get a reaction out of you. 

Of course, you continue to prove him right when he takes the other into his mouth, trying to hold back your little whimpers as he darts his tongue over the peak. Maybe somebody else wouldn’t hear them, but Spencer does. He’s hyper attuned to the sounds you make. Something of a catalogue has begun to form in the back of his mind; he knows exactly what each noise means and how to get them out of you. 

Once satisfied, he moves to press a kiss to your sternum. 

"You’re gonna be quiet for me, right?" Another kiss above your bellybutton. "Because Morgan is sleeping right on the other side of that wall, and we don’t want to wake him up."

"I’ll be quiet," you promise, somewhat breathlessly. Spencer’s mouth trails lower until he’s pulling your shorts down your legs, leaving you completely naked. He tosses them somewhere on the floor and hooks your legs over his shoulders. 

"Good." He plants one last kiss to your thigh and the next one lands right between your legs. 

You regret the need to be silent almost as soon as he drags his tongue over your clit. It’s not like the two of you have ever had the privilege of making a lot of noise, as the hotel rooms are always so close to each other, but it doesn’t make it any easier. 

Instead you opt to rake your hands through his hair and try to take deep breaths. But he knows exactly what you like—he knows starting light and slow, teasing around your most sensitive spot will work you up to the brink of insanity, just like he knows gentle circles make your back arch and elicit the prettiest little moans. 

"More," you beg, and the hands wrapped around your thighs rub soothingly, reassuring you that if you can just be patient you’ll get what you want. 

He takes your aching clit into his mouth, sucking lightly and you’re forced to clap a hand over your mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure you can’t hold back. Spencer keeps it up until you’re practically riding his face, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his tongue when you get too close. 

"Fuck, please, Spence," you whisper through your fingers, hips rutting in your desperation. Somehow it always ends up like this—with him in charge and you begging. Not that you have a problem with it, of course. 

He hums into you, and if the way his tongue moves back to circling your clit with newfound fervor is any indication, is apparently satisfied with your entreaty. 

You gasp and try to control your breathy moans, but his mouth feels so good on you that your vision is going out and you’re losing touch with reality ever so slightly. You use the last of your brain power to bite down on the back of your wrist, hoping it adequately muffles the noises you make as you come on Spencer’s tongue and he greedily continues lapping at you. There’s really no way of knowing—your ears are ringing anyway. 

When you come to a moment later he’s peppering kisses on your thighs, rubbing your hips gently. 

"So pretty," he murmurs, climbing back up so your lips can meet again. "Everything about you is pretty."

You paw at his shirt, signaling that you want it off as you moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, feel your slippery arousal staining the kiss. Spencer helps you, sitting up briefly to unzip his hoodie and pull off his shirt. 

You’re the one to drag him back down, and you notice that he pulls the covers back over the both of you in a sweet gesture he probably didn’t even think about. 

"Need you to fuck me," you beg, reaching down to try and undress him further. 

"So crude. What happened to my nice, sweet girl?" He mumbles against your neck, but helps you with his pants anyway. 

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"Doubtful."

You don’t have much time to consider what that could mean before he’s running the head of his cock over your clit and you’re gasping into his mouth, saying please like it’s the only word you know. 

"There she is," Spencer croons, slipping inside you slow enough for you to feel every inch but quick enough for it to expel all the air from your lungs. Once he’s opened you all the way up, impossibly deep and close, you’re seeing stars, barely breathing. His head has dropped to your shoulder but now he drags his lips up your neck and jaw. "We okay?"

It’s been a while, you realize, since that last case in Maine. He always takes some getting used to. Hardly able to think around the pressure of his cock you nod, trying to string together a few words. 

"Fuck, I need a second." The words come out choked, but you manage. Spencer rubs your hip, his lips brushing yours as he speaks. 

"Relax, sweetheart. I don’t want to hurt you."

He curses to himself, dropping his head momentarily. You’re so fucking soft, and warm, and perfect, he can’t think straight. But he has to try because he has to take care of you. 

"Spence," you gasp, failing to verbally communicate the intensity of the physical sensation. 

"I know, baby," comes his sympathetic coo. "You know you can take me. Deep breaths."

"Mhm," you squeak, trying to take follow his directions and soften your muscles. Spencer keeps rubbing soothingly over your hips, stomach, whatever he can get his hands on, really, pressing kisses all over your face and telling you how good you are, how perfect you feel for him. After a few moments he feels you fluttering around him and experimentally pulls out halfway, before pushing back in equally as slowly. Your jaw drops as he begins to leisurely fuck you, arms wrapping around his back. He gets deeper than you expect every time, rubbing you raw and stretching you out in the most delicious way. 

"Perfect, baby. Such a good listener, did exactly what I asked."

You cry out when he begins fucking you impossibly deeper, but still so slow and sweet.

"You feel so fucking good for me," he groans. "This is what you were made for, huh?" You agree enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut. 

"Only for you."

Just three words—but he wasn’t expecting to like hearing you say that as much as he does. A strong desire to possess you overtakes him—one that he’ll probably have the decency to feel guilty about later, but for now feels fucking fantastic and intoxicating. 

"Only me?"

You moan an affirmation. 

"Good. I don’t want anyone else fucking you, do you understand me?"

"Yes!"

"I’m the only one who gets to touch you," he breathes, speeding up ever so slightly, "nobody else is going to feel you like this. Such a good girl, spreading her legs for me at five in the fucking morning. You’re not doing this for anybody else, baby."

"Uh-uh, please, pleasepleaseplease Spence—"

He knows what you need, reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. 

You gasp an airy, high pitched curse, hips twitching but unable to escape the near-punishing rhythm of his own. It’s obvious that your orgasm is close, but you can’t even warn him, too overwhelmed with pleasure. He kisses you, swallowing your moans that have probably become just a bit too loud given the whole hotel thing. 

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you near the finish line for a change, open mouths slipping against each others in what is too messy to be called a kiss. Your orgasm body-slams you, a choked silent scream as you tighten around Spencer and he seems to come at nearly the exact same moment—deep inside you, slowly rolling his hips in a few more strong thrusts as he finishes. 

You let out a delayed moan at the sensation of being filled up, still pulsing around him as he comes to a halt, buried inside of you. He drops his head to your neck, and you can feel each breath against your flushed skin. Other than the panting, you’re both silent for a while. Spencer seems to gather himself sooner than you do, finally breaking the quiet. 

"You okay?"

All you can manage is a little squeak, at which he looses a breathy chuckle. His hand slides to your hip, gently stroking the skin with a thumb. 

"Need your words, angel girl."

"I’m okay," you coo into his shoulder, but he has to strain to hear it above his own breathing. 

"Yeah? Why so quiet?"

But it seems that at least for the moment, he’s gotten all the words he can out of you. When he tries to move, you whimper indignantly, clutching onto him tighter. 

"I really did a number on you this time, huh?" He laughs when you nod into him. "Are you falling asleep?"

"Mhm," you hum dreamily, little puffs of warm air slowing against his neck. 

"You can have…" he cranes his head to check the digital clock, "48 minutes."

"An hour."

He settles his weight on you once more, pressing a chaste kiss to your throat. His voice is low and gentle as he admonishes you. 

"I said 48 minutes."

But it doesn’t matter—you’re already asleep, or close enough to it. Spencer takes the opportunity to shift you to your side, and the way you wrap around him like a vine even unconsciously makes his heart ache. He really should go now—the earlier he gets out of your room the less likely certain complications will arise—but how can he possibly leave you like this? A vulnerable, dreamy girl with tangled hair haloing around her on the pillow case, clinging to him with blind trust that he’ll watch over her as she sleeps? No—there’s no way he’s leaving yet. Instead, he brings you closer. 48 perfect minutes will go by far too quickly, he’s sure. 

[elysianightsss]

Pen Pal Price Part Two🫧🍑

nsfw ahead so I’ll cut it off at that point…reader is also described as chubby below because I am so they are too lol.

-

His voice startles you to the point where you visibly flinch, it’s nothing like how you imagined it to be. First of all, you didn’t know he was British. The accent that wraps around his words so sharply is one you recognise but can’t quite put your finger on in this moment.

His voice is deep, rumbles out somewhere from within his chest. It vibrates through the phone and through you. For him your honeyed voice drips into him like the sweetest summer wine.

“Sound so pretty.” You hear him mutter, barely a whisper but definitely something he was trying to hide. Your cheeks burn as you blush hard, your bottom lip caught between your teeth while you think of what to say to the man you’ve been writing to for weeks on end.

So many words exchanged and yet now you’re at a loss. Can’t think properly, it begs the question; how will you react when you meet in person?

“I haven’t got long, I guess now’s the time I tell you what I do for a living.” He chuckles lightly and you wish you could see his face while he does.

“Sounds intriguing.” You frown though your face is still smile stricken.

“Oh you bet it is love. Very dangerous, rough. I don’t think you’d want to hear about it.”

“Excuse me good sir, I live for danger. Did I not tell you how I dangerously painted the spare bedroom the other day? Though I don’t think it went well.” You joked looking over at the room that was half done and had paint streaks pointing in all different directions.

“Are you doubting your mad painting skills?” Your heart soared at the joke, at his laugh, just all of this. Being able to speak to him properly, being able to communicate more easily without waiting a whole week for his response to arrive by post. Shifting through the mail everyday desperate to read his words. You hadn’t felt this happy in years.

“Maybe just a little.” There’s a pause, and you think you hear some background chatter, something about unit leaving and someone definitely says captain, “maybe you could help me?”

“I definitely will.” He doesn’t hesitate with his answer, it’s so sure and so final. It says a lot about him. You’re desperate to know more. “I’m sorry love, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow? Same time?”

And he does, you lunge for the phone practically jumping through the air to answer him. You chat about useless things, have silly little conversations about everyday life. There are days when you think it’s his day off work, those days he stays on the phone to you for hours. Those days are your favourite.

He tells you about the new book he got and even reads you a few chapters while you cook dinner, he makes you promise to cook him a meal sometime. You don’t hesitate to agree.

Again he loves the domesticity of it all, how prefect you are in his eyes, though his ocean blues haven’t actually seen you yet. What a perfect little wife you would make. He knows it’s far too soon to think about things like that but he cannot help himself.

The way you fly away with yourself, talking about what you’re doing that day or joking about something you saw on tv or giggling about the cupcakes you were making because the icing went wrong making what you piped look like pigs instead of the unicorns you were going for, for you niece’s birthday party.

He listens with his eyes closed, dreaming of the day he comes back from deployment. The day he comes back to you, to home smelling of freshly baked goods. His pretty lady waiting for him all smiles and giggles. He wishes.

“Um..” you pause unsure, wondering what if he says no.

“What is it love?” He asks so worried. So ready to fix any problem you throw his why. Once again though you hesitate and once more he encourages you, “Come on pretty lady, tell me. What’s up?” You let the nickname you’ve reprimanded him about numerous times slide with what you’re about to ask.

“D-Did you want t-to video call?” He grins at how fucking adorable you are. The way you stutter just asking a simple question like that. He bites back a groan at the way he stiffens in his trousers. Dirty old man.

“I would love to.” He of course then had to explain he had a flip phone. You laughed hard at him and said he would need a smartphone. You had no idea he would go and buy one just to video call you with. Another thing you reprimand him for, spending his hard earned money so easily like that. His little lady nagging him, and all he does is smile at the sound. He loves it.

Your heart hammers in your chest as the phone rings. A lot like the first time he called you. You had talked him through the set up and helped him understand what an app is and how to call on text on a smart phone. And finally, you told him how to video call. Which app to press, you were just explaining how it works when your phone begins to buzz with ‘John💕 is FaceTime you’ popping up on the screen. Your number of course being the first one he added.

You can’t help but feel nervous, checking you look semi okay on the screen before pressing the green answer button. Then your breath is knocked out of you so hard you actually choke, John fussing about getting some water and breathing for him goes in one ear and out the other. You can’t look away from him even as you catch your breath.

He’s nothing like you pictured and yet he’s perfect.

He looks like the kind of man you picture when you read romance novels and the kind of man that sneaks into the dreams that have you waking up hot under the collar and panties sticking to you uncomfortably. The little description of himself you asked for certainly did not do him justice.

“Hi love.”

“Hi John.”

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” Even though you frown, you can’t stop a smile from splitting your face.

You’ve got chubbier cheeks and thicker thighs than most girls, something you’re insecure about and john can tell. But fuck you look gorgeous to him. Over the next few weeks John catches on to just how badly you feel about your body image, the way you put yourself down in favour of supermodels, the way you wear oversized clothing to cover yourself up. He finds himself grumbling, hating it each second more than the last.

He understands how badly beauty culture has fucked over women who are genuinely beautiful but are made to feel like they’re nothing. He gets it, he does. But he certainly doesn’t agree. Especially not with you. He finds himself dreaming of those squishable cheeks of yours, the way you’re so soft around the edges, he can tell.

You completely did him in last Monday, it’s the middle of winter for goodness sake, how did he know that you’d be wearing shorts when he FaceTimed you. Gym shorts that hugged your plump ass so fucking perfectly, that flashed your thick thighs to him. Christ, he’s been thinking about those pretty thighs all week long. When he’s running drills, your thighs are on his mind. When he’s planning out a mission with his unit, your thighs are on his mind. And when he’s alone at night with his hand wrapped around his swollen cock, your thighs are on his mind.

He can’t stand it anymore, it’s been agonising with how busy he’s been not calling you, not seeing you or hearing your voice. No knowing what you’ve been up to or how your day has gone. He calls and he praises the Lord above for bringing you to him, when you answer. A prayer on his lips, a beg for you to become his wife one day when you’re there smiling in the cutest silk pyjama set he’s ever seen. It hugs you exquisitely, showing off your rounded edges and all John can think about is how he can’t wait to sink his teeth into the soft flesh of your tummy.

You’re clearly fresh out the shower or bath with your damp hair and freshly wash face, but John’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life, in fact he tells you so. You haven’t felt your cheeks burn the way they did then, well maybe one other occasion.

“Love?”

“Yes John?”

“Would you like to meet me for coffee tomorrow? At that cafe you like?” He’s hopeful when he asks, you can not only hear it in his voice but see it in his face. “I’m in the area for work and have a few days where I’m free and I’d love to see you.”

You can’t recall a time in your life where all you did was smile, but since you found John, you don’t remember what not smiling all the time was like. You don’t remember anything other than how happy he makes you. So you take a breath, you muster up the courage and say yes.

“I’d love to see you too John. Just tell me what time and I’ll be there.”

[amirasainz]

I have a request for Lando Norris x Sister!reader where she gets cheated on. Please🫶🏻 I love your writing

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 🧡

Part 2

Big Brother to the Rescue

The paddock was buzzing with activity, fans cheering and cameras clicking as drivers moved between interviews and meetings. It was a typical race weekend—hectic, thrilling, and intense. But for Yn, none of it seemed to matter.

She walked beside Lando, her older brother, keeping her head down. Normally, she loved being at the Grand Prix. She’d tease Lando about his starts, laugh at his banter with the other drivers, and soak in the high-energy atmosphere. But today, her heart felt heavy.

Lando, always in tune with her moods, glanced down at her and frowned. “You’re too quiet,” he said as they reached the McLaren hospitality area. “This isn’t like you. What’s wrong?”

Yn sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

That was all it took for Lando’s protective instincts to kick in. “Oh, you’re definitely talking about it. Did something happen? Who do I need to fight?”

Yn couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at his immediate leap to violence. “It’s nothing. Just...my boyfriend cheated on me.”

Lando froze mid-step. He turned to her, his expression shifting from shock to anger. “He what?”

“Cheated,” Yn repeated, her voice cracking slightly. “With some girl he met at a party. I found out yesterday.”

Lando clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “That absolute—” He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. “Okay. First of all, you don’t deserve that. Second, I’m going to make sure you’re okay. And third, if I ever see him, he’s toast.”

Yn smiled faintly at his overprotective tone. “Thanks, Lan. But I don’t think anything can cheer me up right now.”

Lando wasn’t having it. “Challenge accepted.”

---

Throughout the morning, Lando hovered around her like a mother hen. He brought her tea, her favorite snacks, and even a McLaren hoodie to keep her warm. The other drivers began to notice.

“Why is Yn so quiet today?” Carlos asked, walking over to where she sat with her tea. “You’re usually giving Lando a hard time.”

“She’s going through something,” Lando replied, his tone making it clear the topic was off-limits. He wrapped an arm around Yn’s shoulders and pulled her closer. “But don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. He ruffled Yn’s hair affectionately before heading off.

A little while later, Charles and Pierre stopped by. “Yn, you’re not smiling,” Charles said, crouching down to her eye level. “That’s illegal. Lando, what have you done?”

“For once, it’s not my fault,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “She’s just—she’s sad. Leave her alone.”

Pierre, never one to resist a joke, smirked. “Do you need us to scare someone off? We’re good at that.”

“I can scare people off just fine,” Lando said firmly. “Thanks.”

Yn managed a small laugh, which made Charles and Pierre exchange victorious looks.

---

Later, when Ollie came by, he took one look at Yn and immediately tried to lighten the mood. “I’ve got an idea,” he announced, sitting down beside her. “What if I became your new boyfriend? I’d treat you like a queen.”

Yn laughed for the first time all day, the sound catching Lando’s attention from across the room. He walked over, arms crossed.

“Really, Ollie?” Lando said, glaring at his friend. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“What?” Ollie said, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying, I’d be an upgrade.”

Yn shook her head, still giggling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, but effective,” Ollie said, winking at her.

Lando wasn’t amused. “Stick to racing, mate.”

Ollie shrugged and walked off, leaving Yn smiling. “He’s an idiot,” she said, leaning her head on Lando’s shoulder.

“True,” Lando agreed. “But if it made you laugh, I’ll allow it.”

---

As the day wore on, Lando continued to dote on Yn. He handed her tissues when she teared up, reminded her to drink water, and even skipped a strategy meeting to sit with her in the quiet corner of the hospitality area.

“You know,” Yn said softly, “you’re a really good brother.”

“Obviously,” Lando replied with a smirk. “But thanks. And for real, Yn, don’t let that guy make you feel like you’re not enough. He’s the idiot, not you.”

Yn sniffled and smiled up at him. “You’re the best.”

“Duh,” Lando said, pulling her into a hug. “Now, what do you say we watch the race together? I’ll dedicate my first overtake to you.”

Yn laughed, feeling lighter than she had all day. “Deal.”

By the time the sun set over the paddock, Yn was back to herself, and it was all thanks to Lando—her overprotective, slightly annoying, but always reliable big brother.

[weird-is-life]

okay okay okay but spencer dating someone who loves books just as much as him if not more and they gone over it and derek is like damn there’s two of them 😭😭😭

Hii lovely, ty for this cute request. Hope it's at least a little good🙈warning: fluff, like one swear word, pet names, (0.5k)

Spencer literally begged you to bring him lunch today. Not because he is feeling particularly hungry, but because he hasn't seen you in a couple of days, and has missed you like crazy.

And you, lovely as always, couldn't say no to him. Not that you would. You have missed him like crazy, too!

It's almost 1 in the afternoon that you finally come. You have the warm package of food in one hand and in the other something that looks much more heavier.

Spencer spots you immediately as you open the glass door to the bullpen. He goes towards you, and before you can say anything more, Spencer has you in his arms.

He gives you a quick but loving embrace and a soft kiss. It's swift, because he doesn't want to violate the pda workplace rules or anything.

"Hi, handsome," you greet him again, smiling big, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart, so ridiculously much," Spencer tells you as he ushers you towards his desk.

He notices the heavier looking bag in your hand, takes both bags instantly from your hands, and raises his brows in question at you. "Did you pack a lunch for a whole army?"

You chuckle, because by the weight of the bag you definitely could have fed a whole armada. Spencer chuckles in return, putting both of the bags on his desks.

You give a still slightly shy nod to all the team members that are currently in the bullpen. Meaning Derek, Emily and JJ.

"I just brought you a lil something," you say sheepishly, pointing at the heavy bag. Spencer eyes the bag with suspicious face while you sit in Spencer's chair, innocent smile on your face.

He opens it, and instantly gasps. "No way. No fucking way, " he beams at you. Eyes sparkling like some kid's in a sweets shop.

Spencer reaches into the bag, and pulls out not one, not two, not even three, but four chunky books. The thickest of them is a book that Spencer's been trying to get for a while now. It sold out everywhere, and by some miracle, you found it in your favourite antique book shop.

"How did you get this? Oh my god," Spencer questions happily, leaning down towards you to peck your lips again.

"It's a secret," you beam back at him. Just happy to see him happy. Spencer drops the book, and goes to hug the life out of you, deciding that the kiss wasn't enough. Squeezing you oh so tightly.

"Spencer, you're gonna break my bones," you chuckle as he finally let's you breath again.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Thank you, I love this so much. I can't wait to get home to read this," Spencer tells you, his eyes softening.

"We can have a reading night then. 'Cause I bought myself one book too........" you start to tell Spencer as you make yourself comfortable at his desk, while he unpacks his lunch.

From a few desks away, Derek murmurs to the girls, JJ and Emily, in amusement, "there's two of them now."

"Maybe we are just seeing double?" Emily jokes. Though she finds you two adorable.

"Remind me to never accept their invitation to a fun night at their place." Derek deadpans, and the girls laugh.

But you two don't seem to notice their amused attention on you. Too interested in the books sitting on Spencer's desk, and too interested in making the book reading plans for your night.

[ssa-dado]

I could totally see Aaron being jealous. Maybe a oneshot of her meeting Sean Hotchner for the first time.

Covering Up - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff Summary: You’re late, and while Gideon’s passive-aggressive remarks are expected, it’s Hotch who really has you on edge. But it’s not just his authority; it’s the way you inadvertently caught the attention of Hotch’s brother, Sean. Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set around late 1998 or early 1999, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon was in charge instead). Word Count: 3k Dado's Corner: You didn't see this coming, did you? Something cute to celebrate the end of the year. Sorry it took so much to respond, I totally forgot about this ask... hope you like itttttt. Again, HOTCH IN LOOOOOOOVE but doesn't want to admit hahaha what a fool.

masterlist

You were late today. Remarkably late.

For the first time ever in your life.

And while the idea of Gideon giving you one of his passive-aggressive “I’m not mad, just disappointed” speeches wasn’t exactly fun, there was one person who truly terrified you in this situation.

Hotch.

How ironic: it wasn’t your boss you were afraid of - it was your fussy coworker. The same coworker whose desk, unfortunately, happened to sit right in front of yours.

Perfect.

You were still trying to salvage your dignity in the elevator, jabbing at the elevator button, fumbling with your hair as the doors closed. Maybe an updo would make you look less… late. But by the time you reached your floor, the mess you’d made felt more “distressed damsel” than “competent federal agent.”

So, naturally, you made the split-second decision to undo the whole thing, pulling your hair loose halfway to your desk.

You winced.

Not because anyone was watching - everyone seemed too absorbed in their own work - but because if someone had been looking, you’d have perfectly executed that clichéd, overly dramatic hair flip straight out of a low-budget action movie.

The kind made by men, for men.

The ones where the femme fatale struts into the room, stiletto heels clicking, hair whipping in slow motion, cleavage doing all the talking, her entire existence engineered for the male gaze.

And here you were. No stilettos. No slow motion. Just… the hair flip.

Fantastic.

You shook it off, hoping to slink to your desk unnoticed, now more focused to brace yourself for the silent judgement of-

A man.

Not the man you expected - Hotch.

An actual man, a somehow handsome man.

Oh God. He’d definitely seen you do the dramatic hair flip.

His smirk confirmed it - no need for a profiler to figure that one out.

A man, sitting comfortably in Hotch’s chair. And, notably, no Hotch in sight.

“Are you here for a consultation with Agent Hotchner?” you asked, doing your best to sound at least professional as you set your bag down.

He chuckled – like you were the punchline of some inside joke you weren’t in on. “Actually, yes.”

Though you couldn’t help but study him... it was in your nature afterall.

He was about Hotch’s height, blond, blue-eyed, and generically good-looking in a way that probably gave him the nerve to sit at an agent’s desk without any kind of second thought.

But what really stood out? He looked about your age.

Very early twenties - which, mathematically speaking, made him way too young to be here asking for a consultation.

Not that you were one to talk. You were constantly reminded you were “too young” to be working for the FBI. So, at least you had that in common.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he read from your badge, dragging out the syllables for some of his twisted reasons you chose to ignore. Then he smirked. “You’re young.”

“She is.” Hotch’s voice cut through the air before you could form a response, making you startle slightly. He was suddenly there, right behind you, like he’d materialized out of thin air.

“Sean,” he said, his tone clipped in that uniquely Hotch way that made you feel guilty even if you’d done nothing wrong, “I told you to wait for me outside.”

“And why are you so late?” Hotch added, his focus snapping to you with laser precision, his brows drawing together in that way that made your stomach twist in both irritation and… something else.

Classic Aaron Hotchner.

Two seconds on the scene, already cataloging what annoyed him. Efficiency at its finest.

“Damn, Aaron, relax. It’s barely been a minute,” Sean said, standing up finally, though not without flinching slightly under the weight of Hotch’s glare.

He stepped closer to you, extending a hand like he wasn’t about to be vaporized by the man’s disapproval. “I’m Sean, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

Before you could decide whether to shake his hand or politely tell him to run for cover, Hotch’s voice sliced through the air, as sharp and unyielding as ever. “No, you haven’t. Y/N, this is Sean, my brother. Sean, this is Agent Y/L/N, my partner.”

It took approximately two seconds after those words left his mouth for Hotch to realize he’d made not one but two rookie mistakes.

The first? The fact that, for some reason, you got to be “Y/N” while Sean - his brother - was firmly stuck with Agent Y/L/N.

A seemingly innocuous choice, but an interesting one.

Almost as if Hotch didn’t want Sean to forget who you were. Or worse, as if he wanted to keep that small, intimate privilege - using your first name - exclusively for himself.

And why?

Perhaps because, whether he admitted it or not, you’d managed to take up residence in his overworked brain. You weren’t just his colleague - you were his very own walking, talking paradox.

Equal parts intellect and quick wit, you could quote anything from your beloved dead philosophers as easily as you could dismantle someone’s argument with a single sarcastic comment.

You lingered, persistently, in his thoughts - too vividly, too often - so much so that you’d even started showing up in his dreams.

That might explain why his tongue betrayed him now - a slip you would undoubtedly label as ‘textbook Freudian.’

Somehow, through the cracks in the armor of the man who prided himself on control and precision, a truth he had no business acknowledging had leaked out.

Because, inexplicably and irreversibly, he’d just let his younger brother - of all people - catch the faintest glimpse of something he refused to admit even to himself: that he wasn’t entirely indifferent to you.

Not that Sean picked up on it - yet.

No, Sean’s focus was already drifting toward his second mistake, the one Hotch really hoped would keep Sean too distracted to notice the first. And, to Hotch’s silent horror, it worked like a charm.

“Partner?” Sean repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Are the two of you…?” He let the insinuation hang, his expression a mix of confusion and amusement.

Because here’s the thing - thanks to the way Hotch had worded it, Sean wasn’t just thinking that his big brother was casually sleeping with you. Oh no, this was way bigger.

This was Sean, standing here wide-eyed and completely convinced that his older, emotionally constipated, miserably single brother - who’d spent years brooding after his breakup Haley - had somehow not only managed to get a girlfriend but had kept it a secret.

And worse? That this whole scenario meant Hotch was maybe, just maybe, a little happy these days.

That alone was enough to blow Sean’s mind.

But before his imagination could run too far, you stepped in, your voice sharp and immediate. “God, no,” you blurted, practically recoiling from the suggestion.

“No,” Hotch said at the same time, though in stark contrast to your reaction, his was flat and unbothered.

Sean chuckled at your synchronized denial, which only prompted Hotch to fix you with one of his looks - the kind that felt like it could peel layers off your soul. Judgy, silent, but impossibly loud at the same time.

The kind of look that made you curious.

“Was he like this as a kid,” you asked Sean, “or was he ever actually a normal person?”

Sean’s smirk widened. “The only difference between then and now is that now they pay him to act like this.”

You laughed, loud and genuine, and Sean joined in - a perfect snapshot of solidarity between two survivors of Hotch’s relentless Hotch-ness. “Though I have to wonder… maybe he misunderstood the government’s contributions as a green light to act this way. It’s kind of like when you teach a dog to stand on two legs for a treat, and then he just keeps doing it.” You commented.

You and Sean burst into laughter, your voices echoing through the bullpen, while Hotch just stood there.

Watching. Seething.

But not entirely for the reasons he’d expect.

Sure, he was irritated that you had the audacity to make fun of him within perfect earshot - a clear, deliberate payback for all the grief and micromanagement he’d put you through.

But there was something deeper beneath his discomfort, something far more unsettling.

It wasn’t just that you were laughing at him - it was that you were laughing with Sean.

That easy, effortless kind of laughter, the kind he so rarely managed to coax out of you. Sean, his little brother, was already pulling it out of you like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like he’d cracked some code Hotch didn’t even know existed.

And that stung. More than it should’ve.

Because as much as he told himself it was ridiculous - childish, even - he couldn’t shake the flicker of jealousy curling in his chest.

A low, unwelcome burn.

It wasn’t just about the laughter. It was the way you looked at Sean. The way you seemed curious, intrigued by him in a way that made Hotch feel like an outsider in his own space. Like he was standing just outside the circle, close enough to see but not close enough to touch.

And he hated that.

He hated how much it bothered him.

Hated that he cared at all.

Hated the fact that, for all his discipline and carefully crafted walls, you always managed to slip through the cracks.

Unnoticed until it was too late.

Though you weren’t quite as unnoticed by everyone else.

Standing on the mezzanine, there was Gideon, watching you with that unshakeable calm of his. His eyes locked onto yours, and before you could even catch your breath, he called you over to his office.

It was probably for showing up two full hours late, but who could say?

Panic was all over you, though you were certain you kept it well-hidden - at least, you hoped so.

But before you could second-guess yourself, Hotch, who had been silently observing everything, grabbed a file from his desk and walked toward you at a precise angle that turned his back to Gideon.

Then, in a blur of words, he started speaking faster than you thought possible.

“I covered for you,” he said, voice low and hurried. “Tell him you went to see your mom yesterday. You took the 5:07 a.m. train. It broke down in Baltimore - stuck for an hour and forty-two minutes. That’s why you’re late. It’s all fact checked. If he asks - and he probably won’t - you don’t have the ticket because after a 90-minute delay, the company offers a full reimbursement if you send in the original.”

Before you could process what he was saying, he thrust the file into your hands.

“I filled out all the interrogatory statements for the Arlington case. If he asks why I had them, say I’m an idiot and that you cracked the unsub before I did, so the paperwork fell to me.” His dark eyes bore into yours, and for the first time since you’d met him, he sounded almost…desperate. “Don’t panic.”

Your brain short-circuited. The only thing you managed was a breathless, “Thanks.”

He watched you go, tracking every step you took until you disappeared into Gideon’s office. His jaw tightened, his fingers twitching at his side like he was bracing himself to pull you out of trouble if it came to that.

Though Sean, ever the opportunist, broke the silence. “Since when do you cover for people?” he asked.

Hotch didn’t bother looking at him, his focus firmly fixed on the files in his hands, though his grip had tightened ever so slightly. “Since her boss called her in for something unfair. She’s the first - well, second - person to arrive every day and the last to leave. She works harder than anyone here, including me, and she never complains about it. It’s not fair to punish her for being late once when she’s the one who picks up everyone else’s slack. This is a one-time thing, and frankly, it’s probably for the best - at least she got some sleep for once.”

Was that an over-articulated answer to what was likely more of an exclamation than an actual question? Yes. But better to be thorough than shallow - or at least, that’s what Hotch told himself.

Sean, on the other hand, had no qualms about being a bit shallow.

“You’re sure that’s the reason she was late?” Sean asked, his tone dripping with faux innocence. “Not because she, you know…” He trailed off, tilting his head, the mischievous grin practically begging Hotch to take the bait.

No. Of course not.

Not that there would’ve been anything wrong with it. Not because he wanted to come off as paternalistic or prudish about it.

Hell, if you really did, he hoped it was… fine.

Great, even.

But then, there was that annoying, traitorous part of him whispering - shouting, really - that he hoped it wasn’t too good.

Or serious.

Or anything worth bringing up more than once.

Damn it, Hotchner, could he not just be a normal, well-adjusted adult and be happy for someone else’s happiness without making it weird? Apparently not.

Still, he needed to give an actual response. Out of the 600,000 words available in the English language, what did he choose? The most original, expressive, and earth-shattering one of all: “No.”

Of course, it probably came out sounding way too sharp, betraying every tightly-coiled emotion he was trying to keep hidden.

Luckily - or unluckily - Sean was too busy zeroing in on something else to even notice.

“So,” Sean began, dragging out the word, “she’s single.”

…it wasn’t even a question.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, his patience already wearing thin. “Yes.” He admitted. “But don’t think about it.” He stopped him, already knowing where this conversation would eventually go.

“Why not?” Sean asked, his smirk practically carved into his face now. “You like her?” The teasing lilt in his voice was impossible to miss, but beneath it, there was a flicker of genuine curiosity.

Yes. Absolutely.

More than liked.

Liked in a way that he thought about you far too often, in places he shouldn’t, and at times he didn’t have the luxury of indulging.

Liked in a way that made him occasionally catch himself smiling in the middle of a meeting because some stray thought of you had slipped past his defenses.

Liked in a way that he imagined you during his early-morning runs, wondering if you’d find the sunrise as breathtaking as he did - or if you’d roll your eyes at his choice of music.

You probably would, because it was either the original cast recording of whatever Broadway musical he’d recently become obsessed with, or something from The Beatles.

Not just their classics, but the deeper cuts - the kind his mom had played on repeat during her own Beatlemania phase back in the ’60s, which was, admittedly, a phenomenon he’d inherited in his own way.

He liked you in a way that felt ridiculous, really.

Like the time he caught himself wondering if you’d like the tie he was wearing, not that he’d ever admit he chose it with you in mind.

Or when he stayed up too late re-reading one of your old case reports, pretending it was for work when it was really just to admire how sharp and thoughtful your insights were.

But admitting that? Out loud?

To Sean, of all people?

He’d rather reorganize the mountain of case files sitting on your desk alphabetically and chronologically - twice.

“No,” Hotch said instead, his tone clipped and matter-of-fact. “I work with her, Sean.”

Sean wasn’t one to let things go easily - especially when he sensed he was onto something. “Okay, so you work with her,” he said, dragging out the words like they were some kind of weak excuse. “But that doesn’t explain why I can’t take a shot. What’s stopping me?”

Hotch’s jaw clenched as he shifted his attention back to the windows of Gideon’s office. He didn’t want to say it, but he also didn’t trust his brother to let the subject drop without some kind of deflection. “You’re not her type,” he said flatly.

Sean blinked, caught off guard for a moment before recovering with an incredulous laugh. “Not her type? How do you know what her type is?”

Hotch didn’t respond right away.

He didn’t need to.

The deadpan look he shot Sean over his shoulder was enough to say ‘I know her type because I know her’.

Sean, however, wasn’t deterred. “Okay, genius, enlighten me. What exactly is her type, then? Because I’m charming, good-looking, and - let’s not forget - single.” He motioned to himself like he was presenting the world’s greatest catch.

Hotch sighed. “Her type,” he began almost whispering, now suddenly afraid that someone would hear him, “is someone more serious. Someone who knows how to respect her work ethic, her intelligence, and the fact that she’s earned her place here. Someone who doesn’t think he can waltz in and-” He cut himself off, realizing he was veering dangerously close to sounding personal.

Too personal.

Too bad he stopped talking before he could drop the one crucial piece of information Sean probably needed to know: as far as Hotch knew, you only dated older... much older.

And him being the same age as you? Yeah, that definitely didn’t work in his favor.

Sean tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “So… basically, someone who isn’t me. But someone who is… maybe a little more like you?” He watched the way Hotch’s shoulders stiffened at the suggestion.

Hotch turned fully to face his brother, his expression dark. “Sean,” he warned, his voice a low rumble.

But Sean wasn’t fazed. “I’m just saying, Aaron. You’re standing here, going on about how she deserves someone serious and respectful and all that, but you’re practically describing yourself. So maybe the reason you don’t want me going after her is because-”

“That’s enough,” Hotch interrupted, his tone sharp enough to cut through any further teasing. “It’s not appropriate, and it’s not happening. End of discussion.”

Sean held up his hands in mock surrender, though his smirk stayed firmly in place. “Alright, alright. But for the record, you didn’t deny it.”

Hotch didn’t bother dignifying that with a response. Instead, he turned back toward the windows of Gideon’s office, his gaze locking on your profile once more.

Sean followed his brother’s line of sight, leaning closer “She really does have you all twisted up, doesn’t she?”

Hotch ignored him.

But as much as he wanted to pretend Sean was wrong, the burn in his chest told him otherwise.

Because 'twisted up' was probably an understatement for what you were doing to him.

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[bloomries]

it's me or ____!

includes  : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, and belphegor.

summary  : asking them to choose between you and their favorite thing (lightheartedly).

warnings  : gn! reader. possessive! satan (could read a bit yandere, so be wary of that). name calling (in belphegor's).

LUCIFER

his classical music records

Your question was very out of nowhere, and Lucifer doubt you meant it seriously, still his heart dropped when you picked up one of his records and fiddled with it. He chuckles tensely, hands flexing by his side. "You already know the answer, why bother asking?"

You send him a glance, noticing his tense behavior. You look down at the record in your hand, deciding to tease him a little further. "Do I?" You pout, "Are you sure you don't love this piece of vinyl more?"

Lucifer wondered if you were the demon in that moment, as you toy with his beloved heart. When you finally cease your teasing, setting down the record where it belonged, he let out a breath of relief.

Then, with quick strides he walks over to where you are and takes you by the shoulders. "I apologize if it wasn't obvious before, but I should hope you know that I love you more." You smile, confirming you knew this, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. He pulls back and clears his throat. "But I also do really love my records, so please don't scare me like that again..."

MAMMON

grimm

"I can't choose between the two loves of my life?? How do you expect me to choose?" He asks with a pout. You two had just woken up, not even out of bed, when you asked the demon this question. You weren't expecting this response, although you feel a little foolish to not expect this outcome.

"You're sleeping on the couch tonight." You say, rolling over so your back faces him. He lets out another whine, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your neck.

"Don't be upset," his hot breath tickles your neck. "Grimm lets me spoil ya, y'know. Whenever I buy somethin' I know ya like, and bring it home to ya and see that big ol' smile... How can I not like grimm when it makes such good things happens, hmm?" Well, Mammon is surely very charming, you'll give him that. You peek over at him and he's smiling that smile that has your stomach doing flips.

"Fine... No couch..." You pinch his cheek. "But if I ever ask that question again, the answer better be 'you, darling,' got it?"

"L- Loud and clear!"

LEVIATHAN

his merch collection

"H- Huh!?" Leviathan fell out of his seat at your sudden question. You chuckle quietly at his reddening face. It was a simple question of 'what do you like more, me or all your merch collection' and he's already gotten this flustered.

"Well, I- uhm, well..." He's stumbling over his words, looking around his room. He did really love his all the items he's collected throughout the years, but he also really loved you. Dread settles in his stomach when he realizes just how much he loves you because... is becoming a normie!? Why would he sell every last drop of merchandize for you? He'd give up videogames, anime, fantasy novels, all for you if you truly asked him too.

You watch as he spirals, mumbling to himself. You're a little worried now, poking at him cautiously. He doesn't react. "Uhm, Levi? It was just a joke, you don't have to think so seriously..." You say, before he's sitting back up, staring at you with wide, watery eyes. Shit, you almost felt a little guilty for asking him now.

"I... I love you... More... Yeah." He nods, his face on fire as he takes a nearby figurine and holds it close to his heart. You decide to leave, to let him come to terms with his newfound realization that he, Leviathan, who had sworn off any real connections, has indeed made a connection with someone so profound he'd do anything for them.

It'll take him a while to come to terms with this.

SATAN

enchanted books

"Don't be ridiculous, obviously I love you more than my enchanted books." He rolls his eyes at your question. Was it not obvious how madly in love he was with you? Did he need to be more outright and forthcoming with his affections?

"Yeah, but wouldn't you be sad without your books?" You ask, looking through his bookshelf. Satan's eyes follow your every move, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he sneaks up behind you, before wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Well, yes I would be, but life would be much more dull without you by my side." He confesses. "Unfortunately for both of us, I need you more than anything else now." He pulls away slightly, so you can turn around in his arms and give him a pointed look- what does he mean by 'unfortunately'? He can read you easily, and decides to explain. "I just mean I hope you don't plan on leaving anytime soon, I fear I might not be able to let you go."

Placing a light peck on your cheek, Satan pulls back to look into your gaze. "But don't go thinking you can throw away my books now, okay?" You stifle laugh, nodding.

"Wasn't planning on it."

ASMODEUS

new clothes

"I can't believe you would think- obviously I love you more!" Asmo scolds, huffing and puffing at your words. He's offended you would think he loves anything more than you! "Of course I do really enjoy new clothes, but they'd just be boring if I didn't have you to show them off to! or have you to help me accessorizes with, or-" You place your lips on his for a sweet kiss (mostly to stop him from lecturing you).

"Okay, I understand, 'm sorry for asking." Asmo blinks a few times, a little dazed by your kiss (he always is) before crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh no, don't think that'll make me forget." He scoffs, shaking his head. "Do you realize how worried I am now, thinking that you don't feel loved enough?" He sighs dramatically, blowing some hair out of his face. "I think this calls for a date night." He's got a mischievous little twinkle in his eye. "Don't you think?"

"Oh my," So this is what he was getting all worked up for. "I agree, I think I need you to show me just how much you love me~" You coo, playing into his antics. He grins, pulling you close to him.

"Thought so," he hums, nuzzling into you. "I know just the place to go, too. Shall we get ready together?"

BEELZEBUB

burgers

"You... or burgers?" Beel asked, stopping midway to bite into the delicious, juicy burger he ordered. Beel gives you a sad look, and you instantly feel a kick to the gut. You regret asking, his little frown making your heart twist into knots.

"I-" You go to laugh it off, to tell him that you were only messing around, but he cuts in before you're able to.

"I love you more. Really." He finally takes a bite of his burger, which your grateful for, before he's taking your hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. "I know I'm not great at showing my feelings... But I'll try better from now on." He says, full of earnest. Oh, your heart is shattering. You lean across the table, cupping his cheeks and giving him a big kiss.

"No, I'm sorry Beel! I know you love me, I was just trying to be silly, 'm sorry I got you so worried!" He seems to relax a little at that- so you were just pranking him? He lets out a shaky breath of relief, that's good to know. Still...

"I see... Well, I will still try to show my feelings more."

BELPHEGOR

his pillow

"Don't be ridiculous," Belphegor huffs at your stupidity, rolling over in his mix of blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. "What a stupid question." He shakes his head, "I knew you were dumb but geez..." He peeks a glance at you, before continuing. "Obviously those two things are the same."

You can't see his cheeky, shit-eating grin but you can feel it. You throw a pillow at him, exclaiming "I am not a pillow!" for the umpteenth time. He swats the pillow away, snickering to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever ya say." He snickers, cozying up in his bed, feeling his eyelids grow heavier. "Either way, you're my favorite so... don't get all huffy, 'kay?" Your cheeks grow a little warm at his sleepy confession, and you sneak a little closer to him.

"Belphi-" You let out a shriek as he pulls you into the bed with him, swiftly positioning you both so his head is resting atop of you. You groan, you should've seen this coming. "You brat, let me go."

"Sorry, but I plan on using my favorite pillow- I mean, human, to help me sleep, so quit your yapping, will you?"

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 9

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 8 | Series Masterlist | Part 10

Chapter Summary: Bucky takes you home, but will he keep his hands to himself?

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.7k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, dirty talk, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for your patience! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought you heard the men wish you well once more when Bucky led you out of the office. You weren’t completely sure since you tried to block everything out, but attempting to disassociate wouldn’t exactly do you any good. The night wasn’t over yet and you had to stay sharp. You didn’t know what Bucky had planned for when he got you home. Were you prepared at all?

Not in the least.

You half expected to walk back through the front of the club to leave, but Ray directed you to a door near the back once he gave Bucky a nod. The car was waiting in the alley and you took a moment to glance up at the sky. You could only make out one star and you wished in that moment you could grow wings and fly away. But when did wishing upon a star do you any good?

“Let’s get you back to your place,” Bucky said, helping you into the car.

You had to give him credit for trying to keep up his end of the bargain by getting you home on time. Your body refused to relax though once he sat beside you and took your hand. Was he trying to get you accustomed to his touch? Make you crave him? It bothered you that in spite of your determination he drew you in to a certain degree. But you wouldn’t let him take you to bed tonight. You weren’t ready to cross that inevitable line.

Maybe, just maybe, if your performance in bed disappointed him, he’d get bored and walk away. The thought almost made you laugh. That wasn’t happening. If anything, he’d probably love teaching you how to be his perfect lover.

“I think tonight went well,” Bucky smiled.

“Which part exactly?” You mumbled, pulling your hand away. The part where he forced you to go, how his men all but admitted they knew Bucky stalked you, or how they beat the hell out of a man?

“Just the night in general. I knew everyone would love you, but I really think Thor wants to be your big brother now,” Bucky replied. You wanted it so badly to be endearing, but Thor was dangerous. He mentioned a father-in-law. How exactly did he find his wife? And bringing up the flower donations to the hospital. Bucky seemed upset. Why? “Which he’ll have to fight Steve for.”

“Fighting. You guys seem to excel in that arena,” you said, remembering how they all took turns beating up John. “But I guess Steve does have a bit of that ‘big brother’ vibe, helping you take total control of my life and whatnot.”

“Not total control. I’m still letting you work, but maybe I can buy the shop.” He chuckled at your thunderous expression. The light threat had you seeing red. “I probably shouldn't joke about that, should I?”

“Letting me work? Like it’s your decision? And don’t you dare buy the shop.” You pushed at him to keep from slapping him when he chuckled again. Not with enough force to get him far away from you, but you needed some sort of space in the vehicle. He also needed a good hit over the head. “You’re a bully, do you know that? So are your friends.”

His laughter died off quickly when he reached out and gently took your hand again, prying your fingers away from your palm. You didn’t notice it stung from your nails until he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You think we’re bullies?” He asked against your skin.

“Yes. Besides nearly beating that jerk to death, you do realize that you use force and threats to dominate and intimidate. That’s a form of bullying, Bucky,” you said. Was he deliberately being obtuse or was he lost in his delusion that this was all normal?

“I wouldn’t say we’re bullies. I call it protecting and keeping what’s mine,” he said. There was no shame on his end.

“Right. Because I’m a possession and not a person,” you said, your face scrunching up as you tried not to cry. You needed rest. If part of Bucky’s plan was to wear you down by overwhelming you, mission accomplished. “I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“You’re a person, not a possession, Kotyonok. And not just a person, a good person who gives so much of herself to others. And probably one of the only people who rightfully calls me out on my shit.” His response drew you up short. “Outside of my friends, no one else does that.”

“Maybe because they’re afraid of you and what you can do,” you said after a moment. Fear could make anyone say what they thought people wanted to hear. “Either that or they want your approval,” you added, which you could also understand to a point. People wanted a sense of belonging, especially with those who had influence and power.

“Maybe they are afraid,” he agreed, brushing his lips against your palm again with a sigh. “What is it about me that scares you most?”

“I’m not really sure exactly,” you admitted. There was so much about the situation that terrified you. What he was capable of. How he inserted himself into various aspects of your life and so quickly. How far he was willing to go to keep you. “But I think it’s your conviction. That you’re so sure that I’m your other half and no one can convince you otherwise, not even me.”

You could scream until your lungs gave out that you didn’t belong with him and you knew in your heart he’d argue until his last breath that you did. He was steadfast in that belief that you were soulmates. That conviction was so strong that what you really feared was that he would somehow convince you that he was right: that you belonged together.

Those steel blue eyes of his met yours and mesmerized you for a heartbeat before you looked away. “Love is scary. It’s natural to be afraid of it.” His lips brushed your ear, making you shiver. “But giving someone the most fragile parts of yourself is one of the bravest things a person can do.”

There was truth in his words, but it felt like he moved another chess piece into place. He was trying to disarm you and you couldn’t let him. “Who painted that black dahlia in your office?” You asked suddenly, feeling him move back enough that you could turn your head toward him. “And why display that flower?” You didn’t believe for a second that he chose it for aesthetic purposes.

“Beautiful, isn't it? Steve painted it,” he replied with an odd mixture of affection and bitterness. “It’s for my parents.”

“Steve is a gifted artist.” You hoped your voice stayed even enough that Bucky wouldn’t get jealous of you complimenting another man’s talent. “I don't know if the symbolism of flowers mean anything to you, but the black dahlia-”

“Betrayal. Sadness. Darkness,” he ticked off, his voice cold enough that another shiver moved through your body. “It was the last flower my dad ever got my mom and it serves as a reminder.”

You swallowed as warning bells sounded in your mind to tread carefully. “And what's that?”

He moved close, your eyes shutting as his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck. “That I'll never do to you what he did to her.”

There was suppressed rage within him. Sorrow. It rolled off him in waves strong enough that they could drown you. He said earlier that his dad got what he deserved. What had he done to his mom?

“You’re in pain,” you whispered. He was hurting and you logically shouldn’t care. So why did you want to know the cause of that hurt? “You have to tell me why.”

It wasn’t for you to use to your advantage. You weren’t sure if you could manipulate someone else. If you knew what happened though, it would at least give you more answers to who Bucky was and why he was the way he was. It could help you gain some sort of understanding.

“I’m not in pain when I’m with you,” he whispered, bringing your hand on his chest. Was he relying on you to chase away whatever haunted him? “Later. I’ve overwhelmed you enough for one evening.”

You let out a breath. You swore he was doing this on purpose, giving you just enough information that you’d wait around until he gave you more. “I can’t argue with you there,” you said, his heart racing under your touch. “Just answer one thing for me, please.”

“What’s that?”

“Marc from the bookstore,” you began, the man’s kind face shimmering in your mind. “Did anything happen to him?”

“I’d question another man being on your mind, but I know you’re just concerned about his well-being.” An easy smile crossed Bucky’s face as you bit your tongue. You could think about anyone you wanted to. “I can’t speak for him right this second, but he was perfectly fine when you and I left. He was just having a chat with one of my associates.”

You exhaled, thankful Marc wasn't hurt. “What kind of chat?” You asked. He was a nice guy, though he did seem to know a bit about Bucky. What exactly was he involved in?

“He just got a warning to be careful about what he does or doesn’t say to his customers.” You tensed before he kissed your forehead. Did he know about the conversation you two had? “And I don’t think the two of you should be alone with each other in the bookstore going forward.”

Just when Bucky had you feeling some sort of sympathy for him moments ago he shocked you right out of it. “Another decision that isn’t yours to make,” you stated, the car coming to a stop. “And you really don’t have to walk me up. I think we’ve had enough of each other’s company tonight.”

“I said I’m tucking you into bed and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” The smile he gave you was nothing short of cocky when he added, “And you owe me a photo. I’m going to get it.”

He was a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let that go. “Why don’t you just take a photo of me giving you the finger?” You suggested as he helped you out of the car.

“Only if you do it with a smile. I’ll even set it as the background on my phone,” he winked. Your reluctance and defiance of him didn’t phase him in the slightest. “And if you give me the finger, I’ll take it as an invitation that you want to fuck me.”

“Let’s go, please.”

You said nothing else as you went into the building, your anxiety mounting by the second. The slow rise of the elevator didn’t help, Bucky’s hip pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand to have space between you. You figure he’d shove you against the wall and claim your mouth, but he didn’t make a move. It impressed you that he behaved until you got to your floor. It didn’t stop your hand from shaking when you got your keys out.

“Still don’t want to say good night now?”

“I don’t want to say good night at all,” he answered, following you into the apartment and turning on the light. The welcoming feeling you expected when you got home wasn't there. There was a chill in the usual warmth.

“Well, you’ll have to sooner or later,” you said, swallowing when you faced Bucky. He shut the door and watched intently as you set your keys and bag down. You were quiet as you stared back, tension thick as you tried to predict what he was going to do. Once again, he managed to hold all the power in your home.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, heat and hunger in his stare as he slowly advanced.

Your throat went dry as you stepped back. “You have.”

“So beautiful and so good.” You made another move to retreat when he stepped forward, his manner confident and compelling as he reached out and prevented you from moving back further. “It’s driving me crazy not having you yet.”

“Please, you don’t…” you trailed off when he sank to his knees, unexpected heat flowing from your core. He guided one of your hands to his shoulder to brace yourself, his eyes soft as he helped remove one of your shoes. You found it difficult to breathe as he removed the other, his hand brushing your ankle with infinite tenderness. Like it was an honor to touch and be on his knees for you.

“I know the first time I taste you I’ll never want to stop. I’ll have to wake up every day between your thighs. Fall asleep that way, too.” His hand slid up your calf and his eyes darkened when your other hand found its way to his thick locks. Wetness gathered between your legs when his touch moved to your thigh. “Your pussy is hungry for me, isn’t it? My fingers, my tongue, my cock. I’ll feed her well.”

His voice was like velvet. Seductive. Aching. “Bucky…” Your breath rushed out swiftly when he kissed your mound through your clothes, tormenting you with arousal you didn’t ask for. It frightened you.

“I can smell you,” he murmured, nosing along where his lips had been before he sat back. “Smell so fucking good.”

Moving your shoes out of the way, he rose to his full height again as you willed your legs not to shake. You weren’t used to anyone looking at you, let alone speak to you, the way he did. Stark desire. Possessiveness. His form of love. Your heart pounded and you refused to answer him or glance down. If you looked at the front of his pants…

He took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom. Your heart pounded with mounting speed, your heels digging into the floor. “You still haven't kissed me,” you blurted out, hoping it would prevent him from taking you to bed. Or would he take that as an invitation to kiss your lips?

“No, I haven't.” You tried to keep some distance between you as he went to your bed, his hand moving along the blanket. You couldn't breathe. “It scares you how much your body wants mine, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what you think?” You asked, forcing air back into your lungs. It did scare you. It also scared you that you didn’t push him away or scream when he dropped to his knees to remove your shoes. Where was your fighting instinct?

“It is what I think.” The ease in which he moved away from the bed to your dresser to find your pajamas frightened you, too. Like he belonged in your room. You thought back to the night he broke in and left your gift on your bed. How much time did he take to look around? “Like love, giving your body to someone can be scary. You have to trust that you won't get hurt when you’re physically vulnerable.”

“You swore you wouldn't hurt me,” you reminded him.

“And I won't. But you know what else I think?” His magnetic gaze stayed on you as he brought a nightgown over. “That no guy has ever really taken care of you and you’re apprehensive to let me try.”

If you were apprehensive, it was because he was a walking red flag. “What makes you…” Your words stopped when he grasped the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up. Your arms instinctively went up before you realized what you were doing. Removing your shirt, you didn’t get a chance to cover your breasts before he slipped the nightgown on you.

“Your past boyfriends never did anything for you. Emotionally, physically,” he stated, sliding his hands under the nightgown to your hips. Grasping the hem of your pants, he pushed them down as far as he could. “I’ll bet they didn’t even buy you flowers and used the excuse that they didn’t because you’re a florist.”

The words were tiny cuts on old wounds, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. “And you will?”

“I will. I’ll give you the life and love you deserve, making you forget any other man out there existed before me.” His eyes raked over you as you stepped out of your pants, your panties still soaked. “But I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Exhaling slowly, relief flooded you. Though you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t trying to take what he wanted. “You won’t?”

“Not tonight.” He shook his head even as his fingers moved along your waist. “Like I said, I’ve overwhelmed you enough. Sleeping with you might really put you over the edge.”

“Thanks.” He desired you, but continued to hold it at bay for your sake. How long would that last? “I appreciate that.”

“And we both know the moment I take you to bed, you’ll be begging for more.” His voice dropped as he toyed with the soft fabric. “And as much as I want to stay in bed with you all night and morning and give us what we both crave, I still need to get things in place at the penthouse and you need rest. You understand.”

You tried not to smile and failed. He acted as if he was doing you a favor. Cocky bastard. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer until then.” Sarcasm continued to be a good way to deflect.

He exhaled at your light teasing, his body still a bit tense. Being close to you and not having you was probably driving him mad. “Maybe we'll have to have another private call and finish what we started. Give us both some relief.” He turned you toward the door and gave you a light swat on your ass. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth before I change my mind.”

You made it to the bathroom in record time, not having to be told twice. You didn’t want to risk staying there in case he lost his resolve. Looking in the mirror as you went through the rest of your nighttime routine, you expected to look more exhausted from the whirlwind of the day. You somehow looked wide awake. Was the experience giving you thicker skin? Or did his desire for you somehow give you a bit of a twisted spark? You’d still be billing him for your future therapy bills either way.

A couple of deep breaths and you made your way back to your bedroom. You paused when you saw Bucky holding a framed photo of you and your friends, longing in his eyes when he lifted his gaze. “You look so happy,” he murmured, carefully setting the frame down on the nightstand before he pulled the blankets back for you. “Can you do me one favor and I’ll go?”

“I was happy. It was a fun day.” You slipped into bed when he gave you space to do so, but his body was still close to yours. Firm. Hard. He really could pin you down and do what he wanted if he wished. “What’s the favor?”

He tucked the blanket around you, his hair falling into his face. You almost reached up to brush it back, but refrained. Who knew what your touch would do? “Look at me like you love me. Please.”

You stiffened as you stared up at his face, your heart simultaneously racing and breaking for him. Love was something that provided a sense of connection, fulfillment. It was a way to show you that you weren’t alone in the world. You wanted to believe you were worthy of love, that you could build a life with someone. Bucky believed he was that someone.

Why?

You weren’t sure if it was his yearning gaze or if you were ready for the night to end, but your expression softened as you imagined meeting him in another life. Going on fun dates, talking about books, making each other laugh as you cooked together, snuggling under a blanket as you talked about your future. You found yourself smiling at the images that went through your mind. What could’ve been. What could be if he lessened his hold a bit on you.

He audibly exhaled when he snapped a photo on his phone, making you blink. “Thank you. Now I can look at this whenever I’m not near you and need to feel your love.”

Words escaped you, the invisible collar around your throat getting tighter. You could only nod and wonder how you kept throwing fuel on the fire of his want for you. Which one of you would burn first?

“Get some sleep. Dream sweet dreams.” You felt featherlight kisses on each eyelid when you shut them. “You know, I’ll sleep a lot easier once you’re in my bed.”

“If you get me into your bed,” you mumbled, refusing to look at him.

“Stubborn kitten.” He chuckled and gave each eyelid one more kiss. Why were his lips so soft? “Maybe I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow so I can take you to lunch. You can tell Addison all about it.”

“Maybe.” You yawned and snuggled more into your pillows. “Good night, Bucky.”

A finger moved along your cheek before it stopped abruptly. “Good night, Kotyonok.”

Bucky still hadn't kissed your mouth.

You didn’t open your eyes as he left, but you didn’t fall asleep right away either. Your body was too wound up. Too many questions went through your mind. Like what happened with his parents and how exactly he’d move you out of your place.

The man was a step ahead in everything. You’d be in his penthouse before the month was over. He’d get his way, but maybe it didn't have to be his way completely. He could give you an area in the place for you and you alone. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. After all, he did say he’d make it up to you by dragging you out tonight.

And if he cared the way he said he did, he could give you that one small thing.

Is our poor Kotyonok starting to accept the inevitable? Will Bucky stop by the shop? And how much longer until he really takes you to bed?Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[chleem]

Casual /extra II

One shot; college students drew x reader

Summary: “Baby, no attachments.” yet, you’re at his childhood home, laughing with his parents, bonding with his siblings. 

Genre: situation-ship, smut, fluff, slight angst (read at own caution

⋆.˚ pls don't copy or translate my work

⋆.˚ official one shot | extra I

♡⸝⸝ "fucked you in the bathroom, when we went to dinner"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“Where you going?”

You ask, as Drew stands up. The warmth of his hands caressing your thighs is gone, now running through his hair. “Bathroom,” he mumbles, barely meeting your eyes. He walks off, without another glance back at the table. 

His sour mood is evident, by not only you, but all of your friends. 

To be fair, he didn’t even want to come tonight. He pleaded desperately for you to stay in with him, offering things to you that was ridiculous. Such as, doing your laundry for a month (he doesn’t even do his own). 

But you haven’t hung out with all your friends in a long time, and you missed them. So, tonight was non-negotiable with Drew. 

And he gave up with trying to reason with you, hence, why he decided to join you here, at the nice restaurant. He didn’t even make an effort to engage nicely with them, chuckling under his breath at random times and answering questions with short answers. Whenever you were talking, he would purposely distract you by touching you under the table, making it awkward for you and your friends. 

Drew knows your friends don’t like him; that’s why he’s sour. That’s also why he shows up to these hangouts, just to rub it in their faces. 

“Why did you invite him?” Lucy groans, after Drew was out of eye sight. Your five other friends of this group nod too, all letting out groans of frustration. “Hello, earth to y/n, we. Don’t. Like. Him.”

“He insisted on joining,” you shrug, forcing a smile. 

“Um, you could’ve insisted on him not joining,” Janet, another friend adds on. 

Your friend group was filled with weird people with different opinions, but one thing they’ve collectively agreed on was: they hate Drew. ‘Hate’ is a strong word, but that was the only way to describe their feelings towards Drew. 

They’ve expressed it a lot of times, so it’s become numb to you. 

“Are you guys finally together though?” Gary asks, sitting beside you. 

Oh. Every time they see you, they ask this question. 

“Of course not,” Lucy answers for you, sending you a cocky grin. One you always disliked, because it made you feel small. “Classmates, huh?”

“A really bad label,” Stacy adds on. Yeah, as if you didn’t already know. 

Great. Now it’s just your whole friend group judging you for being with Drew. Again. The last thing you needed from them.

“I visited his parents,” you aggressively say, stabbing into your food. Hopefully that will convince them Drew is a better person that what they think, right?

Wrong. They all ‘tsk’ in a disappointed manner, shaking their heads. “And…still classmates?”

“Well, he said I was his best friend,” you stuff the food in your mouth, “To his family.”

“He probably had to,” Josh speaks up this time, “and wow, is that the first time he called you his friend?” 

You don’t miss the sarcasm in his voice, and you send him a glare. He raises his hands in defense, the table laughs. 

You don’t find the humor in this situation. Why were they so judgmental towards the relationship with Drew? It’s not like he’s the biggest jackass ever. You’ve seen every side there is to Drew, they just don’t know him like you do. “Can you guys cut it off?” You say, not trying to hide the annoyance in your voice. 

“We’re just joking,” Janet laughs, glancing around, “besides, we’re worried for you.”

You chew and swallow the food in your mouth, sending her an unappreciative smile, “‘worried’ for me?”

“Yes, he’s obviously not… well, in love with you,” Janet continues, “we don’t want you with someone who clearly doesn’t care for you.”

“He cares for me,” you defend, furrowing your eyebrows at them. You look around the table, seeing your friends glance down at their food, afraid to meet your eyes. “He cares for me.”

“Sure he does,” Stacy bitterly agrees with you. That tone pisses you off. “Maybe privately, he does, but what about in public? Starting off with the most basic, labels.”

You hate how right your friends are. As rude and mean they’re being, deep down, you know they’re right. The ‘no attachments’ thing is bullshit, especially when nothing about the two of you is casual. 

Five, no close to six months, nothing about that is causal. 

“That…doesn’t matter,” you murmur. Wrong; it mattered a lot, to everyone and to you. You just hated to admit you weren’t as chill or casual as Drew was, how he made everything romantic seem friendly with you. 

When you look around, everyone is now staring at you pitifully. 

You didn’t like that. That pity stare. There’s nothing to be pity of. Bunch of people around the world right now might be having situation-ships too. Nothing to pity. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Yeah. That’s what you keep brainwashing yourself to believe. 

‘The girl that he bangs on his couch’. Yeah. Nothing to be ashamed of. 

Your phone on the table lights up, and it reads bathroom. now. 

Drew. “Um, excuse me,” you stand up, excusing yourself to the bathroom. 

As you slowly get up and walk away, your friends weren’t very careful with the volume of their voice. You hear one of them calling you a loser, still hanging around just for a good dick to suck. 

That must be Janet. Her lonely ass must be jealous. 

But part of you knew she wasn’t wrong. You were a loser. The biggest loser to exist. The loser of losers, if that even is a thing. 

Casual. Your friends succeeded once again, in making you doubt everything with Drew. 

——

“Really boring, right?”

Drew pulls you in by the waist, a lazy smile on his lips as he stares down at you. He leans against the sink, making you stand between his legs. 

This restaurant had two bathrooms, each with their own sink inside. So, Drew took full advantage of that. 

“Hmm,” you hum carelessly. You didn’t want agree with him; you tried to make this evening nice, but his attitude towards your friends just weren’t helping. You keep your gaze around the collar of his jacket, not wanting to meet his eyes. 

“Something wrong?” He asks, playfulness still hinted in his words. His hand rub circles around your waist, as he tries to make eye contact with you, bending his head down to your level. 

You advert your gaze even more, now focusing on the bracelet around his wrist. Now that you think about it, he always has this on, since the day you got it for him. 

Was that casual to do? To keep the bracelet on at all times. 

“Look at me, would you?” Drew’s tone turns serious, and he pinches the side of your waist harshly.

You flinch, finally looking up at him. You meet his blue eyes, a mix of concern and something else that you can’t read. His raised eyebrows tell you that he wants you to talk, to tell him what’s on your mind. 

Should you? But, where do you even start? With his attitude tonight, or with your friend’s comments? Or with this whole casual thing, which is basically the beginning to it all.

Your lips pout on its own, resting your hands around his wrist. “That was uncalled for,” you murmur, looking down at his bracelet again. 

“What was?” Drew’s pinch one your waist is more soft this time, wanting to get the words out of you. 

“Doing that,” you say, playing with his chained bracelet. Shit. You’re gonna say it. You’re gonna call him out for his behavior. “Being rude to my friends.”

A scoff escapes Drew. He then brings his hand up to your face, forcing you to look up at him. Like second nature, you lean your face into the palm of his hand, waiting for him to explain himself. “Babe, your friends were the rude ones.”

The feeling inside your stomach is indescribable. The nickname sends you butterflies, but the words that follow don't. 

“How?” You ask, crossing your arms.  

He licks his lips, squinting his eyes at you. “It was so fucking obvious.”

“Was it?” 

“Yes- yes, it was,” Drew straightens his posture, taking his hands off you. The warmth of him is gone, now with the presence of a man trying to explain his reasonable case of being bratty. “They asked loaded questions to me this whole night.”

You furrow your eyebrows, thinking hard to the stuff they asked Drew. Shit. They were. Your friends didn’t even trying to hide their discontent with him tonight. 

“They hate me,” he adds on, “C’mon, I leave the table for like, a few minutes, and they talked shit, right?”

The way he looks at you; he challenges you to disagree with him. But you couldn’t; he was right. Your friends hate him, making you constantly doubt whatever this was with Drew. 

“Wasn’t all shit,” you lie, sending him the smallest smile ever. 

Drew makes the ‘tsk’ sound, shaking his head as he gives you a tired smile. “What they say then?” He asks, leaning back against the sink again. 

His eyes look at you in anticipation, biting down on his lips. 

You do not want to tell him what they said. It was rude, and although it was about Drew, it affected you more than it should have. The seeds of doubt are always planted by your friends, they never put you at ease with this relationship. 

You give him a lazy smile, snaking your arms around his neck. You lean in close to him, a seductive look in your eyes. “Does it matter? They talk shit, all they ever do.”

Drew’s lips slightly part, and he glances quickly down at your lips. A smile appears, “I see what you’re doing. You’re distracting me.”

You shrug lightly, before planting a small kiss on his jaw. “Is it working?”

You hear a chuckle escape from him, and his hand wraps around the back of your head. His eyes keep bouncing between your lips and eyes, smiling from ear-to-ear, “annoyingly so, you minx.”

Without another comment, Drew kisses you, soft and slow. 

You return the kiss, escalating into a whole make-out session. 

You hate how your body reacts to him; feeling a pool of wetness form between your legs. Fuck. 

Something pokes against your lower stomach, and you pull away from Drew. You glance down; he’s erected. “Shit,” you curse, as his hands slide down your body. He squeezes your ass, burying his face into your neck as he breathes the skin there. 

“I…I can’t go back to the table like this,” he murmurs, referring to his erection. 

You watch as his back rises and falls, through the sink mirror. Even with this thick white jacket he has on, you can tell his breathing has sped up. Your lips form a straight line, running your hands through his short hair. 

In the bathroom? Right in the middle of dinner? It was highly inappropriate. 

Wrapping your hands around his face, you pull him up to meet his eyes. He looks at you pleadingly, lips parted with drool on the corner of his lips. 

Fuck. How is one suppose to say no to that look? He looked as if he physically needed you; needed you to calm the… ‘growing’ in his pants. 

“Ten minutes,” you tell him, which immediately lights the spark in his eyes. He looks like a puppy! You smile at that thought, as he straightens himself, switching your positions. 

“Ten minutes? Enough for two rounds,” he teases, lifting you to sit on the sink. 

“No! One round,” you say, which gets cut off by Drew kissing you again. As much fun as two rounds sound, the longer you linger in here, the more obvious it is that the two of you are fucking. 

He groans into your mouth, spreading your legs to stand between them. His hands move fast into your dress, slipping your underwear off. The cold surface of the sink hits your thighs and pussy, adding to the heat growing within you. 

Drew trails his kisses down your neck, as your hands work on undoing his belt. 

You moan when he sucks on the sweet-spot around your neck, the belt dropping onto the floor with a hard thud. “Drew…” you moan out, messy hands tugging his hair as he continues to form hickeys around your neck. 

You want to run your hands around his stomach, chest, abs. But the jacket he has on prevents that, being zipped up the whole way. This jacket looked great on him, but would look better on the floor. 

Your hands fidget with the zipper, tugging with no luck of it moving. 

Drew pulls away from your neck, a chuckle escaping, “babe, gently.”

His hands overlaps yours, guiding you to pull the jacket zipper down. It reveals that he isn’t wearing anything inside; a feast to your eyes. “Is that why you refused to take this off?” You ask, referring to before the dinner started.

“I was invited last minute,” he shrugs the jacket off, as if it wasn’t his fault for the improvised outfit. 

“Right, but you weren’t invited,” you remind him, when he insisted on joining you when you were leaving, throwing on a random outfit nearby. You were busy putting your heels on, so you couldn’t see the moment when he got dressed. You didn’t even know he owned a jacket like this. 

“Mmhm,” his mind was elsewhere, attaching his lips to yours again. Sloppy and more lustful this time, as your hands wander around his body. It’s hot under your touch; his abs flexing as you run your hands over them. 

His hand grips onto your thigh, before moving closer to your heat. 

When the warmth of his fingers hit your pussy, you moan loudly into his mouth. 

“Shit,” he chuckles, “we’re in public, babe.”

The tip of your ears heat up too, from the embarrassment and realization that you’re in public, most likely having people hear you from the other side of the door. “Sorry,” you murmur, burying your face into his neck. 

Drew sticks two fingers into your hole, and starts thrusting at a faster speed than usual. Your breathing becomes uneven, as you try to tone down your moans. 

Drew wasn’t having it easy either, as you hear low grunts escaping him. “Fuck,” he curses, adding another digit, “you’re tight tonight.”

“Just fuck me already,” you manage to say, hands gripping on his biceps. Surely, this was enough foreplay, right? 

He chuckles again, this time at your impatience. He pulls his fingers out of you, his hands going to the back pocket of his jeans. 

The familiar gold packaging comes out, and his hands skillfully rip them open. 

“…couldn’t put on a shirt but bought a condom with you?” Laughter escapes you, as you watch him unzip his pants. 

He glances up at you, and when he sees you smiling ear-to-ear, he can’t help but match you, “wasn’t gonna show up totally unprepared, right?”

You laugh again; what an unbelievable guy. “Shirt’s optional but condom a must. Got it.”

Drew lets his pants and boxers hang around his knees, his cock standing proud. The sight immediately wipes the smile off your lips, gulping as you imagine it stuffed inside you. 

“The chances of fucking you wherever and whenever is high,” Drew says, wrapping the condom around his dick. 

He looks up at you, seeing your gaze fixed on his hard cock. A smirk helps themselves to his lips, as his hands tug on your waist. An idea flashes in his mind as he looks over your shoulder, at the big sink mirror. 

“Get off,” his voice brings you back, looking at him with confused eyes now. “C’mon, trust me.”

You let him bring you back onto the ground, before flipping you over. You see both your reflections in the mirror, your back hitting his chest, his dick poking your upper ass. 

When you meet his eyes through the mirror, you understand where this was going. 

“Watch yourself while I destroy your fucking pussy, hmm?”

Oh. Oh. Was it possible to be turned on by words? 

Drew lifts up your dress, revealing your wet core. You hold onto the sink for support, grip getting tighter when you feel Drew’s tip against your entrance. 

Then, he slips in, going deep until it’s completely nestled inside you. 

“Fuck,” you moan, glancing up at Drew. He sends you a smirk, enjoying this too. His hand goes to your stomach, and he lifts you backward, resting against his chest again. 

“Grip my hair, and keep your eyes open, alright?” His voice drops low, one hand moving to knead your breasts. 

You nod, bringing your hands behind you; one tugging gently around his hair, another around his arm that’s supporting you. 

He starts to thrust into you, rather roughly and fast. “Shit,” you moan, the sensation sending you to outer space. With his thick cock slamming into you, his hands roaming your body, your hands running through his short hair, it feels euphoric. 

Your eyes can barely stay open, as you look at the reflection in the mirror. Drew leaves a trail of sloppy kisses along your shoulder, which sends goosebumps to your skin. 

You watch as one of his hand slips between your thighs, starting to massage your pussy. “Fuck,” you moan, louder than you should be. You couldn’t help it, the pleasure was extraordinary. 

He kisses your earlobe, “i’know baby, but keep it down, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” it barely comes out, as the thrusts and massages to your core intensifies. The familiar knot in your stomach forms, informing you that you’re close. “Drew…”

His pace doesn’t stop, and when you lean your head back on his shoulder, he goes harder, “close?”

You nod with any energy left, and Drew uses his free hand to lift your face up again. He kisses your cheek, “use your words.”

You flutter your eyes open, looking at the two of you in the mirror. It was extremely hot, to see Drew filling you up, his hands all around you. The mirror starts to fog up a little, with all the grunting and pressure filling in here. 

“I’m coming,” you force out, and meet Drew’s gaze in the mirror. His blue eyes meet yours, seething with lust. 

You clench around him, your hand going around Drew’s, which is massaging your pussy. He stops massaging, and he intertwines your hands together. The stickiness doesn’t bother you; why should it?

“Fuck,” he groans, his thrusts to your g-spot growing sloppy. 

You tilt your head sideways, and you give him a quick kiss, which sends you over the edge. Your orgasm explodes inside of you, cum dripping out and over Drew’s cock. 

Body giving up, you lean completely against Drew, as he helps himself to his. His cock twitches, and you feel the familiar hot liquid filling up. 

Both of you are breathing heavily, euphoria radiating off your bodies. Fuck. This might just be one of the best fucks you’ve had with Drew. But in a public restroom? Who would’ve thought. 

“You’re so hot,” he compliments, before planting a small kiss on the side of your face. 

You giggle at that stupid comment, looking at him through the mirror; He’s got a playful smile on his lips, looking at you with smitten eyes. “You’re great with your words.”

He chuckles, his hands tapping against the side of your waist, signaling you to move. You use the energy left inside of you, helping him slip out. Leaning against the sink, you watch as Drew grabs tissues to wipe your core, then throwing his condom away. 

After that, he grabs your underwear on the floor. You get yourself dressed, him doing the same thing. 

“Look, only…only seven minutes passed,” Drew comments with a sly smile on his lips, showing you his watch. 

You roll your eyes, your lips betraying you by forming a smile. “Cocky much?” 

He puts his jacket back on, the last piece of clothing. “Well, you've definitely enjoyed the taste of it.”

You hit his chest playfully, his remark sending butterflies to your stomach. He laughs, zipping his jacket only halfway. Your eyebrows furrow at his exposed chest that pierces through the top; and you reach for the zipper. 

Drew stays in place, and you feel his gaze on the top of your head, his hot breath hitting you. You ignore the tension that pulls; when you’re done, you pat his chest, “all done, buddy.”

“‘Buddy’?” There’s a hint of amusement in his tone, eyes squinting down at you. 

You send him a soft smile, seeing him glance down at your lips. “What?”

“Call me buddy one more time,” his hands wrap around your waist, and he leans closer to you, “and you’ll get it.”

His dirty and challenging tone sends shivers down your spine, something you find yourself liking a bit too much. The pit of your stomach yells at you at how hypocritical Drew was being right now, but you ignore it. 

And just because it’s fun, you lean into his ear, and whisper, “best buddy ever.”

Tickles are sent to the side of your body, making you jump and melt into his arms. You laugh uncontrollably; Drew knew you were ticklish, using it to his full advantage. 

“Stop! Stop!” You yell between laughter, your legs ready to give up. 

“Don’t call me that then,” he stops tickling you, grip on you tight to make sure you don’t fall. He kisses the tears of laughter from the corner of your eyes, “I don’t like it.”

“Noted,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck. You glance down at his lips, and he does the same to yours. 

Drew gives you the look; he wants to kiss you. 

And you let him, closing your eyes and feeling his lips against yours. 

Is it still casual if you kissed me like it’s the last time you ever will? You hate how this thought appears in your mind again, haunting you. 

You pull away, the pressure of it getting overwhelming. “Let’s head back, yeah?”

“We have to?” His eyes stay glued to your lips. “You know, We could…we could just leave.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, “no!”

“Say you got plans tomorrow morning,” he shrugs, “I’ll say it for you, if you can’t-”

You cross your arms, looking up at him. “Why would I leave early?”

Drew parts his lips, and he brings his hand up to your elbow. He rubs the area there in soft circles, a playful look in his eyes, “…grab some froyo?”

You drop your arms, looking at him disappointedly. When he saw that, he hurriedly adds, “and I got errands to run. Really.”

You contemplate in your mind about this; ditching this dinner to hang out privately with Drew? Yeah, that sounded like something fun. It must be better than staying awkwardly, having your friends judge Drew. 

Casual. Casual, casual, casual. Some casual froyo with Drew, and maybe ending up with sex in his dorm room. 

Yeah. Seemed like things people whose ‘casual’ would do. 

“Fine. You’re treating me though,” you unlock the door, walking out the bathroom. 

“I always treat you,” you hear him murmur behind you, following closely behind as you two walk back to the table. 

You interrupt the conversation they’re having, grabbing your purse from your seat. They look at your questionably, before their gaze lands sourly on Drew behind you. “i’ve got something, tomorrow morning, so we’re heading off,” you try sounding apologetic, “sorry to leave this early.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Lucy glances between the two of you, “text us when you get home.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize again, before your friends wave goodbye to you. You don’t miss the hateful looks they leave on Drew, as they tell you to take care until the next time you guys meet. 

After that, you and Drew leave the restaurant, letting the doorman do his job of getting a taxi. 

A warmth around your hand catches you by surprise; Drew holds your hand, pulling you closer to him. You look down at the holding of hands; then back up at him. He’s staring down at his phone, scrolling through his insta feed. 

Holding hands. Something very casual to do, apparently. 

“What are you watching?” You ask, leaning on his shoulder. 

He laughs, showing you the screen. It’s a video of a monkey pointing towards the glass, which has different play-doughs lined along it. 

You don’t get the humor in it, but you smile, because it makes Drew smile. 

The two of you stand there, watching different posts on his phone until the taxi arrives. 

Your mind finds it strange how ‘casual’ you two are. 

Because, in the bottom of your heart, you weren’t so sure if this was casual anymore. Along the way, the lines of ‘no attachment’ seemed to have blurred. Blurred to the point of no return. 

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word count: 4.1k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: goddamn, i would fall for this toxic relationship too T_T

sry for not posting lately, i got very busy lately! i promise you, flashing lights 6 & not a big deal pt4 is coming sooooon. but hope you enjoyed this extra, and also, thx for blowing up the halloween special, was NOT expecting that. thank you sm! your lovely comments inspire me to write these fics!

btw, watched obx s4, and the ending broke me T_T like tffff

other | official one shot | extra 1 | extra 3