#sh. chapter seven

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 2003 - who are we to fight the alchemy? pt.2

chapter summary: Things are back to normal at the X-Mansion, other than the new, permanent addition of Logan. But he's not here for anything other than you.

word count: 18.4k+ (total 36.6k+)

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: here's part 2! (tags and summary are the same)

warnings/tags: fluff, reader is a mutant with time manipulation powers, reader wears glasses, shy!reader, logan pining, soft!logan, slow burn (like... slow. burn.), one bed, brief sickness, brief insecurities, almost too much fluff holy sh-, reader has slight backstory, mention of twirling hair, brief injury

series masterlist - chapter 8 → chapter 9

The sound of rain pattering against the windows filled the room, the occasional roll of thunder causing the lights to flicker faintly. You glanced at Theresa, who was huddled close to the arm of the couch, clutching a stuffed rabbit in one hand and her cards in the other. Across from her, Jones was grinning mischievously, clearly enjoying the game despite the storm outside.

“Got any sevens?” Theresa asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Jones narrowed his eyes dramatically before sighing and handing over a card. “You’re lucky,” he muttered. “I was gonna use that to win.”

Theresa smiled faintly, her fear of the thunder momentarily forgotten. You couldn’t help but feel a small swell of pride for how brave she was being—storms were hard for her, but she was hanging in there.

“You’re doing great, Theresa,” you said, offering her an encouraging smile. “And Jones, don’t think I didn’t see you sneak that card earlier.”

Jones’s eyes widened in mock offense. “I did not!”

You raised a brow, a hint of a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Before Jones could come up with a witty retort, the door creaked open, and Logan stepped inside, shaking rainwater from his jacket. His presence immediately shifted the atmosphere, the kids sitting up a little straighter while you felt your chest tighten with a mix of nervousness and warmth.

“Storm’s pickin’ up out there,” Logan remarked, his eyes briefly scanning the room before landing on you. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly, and his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Didn’t think I’d find you playin’ Go Fish, darlin’.”

You adjusted your glasses, trying to ignore the way his nickname made your heart skip. “Theresa didn’t want to be alone during the storm, so we’re keeping her company.”

Logan’s attention shifted to the young girl, his expression losing its usual gruffness. “Smart call, kiddo. Storms can be rough.”

Theresa nodded, clutching her rabbit tighter. “It’s really loud.”

Logan crouched down to her level, his tone unusually gentle. “Tell you what—next time it gets too loud, you just look at me. I’ll make sure it’s nothin’ to worry about.”

Theresa gave him a tentative smile, and you felt your chest ache at the sight. Logan had a way of being unexpectedly tender when it mattered, and it always caught you off guard.

“What about me?” Jones piped up, clearly fishing for the same attention. “Can I look at you if it gets too loud?”

Logan ruffled Jones’s hair with a scoff. “You? You’ll be fine, tough guy.”

Jones grinned, puffing out his chest like he’d just been handed a badge of honor.

“Wanna join us?” you asked, gesturing to the game. “We’re about to see who’s got the best poker face.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his features. “Not sure Go Fish is what they mean by a poker face, but sure.” He pulled up a chair, settling in beside you. His arm brushed yours briefly as he leaned forward, and you had to fight the urge to shift closer.

As the game resumed, you found yourself glancing at Logan more often than you intended. He was surprisingly good at keeping the kids engaged, his gruff teasing making them laugh despite the storm raging outside. Every so often, his eyes would meet yours, and the corners of his mouth would lift in a way that felt like it was meant just for you.

Eventually, the storm began to die down, the thunder growing more distant. Theresa yawned, her eyelids drooping as she leaned against your shoulder. Jones followed not long after, slumping into the armchair with his deck of cards scattered around him.

“Looks like they’re done for the night,” Logan murmured, his voice low enough that it felt intimate in the quiet room.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, brushing a strand of hair from Theresa’s face. “I’ll take her up to bed.”

“I’ll get Jones,” Logan said, standing and scooping the boy up effortlessly. He carried him with the ease of someone used to it, his movements careful not to wake him.

You followed Logan to the hallway, each of you heading to a different room to settle the kids in. When you returned to the common room, the storm had died down, leaving behind only the faint sound of quiet rain.

Logan was waiting for you by the couch, his hands tucked into his pockets. “You’re good with them,” he said, his tone quieter now.

You shrugged, feeling a little shy under his gaze. “They’re good kids. Just needed a distraction.”

His eyes lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Guess you’re good at that, too.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you settled for a small, grateful smile. Logan seemed content with that, his lips quirking into a faint grin before he gestured toward the door.

“C’mon. You’ve been cooped up all night. Let’s take a walk.”

Your eyes widened as you looked out the windows, the rain still drumming steadily against the glass. “It’s raining.”

Logan smirked, shrugging one shoulder as he leaned against the doorway. “You scared of a little water, sweetheart?”

You gave him a look, though the slight flush creeping up your neck betrayed your flustered reaction to his teasing. “I’m not scared. It’s just—what’s the point? We’ll get soaked.”

“That’s the idea,” Logan said, his grin widening. He pushed off the doorframe and gestured toward the hall. “Go grab a jacket. Fresh air’ll do you good.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the couch where you’d been sitting with the kids not long ago. The room was quiet now, and the remnants of the storm had left it feeling oddly still. Maybe he was right—a little walk might be nice. Plus, the way he was watching you, half-smirk and half-something else, made it hard to say no.

“Fine,” you relented, adjusting your glasses and heading for the hallway. “But if I catch a cold, it’s on you.”

Logan’s chuckle followed you. “Deal.”

---

The air outside was crisp and cool, the rain having softened to a misty drizzle that clung to your skin. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket, trying not to think about the way Logan’s pace matched yours so easily or how his presence seemed to chase away the lingering chill from the storm.

“You always this quiet?” he asked after a moment, his voice cutting through the soft patter of rain against the leaves.

You glanced up at him, your glasses misting slightly in the damp air. “What do you mean?”

Logan tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You’re always thinkin’, darlin’. Like your head’s miles away.”

You looked down, a little embarrassed. “I just… think a lot, I guess. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Didn’t say it was,” he replied, his voice softer now. “Just curious what’s got you so wrapped up.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “It’s nothing, really. Just… trying to make sense of everything, I guess.”

“Everything, huh?” Logan glanced at you, his sharp gaze lingering. “That’s a lot to figure out.”

“Tell me about it,” you muttered, the corners of your lips tugging upward despite yourself. “What about you? Do you ever think about… everything?”

Logan let out a low laugh, though there was something almost bitter behind it. “Not much point in it. Most of the time, everything’s just a mess.”

You stopped walking, turning to look at him fully. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

He met your gaze, his expression softening just slightly. “Used to,” he admitted. “Not so much anymore. Guess I’m just used to it.”

There was something about the way he said it that made your chest ache. You wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you reached out and brushed a raindrop off the sleeve of his jacket without thinking, the movement small but oddly intimate.

Logan’s eyes flicked to your hand, then back to your face. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You blinked, startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I don’t know what to do with you half the time,” he said, his tone low but not unkind. “You’re shy as hell, but you’ve got guts when it counts. Makes a guy wonder.”

“Wonder what?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan didn’t answer right away, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer than felt comfortable—and yet, you didn’t want to look away. Finally, he shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Guess I’ll figure that out.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you quickly looked down, pretending to adjust your glasses. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

The two of you continued walking in silence, the quiet between you feeling less like an absence and more like an unspoken understanding. Every so often, your arm would brush his, and while you told yourself it was just the narrow path, a small part of you wondered if Logan wasn’t making the space smaller on purpose.

By the time you circled back toward the mansion, the rain had stopped entirely, leaving the air smelling fresh and clean. Logan held the door open for you without a word, and you stepped inside, your cheeks still warm from the walk.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing back at him.

Logan gave you one of his faint, lopsided grins. “Anytime, darlin’.”

As you headed down the hallway toward your room, you couldn’t help but wonder if he meant it. Something told you he did.

---

“Just as in the kinetic theory of gases, it is not merely the average effect of a large number of atoms that comes into consideration in the electromagnetic interpretation of optical phenomena. Thus, in the scattering of light the random distribution of the atoms makes the effects of the individual atoms appear in such a way that a direct counting of the atoms is possible. In fact, Rayleigh estimated from the intensity of the scattered blue light of the sky the number of atoms in the atmosphere, obtaining results in satisfactory agreement with the counting of atoms obtained by Perrin from a study of the Brownian motion. The rational mathematical representation of the electromagnetic theory is based on the application of vector analysis- ”

Hands gripped your shoulders and startled you, making you look up from your book.

“What’ve I told you about walkin’ and not payin’ attention?” he asked, his voice tinged with both amusement and exasperation. His eyes flicked down to the book in your hands.

Caught off guard, you stammered, “I wasn’t—I mean, I was paying attention. Just… not to where I was walking.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re supposed to be at dinner, not wanderin’ the halls like some kinda ghost.”

“You aren’t there either,” you pointed out, your cheeks warming as you adjusted your glasses.

“Touché,” he admitted, the corner of his mouth lifting. “What’s got you so wrapped up you skipped eatin’?”

“It’s a book by Niels Bohr,” you said, holding up the slim volume. “Atomic Theory and the Description of Nature. I got caught up in the section on the kinetic theory of gases and the Rayleigh scattering of light.”

Logan gave you a look that was part curiosity, part bewilderment. “You realize most folks wouldn’t understand a word of what you just said, right?”

You smiled sheepishly. “It’s not that complicated once you break it down.”

“Go ahead,” he said, his tone turning softer. “Break it down for me.”

You hesitated, unsure if he was serious, but the genuine interest in his eyes convinced you to start. As you explained the connection between the scattering of light, the composition of the atmosphere, and how Bohr linked it to atomic theory, Logan listened intently at first, nodding occasionally.

But as your excitement grew, so did the gloss of your lips, drawing his attention. The soft sheen shifted as you spoke, catching the light in a way that teased at his focus. Logan’s thoughts started to drift. Cherry or strawberry? He’d caught faint hints of sweetness before when you were close, but he’d never been able to place it.

As you continued talking, your voice animated, your shy demeanor falling away in the face of your enthusiasm, Logan’s restraint finally snapped. Without warning, he leaned in and kissed you, cutting you off mid-sentence.

The kiss was firm, heady, and left no room for doubt about what he’d been holding back. His hand cradled the side of your face, the other sliding to your waist as if anchoring you to the moment. Your book slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a soft thud, but neither of you noticed.

When Logan finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he muttered against your lips, his voice gravelly and low, “fuck, it’s cherry.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding in your chest. “W-what?”

“Your lip gloss,” he clarified, his tone almost amused but still rough with lingering desire. “Been drivin’ me mad for months.”

Your face burned as you tried to process his words, your lips still tingling. “You— I—”

Logan smirked, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “Guess I should’ve asked sooner.”

You blinked at him, flustered beyond words, but the warmth in his gaze settled something deep inside you. He straightened, his hand lingering at your waist before reluctantly stepping back.

“C’mon, darlin’,” he said, his smirk softening into something gentler. “Let’s get you to dinner before I forget how to behave.”

Still dazed, you bent down to retrieve your book, but your fingers brushed his as he’d bent to grab it too. You both froze for a moment before he chuckled softly, handing it back to you.

“Careful with that,” he teased. “Can’t have you losin’ Bohr to my bad manners.”

You managed a shy smile, clutching the book to your chest as you walked beside him toward the dining hall. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop your lips from curving up every time you caught him glancing your way.

---

For a day or two after the kiss, you found yourself unconsciously avoiding Logan. It wasn’t that you regretted what had happened—far from it. If anything, the memory of his lips on yours lingered like the faint taste of cherries that always lay on your lips, setting your heart racing every time you replayed the moment.

But that was exactly the problem. It had caught you so off-guard, had unraveled you so completely, that you didn’t know how to face him without your cheeks burning or your words tangling into incoherence.

Logan, for his part, seemed to respect the space you were giving yourself. He didn’t corner you in the hallways or push for your attention like he might’ve done with someone else. Instead, he found quieter ways to remind you he was still there.

On the first morning after the kiss, when you arrived at your desk in the mansion’s small but cozy library, you noticed a steaming mug of tea waiting for you. The ceramic was warm beneath your fingers, the faint scent of chamomile and honey wafting up. A note rested beside it, the words scrawled in Logan’s rough handwriting:

Didn’t see you at breakfast. Figured you could use this.

You smiled despite yourself, fingers brushing over the paper before tucking it into the corner of your notebook. That same morning, during a meeting with the team, Logan casually pulled out the chair beside him before you could sit, earning a teasing look from Jean.

“You’re being awfully polite today,” Jean remarked, her tone light but curious.

Logan grunted nonchalantly, leaning back in his seat. “Just tryin’ to set an example for the kids.”

Jean’s eyes flickered between the two of you, her lips twitching as though she wanted to say more, but she held back. You busied yourself by adjusting your glasses, thankful for the distraction when Scott started talking.

But even as Logan kept his distance, his presence was everywhere. When you left your jacket in the lounge, it somehow reappeared on the back of your chair in the lecture hall. A book you’d misplaced turned up on your desk with no explanation. Small gestures, easily overlooked by anyone else, but each one sent your heart into overdrive.

---

It wasn’t until the third day after the kiss that Logan finally had enough. You’d been walking back to your quarters after finishing a late tutoring session with Rogue and Bobby when you turned a corner and nearly collided with him.

“Whoa there, sweetheart,” he said, his hands steadying your arms before you could step back. “You been dodgin’ me, or am I imaginin’ things?”

The warmth of his touch seeped through your sleeves, and you cursed the way your pulse quickened. “I—I haven’t been dodging you,” you lied, adjusting your glasses to avoid his gaze.

Logan tilted his head, clearly unimpressed with your answer. “Right. And I’m Cyclops’ biggest fan.” His voice softened, the gruffness easing. “C’mon, darlin’. Talk to me.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching against the strap of your bag. “I just... I needed time to think.”

“To think about what?” His tone wasn’t demanding, just curious, almost gentle.

“About what happened,” you admitted, finally meeting his gaze. “It caught me off-guard, Logan. I didn’t know what to say, and I guess I panicked.”

His brow furrowed slightly, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face before he nodded. “Fair enough. I’m not exactly known for takin’ it slow. If I pushed too hard—”

“No,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you expected. “You didn’t. It’s just... no one’s ever done that before. And I—”

You stopped yourself, biting your lip as you searched for the right words. Logan’s gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then flicked back up to your eyes, his expression softening further.

Logan’s gaze stayed locked on yours, his voice soft but insistent. “And you?”

Your fingers tightened on the strap of your bag as you glanced at him. The hallway felt quieter than it should, the usual distant chatter and footsteps replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat in your ears. Logan’s expression was open, patient in a way that left you unsure if you wanted to explain or simply step closer.

“And I…” You faltered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know what to do after.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his hand still resting lightly on your arm. His thumb brushed your sleeve, a barely-there gesture, but it steadied you somehow. “That all?” he asked, his tone calm but his eyes sharp, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.

You nodded, your gaze dropping to his chest. “I’m not used to— I mean, no one’s ever—” You cut yourself off, frustrated at your inability to form a complete sentence.

“No one’s ever kissed you?” he guessed, his voice tinged with surprise. His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no mockery, only quiet curiosity.

“No!” you blurted out, mortified. “I mean, not like that. Not…” You hesitated, then sighed. “Not like it mattered.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smile, his eyes softening. “It mattered, sweetheart.” The words were simple, but they carried enough weight to make your breath catch.

You looked up at him then, and for the first time, you didn’t try to hide the uncertainty in your eyes. “I don’t know how to… do this,” you admitted softly.

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and warm. “Ain’t a test, Y/N. You don’t gotta have it all figured out.”

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. You took a slow breath, summoning a flicker of courage from somewhere deep within you. “What about you?” you asked, your voice trembling but steady enough. “What does it mean to you?”

His hand slipped from your arm, brushing down to linger at your wrist. His thumb grazed your pulse, and he seemed to take a moment before answering. “Means I finally stopped holdin’ back,” he said, his voice rough but honest. “Been tryin’ to stay outta your way, let you figure me out on your own. But that night…” His jaw tightened for a moment before he continued. “You were talkin’ about light scatterin’ and atoms, and all I could think about was how bad I wanted to kiss you. So I did.”

The admission left you stunned. You stared at him, searching his face for any trace of hesitation, but there was none. Only the raw honesty that seemed to define him.

“I should’ve asked first,” Logan added, his tone quieter. “But I ain’t sorry I did it.”

You exhaled a soft laugh, the tension easing slightly. “I don’t think I would’ve known how to answer if you had.”

“That so?” His lips quirked into a small smirk. “How about now?”

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, but you couldn’t look away from him. Instead of answering, you took a step closer, closing the already small gap between you. His hand didn’t leave your wrist, and you felt the slight increase in his grip as you hesitated, your gaze dropping to his lips.

Then, before you could lose your nerve, you leaned in, your lips brushing his. It was softer than you expected, tentative and shy, but Logan didn’t let it stay that way for long. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss just enough to coax a response from you. His free hand slid to the small of your back, steadying you as the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

When you pulled back, breathless and flushed, Logan didn’t let you go. His forehead rested against yours, and you could feel the faint curve of his smile.

“Guess that answers that,” he murmured, his voice teasing but warm.

You managed a faint laugh, your cheeks burning. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Logan’s hand lingered on your back, his thumb tracing slow circles that made your skin tingle. “You still plannin’ on avoidin’ me, or can we put that behind us?”

You bit your lip, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your face. “I think we can put it behind us.”

“Good,” he said, his tone firm. “’Cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere, darlin’.”

The words settled something deep within you, their certainty grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. Logan stepped back just enough to let you regain your balance, though his hand stayed at your waist.

“Now,” he said, his smirk returning. “How ‘bout we grab somethin’ to eat before you start recitin’ atomic theory again?”

You laughed, the sound surprising even yourself. “Deal.”

As the two of you walked down the hall, side by side, Logan’s hand brushed yours, lingering for a moment before he finally laced his fingers through yours. It was such a simple gesture, yet it left your heart racing all over again. You didn’t let go.

---

“Outta the way, Scott,” you said, nudging him aside gently with your hip as you crouched down in front of Jean’s desk. He was halfway through wrestling with the stubborn drawer, tools scattered around his feet, his expression somewhere between frustrated and determined.

Scott glanced up, one eyebrow arching over the rim of his ruby-quartz glasses. “Oh, so now you’re a carpenter?”

“Not a carpenter,” you replied, pulling your gloves tighter, “just someone who knows a lost cause when I see one.” You gave the desk a quick once-over before prying at the stuck drawer with careful precision. “You’ve been at this for how long?”

Scott grumbled something under his breath but moved aside, folding his arms. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“You’re right. It’s worse.” Your lips quirked in a faint smile as you reached into the drawer, feeling for the jammed mechanism. “Jean asked me to look at it, didn’t she?”

“She mentioned it,” Scott said, emphasizing the word. “I didn’t think it required a second opinion.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve got a knack for fixing things that don’t want to be fixed,” you teased lightly, sending him a sidelong glance. The moment hung between you for a beat before the sound of heavy footsteps announced Logan’s approach.

“What’s this?” Logan’s gruff voice cut through the room as he leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. His dark eyes flicked to you, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t know desk repair was part of the X-Men training program.”

“It’s not,” Scott said dryly, shooting Logan a sharp look. “What do you want, Logan?”

Logan didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on you, crouched by the desk, your sleeves pushed up and your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. He sauntered in, ignoring Scott entirely, and crouched down beside you.

“You need a hand, sweetheart?” Logan’s voice was quieter now, his attention focused entirely on you.

Scott made a noise of protest. “I’m right here—”

“Yeah, yeah, I see you,” Logan muttered dismissively before leaning closer. “What’s the issue?”

You tried to ignore the way his presence seemed to command the space, the warmth radiating from him even though he wasn’t touching you. “The drawer’s stuck. I think the rail might be bent.”

Logan reached past you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. “Let me take a look.”

“I’ve got it,” you said quickly, more out of reflex than anything else.

Logan just gave you that amused, slightly exasperated look of his, the one that somehow managed to make you feel like you were the only person in the room who mattered. “Humor me.”

You huffed but shifted slightly, letting him inspect the drawer. His hands, calloused and sure, worked the mechanism with ease, and within seconds, there was a soft click. The drawer slid open smoothly.

“Fixed,” Logan said, sitting back on his heels and flashing you a smirk. “Told ya.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. Thanks.”

Scott cleared his throat, his irritation palpable. “Are you done?”

Logan didn’t even glance at him, his attention still on you as he stood, offering you a hand to help you up. “Looks like I am,” he said, his tone nonchalant, but his smirk betrayed him.

You took his hand, standing and brushing off your knees before looking at Scott. “The drawer’s fixed, so you’re welcome.”

Scott muttered something under his breath that you didn’t catch, but Logan chuckled as if he had. “Don’t strain yourself with gratitude, Summers,” he quipped, stepping closer to you.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you nudged Logan’s arm lightly. “Stop antagonizing him.”

“What? I’m just helpin’,” Logan said, his tone all faux innocence.

Scott pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly done with the both of you. “Thanks for fixing the drawer,” he said, pointedly not looking at Logan.

“Anytime,” you replied, flashing a quick smile before grabbing your bag from the floor. Logan was already holding the door open for you, his stance casual but his eyes watching you closely.

As you stepped past him, you murmured, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

Logan’s smirk widened, and he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “You love it, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks heated, but you didn’t deny it, focusing instead on walking down the hallway with Logan falling into step beside you.

“Why do you always have to get under his skin?” you asked, glancing at him.

“’Cause it’s easy,” he replied with a shrug, his hand brushing yours as you walked. “And it’s fun.”

You huffed a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re going to push him too far one day.”

“Nah,” Logan said, his tone confident. “He’s all bark, no bite. Kinda like a Chihuahua in red shades.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet hallway. “You’re terrible.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughin’,” he pointed out, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You bit your lip to stop the smile spreading across your face, but Logan noticed anyway. His hand brushed yours again, this time lingering, and you hesitated for only a moment before lacing your fingers through his.

“Thought you didn’t like public displays,” Logan teased gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

You gave him a sidelong glance, your voice soft but steady. “Maybe I’m getting used to it.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer as he squeezed your hand. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t plan on keepin’ my distance.”

The ease of his words, the certainty in them, settled over you like a blanket. You weren’t sure when exactly things had shifted between the two of you, but you weren’t complaining.

---

Later that evening, you were sitting in the mansion’s kitchen, a mug of tea cradled in your hands, when Jean walked in. She looked tired, but her smile brightened when she saw you.

“Burning the midnight oil?” she asked, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and pouring herself some water.

“Not tonight,” you replied, taking a sip of your tea. “Just needed to unwind for a bit.”

Jean leaned against the counter, studying you for a moment. “You seem… lighter lately,” she said, her tone curious but kind.

You felt a blush creeping up your neck but tried to play it off. “Do I?”

Jean’s lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. “You do. And Logan seems—well, let’s just say he’s been a lot less grumpy.”

Your grip on the mug tightened slightly, but you kept your expression neutral. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Jean hummed, taking a sip of her water. “Whatever’s going on, it suits you.”

You glanced at her, searching for any hint of teasing, but her smile was genuine. “Thanks, Jean.”

She nodded, setting her glass down. “Anytime. Just don’t let him get too cocky, okay? He’s insufferable enough as it is.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, the sound light and easy. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jean gave you a playful wink before heading back out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the quiet warmth blooming in your chest.

---

You hummed to yourself as you finished folding your clothes in the laundry room, the gentle rhythm of the task giving your mind a rare moment of quiet. The warm scent of freshly dried fabric lingered in the air as you placed the last neatly folded shirt in the basket.

Just as you reached for the basket, Logan appeared in the doorway. He leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t peg you for a laundry hummer,” he teased.

You glanced over your shoulder, a shy smile forming. “It’s either that or risk falling asleep mid-task.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, as he pushed off the doorframe and walked over. Without a word, he grabbed the basket from the counter.

“I’ve got it,” you protested, reaching for the basket. “It’s not heavy.”

Logan arched a brow. “Didn’t say it was. But why carry it when I’m right here?”

You sighed, not entirely annoyed but still a little flustered. “You know, I can handle a laundry basket, Logan.”

“Never said you couldn’t, darlin’.” His voice softened as he tilted his head to look at you. “But you don’t have to. Not when I’m around.”

Your stomach did a little flip at the way he said it—easy, matter-of-fact, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was, at least with him.

He carried the basket out into the hall, and you trailed after him, not sure whether to keep arguing or just accept it. You opted for the latter, though you did mutter, “you’re something else.”

Logan smirked again but didn’t respond, his focus on navigating the hallway with the basket balanced easily in one hand. When you reached your room, he set it down just inside the door and turned back to you.

“Anythin’ else you need carried?” he asked, the teasing lilt back in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “I’ll let you know when I need a bodyguard for my groceries.”

Logan’s smirk softened into something warmer, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than usual. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you quickly busied yourself with the basket, pulling out the first stack of clothes to put away. Logan didn’t move to leave, though. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an expression that was almost... content.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“Nothing.” He shook his head slightly, his lips curving into a small, private smile. “Just like watchin’ you.”

Your face grew warm, and you ducked your head, focusing on shoving your socks into a drawer. “You’re weird.”

He chuckled, low and deep, before pushing off the frame. “Maybe. But you like it.”

You didn’t respond—mostly because he wasn’t wrong—and Logan seemed satisfied with your silence. With a nod, he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone with the faint trace of his laughter still lingering in the air.

And the unmistakable feeling that you’d never get used to the way he made your heart race.

---

You flipped the page of your notes, underlining a key point to emphasize in tomorrow’s class. Logan sat on your bed, supposedly reading a book, though you doubted he’d turned a page in the last fifteen minutes. He was too quiet, and you could feel his gaze flick to you every so often.

“Something on your mind?” you asked without looking up, your pen tapping against the margin of your paper.

“Nah,” Logan drawled, though the corner of his mouth lifted. “Just wonderin’ how long you plan on workin’. Feels like you’ve been at it all night.”

You glanced at the clock on your desk. “It’s barely nine.”

“Still too late for work.” He set the book down—one you were now convinced he wasn’t reading—and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “Y’know, you don’t have to keep yourself buried in this stuff.”

“It’s not like I’m overworking,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “I’m just... organized.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, and you could feel his gaze softening. “Yeah, you’re somethin’ alright.”

You were about to make a quip back when he nodded toward your desk. “Why’s your room so... empty?”

The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

He gestured vaguely around. “I mean, there’s barely anything in here. No pictures, no knick-knacks. Hell, even my room’s got more personality.”

You set your pen down, glancing around the room as if seeing it through his eyes for the first time. He wasn’t wrong. Your walls were bare save for a single calendar, your shelves held only books and a lamp, and your desk was as spartan as a professor’s office.

“I guess I’m just used to it,” you said quietly, brushing a stray hair behind your ear.

Logan sat up fully, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you. “Used to what?”

You hesitated, fiddling with the corner of your notebook. “Not having much. Growing up, my parents didn’t really... care to keep me around. My grandmother raised me, and she did her best, but we didn’t have a lot. I guess I never got used to decorating or buying stuff just because I wanted it.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, a shadow crossing his face. “Your folks didn’t want you?”

You shrugged, trying to make it seem like it didn’t bother you as much as it used to. “They had their own lives. Grandma was amazing, though. She always made sure I had what I needed. It just... wasn’t a lot.”

He didn’t respond right away, his jaw working as he processed what you’d said. Finally, he leaned back, his voice softer than you’d expected. “Sounds like she was a hell of a woman.”

“She was,” you agreed, smiling faintly. “She passed away when I was eighteen, but I owe her everything.”

Logan nodded, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he spoke again. “You ever think about makin’ this place feel more like home?”

You blinked at him. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”

“Start with somethin’ small,” he suggested, his tone almost casual, but there was something deliberate in the way he spoke. “Picture frame, maybe. Couple of knick-knacks. I don’t know—whatever makes you feel good.”

You tilted your head, giving him a curious look. “Why do you care if my room’s decorated?”

“‘Cause it’s yours,” he said simply. “And you deserve to have a place that feels like it.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten, and you had to look away, suddenly feeling shy. “I’ll... think about it.”

Logan leaned back again, the corner of his mouth lifting in that familiar smirk. “Good. And if you need help, you know where to find me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re just looking for an excuse to boss me around.”

“Damn right,” he replied, the teasing glint in his eyes making your heart skip a beat.

As you returned to your notes, Logan picked up his book again, but this time, he actually started reading. Still, every so often, you caught him glancing your way, that same soft look on his face.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself wonder what it might be like to make a place feel like home—with someone like him in it.

---

You, Logan, and Ororo were tasked with this month’s grocery shopping. Ororo tasked herself with picking out the fruits and vegetables, saying something about ‘not being confident in Logan’s abilities.’

You grabbed a few large boxes of rice while Logan pushed the half-full cart. You marked off ‘rice’ on your list as Logan turned the corner into the next aisle. As he walked ahead, you paused for a moment, your attention caught by a display in the bedding section. A soft white throw blanket was folded neatly on the shelf, its texture inviting. You reached out, brushing your fingers across it briefly before shaking your head and hurrying to catch up with Logan.

By the time you rounded the corner, Logan was already halfway down the aisle, scanning the shelves with casual disinterest. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard you approaching. “What took you so long, sweetheart? You get lost?”

“Just got distracted,” you said, tucking the list back into your pocket.

His brow quirked slightly, and you knew he was about to say something teasing. Instead, he just gave you a small, knowing smile. “Figured as much. Ready to finish this up?”

You nodded, taking hold of the cart’s edge and steering it toward the canned goods. The rest of the trip passed in a comfortable rhythm—Ororo rejoined you both occasionally, dropping things into the cart with precision while Logan grumbled about the increasing load. You couldn’t help but smile as the two bickered lightly over produce, Logan insisting that his choices were ‘perfectly fine’ while Ororo shot him unimpressed looks.

When the shopping was done, you found yourself back in the parking lot, helping load bags into the van. Logan insisted on carrying most of the heavier ones despite your protests.

“You don’t need to play the hero every time we carry groceries,” you pointed out, balancing a bag filled with bread and snacks.

Logan smirked, slinging another bag over his shoulder. “Ain’t about bein’ a hero. Just don’t trust you not to drop the eggs.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah, but you like me anyway,” he quipped, brushing past you to load the last of the bags. His voice was light, but there was something softer in the way he glanced back at you.

Ororo stepped in before you could reply, clapping her hands together. “Alright, let’s get back. I have a feeling the kids have already raided the pantry while we were gone.”

The drive back to the mansion was quiet, the evening sun casting long shadows across the road. Logan sat in the passenger seat, his arm resting on the open window. Occasionally, his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, catching your reflection. You tried not to think too much about the way your heart skipped when you met his gaze.

When you pulled into the driveway and began unloading, Logan’s pace slowed near the back of the van. As Ororo carried a few bags toward the mansion, Logan reached into the trunk and pulled something out, holding it behind his back.

“What’s that?” you asked, stepping closer.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Nothin’.”

You arched a brow, suspicion creeping in. “Logan…”

With a small smirk, he revealed the soft white throw blanket you’d admired earlier in the store. Your mouth opened in surprise, words failing you for a moment.

“You were lookin’ at it,” he said, his voice gruff but quiet. “Figured you might like it.”

Your cheeks burned, and you fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Didn’t say I had to.” He held it out to you, his expression softer than usual. “Just thought it’d be nice to have. That’s all.”

You took the blanket from him, your fingers brushing his briefly. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say, but the warmth spreading through your chest was undeniable. “Thank you,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, as you leaned up and kissed the corner of his lips.

Logan blinked, clearly caught off guard, but his lips quirked into a soft smirk as you stepped back. “That’s all I get?” he teased, voice low. “A quick peck for goin’ outta my way like that?”

Your face warmed, but you mustered a little courage, shrugging. “Well, you didn’t have to get it.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to,” he countered, his tone somewhere between gruff and teasing. He stepped closer, the corner of the van offering a bit of privacy. His hand brushed your arm, thumb skimming just below your sleeve. “That blanket looked like it had your name written all over it. Figured it’d be a crime not to grab it.”

You ducked your head, your shyness bubbling to the surface, but you couldn’t fight the smile creeping across your lips. “You’re too much sometimes, you know that?”

“Nah.” He tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “Just enough, I’d say.”

Before you could respond, Ororo’s voice cut through the moment. “Logan! Y/N! Are you two planning to move in back there, or are you going to help me with the rest of these bags?”

Logan straightened, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “Guess we’re holdin’ up the whole operation.”

You laughed softly, hugging the blanket to your chest. “Come on, hero. You’ve got groceries to save.”

He smirked at that, grabbing another bag as the two of you made your way toward the mansion. The rest of the evening passed in the usual controlled chaos—students helping unload the van, food being sorted and tucked away, and Logan grumbling about the “damn kids” taking the snacks before they’d even been put away.

Later that night, after dinner and a quiet stretch of grading papers, you found yourself curled up on the couch in the common room. The new blanket was draped over your lap, its soft fabric warm against your skin as you flipped through a physics journal. You didn’t hear Logan enter until the couch dipped slightly beside you.

“Comfortable?” he asked, nodding toward the blanket.

You glanced up, pushing your glasses higher on your nose. “Very. I think you made a good choice.”

“Damn right I did,” he said, leaning back and stretching an arm along the back of the couch. “You looked like a kid in a candy store when you saw it.”

You chuckled, setting the journal aside. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

He snorted, his lips twitching. “Darlin’, I notice a lot more than you think.”

There was something in his tone—a quiet sincerity that made your stomach flutter. You didn’t look away this time, meeting his gaze and finding that familiar intensity there. It was the same look he gave you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the one that made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“What?” you asked softly, unable to help the small smile tugging at your lips.

Logan shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into that signature smirk. “Nothin’. Just thinkin’ about how much trouble you are.”

You laughed, leaning against his side. “Pretty sure you’re the one who’s trouble.”

“Maybe,” he said, his voice rumbling low as he shifted to drape an arm around your shoulders. “But you don’t seem to mind too much.”

And you didn’t. Not one bit.

---

You had vaguely realized you slipped on one of Logan’s flannels he left in your room, only because it was a little chilly tonight, and your robe was too thick.

You grabbed a lighter and lit one of your candles, one Jean saw you eyeing in the mall when you went out with her a few days ago. And instead of brushing it off like usual, you bought it. The scent was simply ‘blueberries’, but it reminded you of when your grandma made blueberry pancakes on your birthday or special occasions.

Sitting down at your desk, you pulled out your pen and started sorting through the extra credit assignments your students had turned in earlier. You weren’t a workaholic, but you liked to stay organized, and with a quiet evening ahead, it was as good a time as any to get ahead. The soft scent of the blueberry candle filled the room, its glow casting a warm light on the pages. Logan’s flannel draped over your frame was cozy, slightly oversized, and it carried the faintest trace of his scent—woodsmoke and something clean, distinctly him.

You flipped through the first assignment, marking a few notes in the margins. Just as you settled into a rhythm, there was a knock at your door, quick and familiar. Before you could call out, it creaked open, and Logan leaned against the doorframe, his usual smirk in place.

“Figured you’d still be workin’,” he said, his voice low but warm.

You glanced up, adjusting your glasses. “Just finishing up a few things. What’s up?”

He stepped inside, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Not much. Kids’re finally crashin’ for the night. Thought I’d check on you. See if you were gonna hole up in here all night.”

You smiled faintly, gesturing to the pile of papers. “Not all night. Just trying to get these done so I’m not scrambling tomorrow.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to the candle, then to the flannel you were wearing. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That my shirt?”

You blinked, looking down as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh. Yeah, sorry—I was cold, and it was just… there.” You grabbed the placket of his flannel and began to slip it off before Logan walked over, placing his hands over yours.

“Who said I wanted ya to take it off?”

His hands rested over yours, warm and firm, halting your motion. For a second, the room seemed still, the faint crackle of the candlewick the only sound breaking the quiet. Your cheeks warmed under his steady gaze, and you swallowed, suddenly unsure what to do with yourself.

“I just—” you started, only for Logan to cut you off with a soft smirk.

“Relax, sweetheart. Looks good on ya.” His voice was low, rough in that familiar way that always seemed to settle something restless in you.

You felt your grip loosen on the fabric, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you let the flannel fall back into place. “It’s just… comfortable,” you admitted softly, tugging the hem slightly as though to make a point.

“Damn right it is,” Logan said, stepping back but keeping his eyes on you. “Figured it would be, seein’ as it’s mine.”

You bit back a smile, leaning slightly against your desk. “You’re not gonna make me give it back, are you?”

He snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “Not a chance. Looks better on you anyway.”

The compliment hung in the air, unspoken but clear in his tone. Your lips twitched upward, the shyness that usually crept in around Logan giving way to a bit of playfulness.

“Careful,” you teased lightly, “if you keep talking like that, I might think you actually like me or something.”

His brows rose, and the smirk widened just enough to send a flicker of warmth through your chest. “Oh, darlin’, you already know I do.”

There was no teasing in his voice this time, and the sudden weight of his words made your breath catch. You glanced down, fiddling with the corner of a paper on your desk, not quite able to meet his gaze.

“I like you too,” you said quietly, the words simple but sincere.

Logan straightened slightly, his arms dropping to his sides as he closed the small gap between you. He didn’t say anything at first, just reached out, his hand brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered just a second longer than necessary, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “I know.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs, but before you could say anything else, Logan’s hand dropped to his side, and he nodded toward the pile of papers on your desk. “You finishin’ those tonight?”

You glanced at the stack, then back at him. “I was planning to, but…” You hesitated, gauging his expression. “Why? Did you have something else in mind?”

Logan grinned, a flash of teeth that was more mischievous than intimidating. “Thought I’d see if you wanted to take a break. Couch downstairs is lookin’ real empty without you on it.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension in the air. “Tempting offer. Let me just finish a couple more, and I’ll meet you down there?”

“Deal.” He turned, heading for the door, but paused in the frame, glancing back over his shoulder. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, darlin’. That blanket of yours isn’t gonna hog itself.”

Your smile lingered long after he disappeared down the hall.

When you finally made it to the common room, Logan was sprawled on the couch, the remote in one hand and a half-empty bottle of beer in the other. He glanced up when he heard you enter, his expression softening as he took you in—glasses perched on your nose, his flannel still hanging loosely around you, the white throw blanket tucked under your arm.

“’Bout time,” he said, shifting to make room for you. “Thought you’d fallen asleep on me up there.”

“Not quite,” you replied, settling beside him and pulling the blanket over your lap. “Just had a few things to wrap up.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, draping his arm along the back of the couch so it brushed lightly against your shoulder. “What’d ya light up there? Smelled like somethin’ sweet when I walked by.”

“Oh, just a candle I got the other day,” you said, adjusting the blanket. “Blueberry. It reminded me of…” You trailed off, hesitating.

Logan tilted his head, his gaze curious but patient. “Of what?”

“Of my grandma,” you admitted quietly. “She used to make blueberry pancakes when I was a kid. It was kind of… our thing.”

His expression softened, the usual sharpness in his eyes giving way to something warmer. “Sounds nice. Bet she made a hell of a pancake.”

“She did,” you said, smiling faintly at the memory.

For a while, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the low hum of the TV filling the room. Logan’s thumb brushed absently against your shoulder, a small, steady movement that felt grounding. You leaned into him slightly, the weight of the day slipping away in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “You doin’ okay?”

The question caught you off guard, but you nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his gaze fixed on the TV, though you could tell his attention was elsewhere. “Just… you’ve been workin’ hard. Wanted to make sure you’re not overdo—”

You cut him off, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to make him pause, his eyes flicking to yours with something close to surprise.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, your voice gentle. “But thank you for asking.”

Logan held your gaze for a long moment, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He didn’t respond right away, but the look in his eyes spoke volumes. And as his arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you closer, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you were finally starting to let yourself enjoy this—enjoy him.

---

Movie night was cherished by everyone; loads of popcorn popped in the microwave, an obsessive amount of butter used, and the candy and sweets supply gone in a matter of seconds before the movie even started. The younger students had fought over the best spots on the floor while the older team members claimed the couches. The mansion’s common room, usually buzzing with activity, had settled into a cozy calm as the opening credits rolled.

You sat nestled into Logan’s side, his arm slung lazily around your shoulders. It wasn’t the first time you found yourself in this position during a movie night, but it was the first time you didn’t feel the familiar tug of self-consciousness. Logan’s presence had a way of grounding you, the steady weight of his arm an unspoken reassurance that you didn’t have to overthink it.

He twirled a strand of your hair around one of his fingers absentmindedly, his attention ostensibly on the screen but his actions telling another story. The motion was small, gentle, and oddly soothing. You caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips when he realized you hadn’t pulled away.

“You comfortable, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice low enough not to disturb the others but still carrying that familiar warmth.

You tilted your head slightly to look at him, a soft smile of your own forming. “Very,” you admitted quietly. “Are you?”

He chuckled under his breath, his fingers brushing against your hair again. “Yeah. Got everything I need right here.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t look away, feeling a newfound boldness stirring within you. You leaned a little closer, letting yourself relax into him completely.

The movie played on, a mix of action and humor that had the room alternating between bursts of laughter and quiet concentration. Logan seemed mostly indifferent to the plot, but you could tell he was enjoying the rare downtime as much as you were. The younger kids whispered among themselves, sneaking extra handfuls of popcorn while Jean and Scott shared occasional glances from the other side of the room.

By the time the credits rolled, a few of the younger students had already started to drift off, their sugar highs fading fast. Logan stretched slightly but didn’t move from his spot, his arm still draped around you.

“You about ready to call it a night?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing against your shoulder.

You nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yeah, I think so.”

He stood, offering you a hand. You took it without hesitation, and he pulled you up gently. As the others began cleaning up the remnants of snacks and blankets, Logan guided you toward the hall with an ease that felt entirely natural.

“I could’ve walked myself, you know,” you teased lightly as the two of you strolled toward your room.

“Yeah, I know,” he replied, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “But where’s the fun in that?”

When you reached your door, he paused, leaning casually against the frame. “You sure you’re good?” he asked, his voice softer now that it was just the two of you.

You nodded, fiddling with the hem of his flannel that you were still wearing. “I’m good, Logan. Thanks for tonight.”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. Then, with a faint grin, he reached out and tapped the side of your glasses lightly. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”

You smiled, but before he turned to leave, you tugged on his sleeve, the soft fabric catching slightly between your fingers. Logan stopped immediately, his eyes dropping to your hand and then back to your face, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

Leaning up on your toes, you pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It was tentative, shy in a way that made your heart pound, but you didn’t pull away too quickly. When you finally stepped back, his expression was unreadable for a beat—then his lips curved into a slow, unmistakable smirk.

“Well, look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing but with an edge of something deeper. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a way that made you melt. “You’ve got no idea what you just started.”

You felt a giggle bubble up, and before you could stop yourself, it escaped. “Oh, really?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light despite the heat blooming in your cheeks.

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned down, capturing your lips again, but this time there was nothing tentative about it. His kiss was deeper, slower, and it stole the breath from your lungs. His other hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction closer as his fingers pressed into the flannel you still wore.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breathing as steady as ever, though his voice was huskier now. “You’re not gettin’ away with a kiss like that without me makin’ it count.”

Your laughter came easier this time, softer, as you felt yourself relax fully into his presence. “I wasn’t trying to get away with anything,” you whispered, your fingers lightly curling into the front of his shirt.

“Good.” His lips brushed against your forehead as he stepped back, his hand lingering at your waist for a moment longer. “’Cause I’d have to come after ya if you did.”

The teasing edge in his voice was enough to make you roll your eyes fondly, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at your lips. Logan caught it, of course, and his own smirk softened into something warmer.

“I’ll let you sleep,” he said, his hand finally dropping away. “But don’t think I’m not gonna remember this.”

“Goodnight, Logan,” you replied with a laugh, shaking your head at him as you opened the door.

“Night, sweetheart,” he said, stepping back into the hallway but pausing for just a second longer, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he finally turned and walked away.

You closed the door behind you, your heart still fluttering in your chest as you leaned back against it. The soft glow of the blueberry candle flickered on your desk, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, a small, private smile still on your lips.

You couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you were getting the hang of this whole affection thing after all.

---

The TV flickered softly in the dark room, casting a warm glow as the classic Western played. You had half your attention on a stack of physics homework, pen in hand, scribbling notes in the margins of your students' assignments. Logan sat beside you, his arm draped over your shoulders, a cold beer in his other hand. His body heat, the soft scent of his cologne mingled with leather and something ruggedly him, and the steady rise and fall of his chest were grounding.

“You know, for someone who manipulates time, you’re awfully slow at grading,” he teased, his deep voice rumbling through you.

You nudged his side with your elbow, not looking up from the paper you were marking. “Patience, Logan. It’s a virtue.”

He chuckled. “Not one of mine.”

As the minutes passed, your focus wavered. The warm room, Logan’s comforting presence, and the low hum of the movie were a potent combination. You stifled a yawn, trying to blink away the sleepiness creeping over you. When Logan felt you shift against him, his arm tightened just slightly.

“Hey,” he said, glancing down at you. “Why don’t you call it for the night? You’re about to start drooling on my flannel.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed at his teasing. “I’m fine. Just a little—” You yawned again, more pronounced this time, betraying your attempt to play it cool.

Logan smirked knowingly. “Sure you are, darlin’. C’mon, just crash here. Not like you haven’t before.”

His casual tone carried an edge of tenderness that made your stomach flutter. You hesitated, though, fiddling with the edge of his shirt sleeve. “I don’t want to intrude. It’s your space.”

Logan raised a brow at you, the corners of his mouth quirking up in amusement. “You’re already takin’ up half the bed with your papers and that death grip you’ve got on my flannel. How much more ‘intruding’ could you do?”

You tried to stifle a laugh but failed miserably. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he shot back, setting his beer down and turning to face you more fully. His voice softened. “Stay, Y/N. I sleep better when you’re here anyway.”

Your chest tightened at the honesty in his words, and you gave a small nod. “Okay. But only because you insisted.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly how it went,” he deadpanned with a smirk, reaching to collect the stack of papers in your lap. “Gimme those. You can terrorize the kids tomorrow.”

You let him take the work, watching as he set it on the nightstand before grabbing your glasses and gently slipping them off your face. “There. Now you’ve got no excuses.”

His hands were careful, deliberate, as he folded your glasses and placed them beside the papers. It was such a simple gesture, but it made your heart ache in the best way.

Sliding under the covers, you sighed as Logan turned off the TV, the soft hum of static fading to silence. When he joined you, the mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and he wasted no time wrapping an arm around you, pulling you flush against his side.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, your voice sleepy as you snuggled into his chest.

“Good,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Means you’re not gonna freeze on me.”

You smiled against him, your fingers curling lightly against his shirt. The quiet settled around you both, comfortable and familiar, as Logan’s hand traced lazy circles on your back. His presence was grounding, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby.

“Logan?” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

“Yeah?” His tone was low, patient.

“Thanks... for everything.”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your temple. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

It wasn’t long before sleep claimed you, the feeling of safety and Logan’s steady presence the last thing you remembered.

---

The sunlight seeped into the room through the thin cracks in the blinds, casting soft, warm patterns across the bed. Logan stirred slightly, the shift of your weight against his chest the only thing keeping him from falling back into a deeper sleep. Your head was tucked under his chin, one arm draped lazily across his waist, and he could feel the steady rhythm of your breathing against him.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. This—this quiet, peaceful moment—was rare in his life. It wasn’t just the calm, though. It was you.

His hand, resting lightly on your back, moved of its own accord, tracing absent patterns along the flannel you wore. It was one of his, of course—worn, soft, and just a little too big for you. The sight of you in it had done something to him, a mix of pride and affection that he hadn’t let himself analyze too closely. Not that he needed to; Logan had always been a man who trusted his instincts, and every instinct he had screamed to hold on to you for as long as he could.

He sighed quietly, his thumb brushing over the fabric as his thoughts began to wander. He didn’t sleep much, not deeply, and the nights when you stayed with him were... different. The nightmares didn’t hit as hard. The gaps in his memory didn’t haunt him as much. You didn’t fill the holes left by what he couldn’t remember, but you gave him something better: hope.

Hope. The word sat heavy in his mind. He didn’t dare to speak it aloud, not even to himself. But as his gaze drifted down to you, the way you clung to him in your sleep, his chest tightened. He’d been through this before—five times before. Five versions of you, each so much like the one before, and each one lost too soon.

His jaw clenched at the thought, a protective surge flaring in his chest. He wouldn’t lose you again. He couldn’t. This time... this time had to be different.

Logan let his head fall back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling as his fingers continued their unconscious movements on your back. It wasn’t just the hope that you’d stay this time—it was the hope that maybe he could be enough for you. You deserved more than a man like him, a man with bloodied hands and a past he couldn’t even piece together. But you didn’t seem to care about any of that. When you looked at him, there wasn’t judgment in your eyes, only trust.

The thought scared him. It thrilled him, too.

You shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible as your fingers tightened against his side. Logan glanced down, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you bury your face against him, clearly not ready to wake up yet.

“Cuddly little thing,” he muttered under his breath, his voice a low rumble. His hand came up to gently brush a strand of hair from your face. “Should’ve warned me before you moved in and took over my damn bed.”

You didn’t respond, of course, but a soft hum escaped your lips, and Logan swore he felt something crack in his chest. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here, holding you in his arms, waking up to your warmth pressed against him—but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to question it.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway broke the stillness, and Logan’s gaze snapped to the door, his body instinctively tensing. But the steps moved past without pause, and he relaxed again, his hand coming up to cradle your head against him.

His fingers brushed lightly against your temple, his touch tender despite the strength in his hands. “You’re gonna stick around this time,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “You hear me, sweetheart? You’re not goin’ anywhere.”

You stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, your lashes fluttering as your eyes cracked open. Blinking up at him, you gave a sleepy smile, one that made his chest ache in the best way.

“Morning,” you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep.

Logan smirked, his hand coming up to tap the tip of your nose. “Morning, darlin’. Sleep okay?”

You nodded, letting out a content sigh as you snuggled closer to him. “Best sleep I’ve had in ages.”

His smirk softened into something warmer, his gaze lingering on you. “Good,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re stayin’ here more often, then.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks flushing as you looked up at him. “Bossy this morning, aren’t we?”

“Always,” he shot back, his tone teasing but his eyes serious. He reached down to press a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for just a moment. “But only when it comes to you.”

You didn’t reply, but the way you smiled up at him, your hand curling lightly against his chest, told him everything he needed to know.

---

The halls were empty, the muffled hum of distant voices and the occasional scrape of a chair faintly audible through the closed doors. Logan walked beside you, his arm resting comfortably around your shoulders. The warmth of his hand against your upper arm sent a reassuring calm through you, grounding you in the moment.

You weren’t heading anywhere in particular. There was no class for you this period, so it seemed natural to just wander. Logan’s presence had a way of easing the tension you often carried. His steps were steady, his casual confidence contagious.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, glancing down at you, his voice soft enough not to break the stillness of the hall.

“I’m always quiet,” you replied, teasing him as you nudged his side lightly.

“Not with me,” he countered, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. Around Logan, it was easier to let your guard down.

As you reached the end of the hallway, he slowed, turning to face you. His arm slipped from your shoulders, and his hand found yours instead, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The way he looked at you—steady, unwavering—still had the power to make your heart race.

“Got somethin’ on your mind?” he asked, his tone gentler now.

You hesitated, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Nothing serious. Just… glad we have these moments. It feels normal.”

His expression softened, and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I get that.”

Before you could respond, Logan’s hand moved to your waist, tugging you closer. The kiss that followed was slow and deliberate, a quiet promise in the way his lips moved against yours. You felt the warmth bloom in your chest, the world narrowing to just the two of you for a fleeting moment.

A faint chuckle broke the silence, making you both pull back abruptly. Turning toward the sound, you saw Charles in his wheelchair, an amused glint in his eyes.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Charles said, his tone light. “I was simply passing through.”

Your cheeks burned as you stepped back slightly, though Logan didn’t move far, his hand still resting at your waist.

“Didn’t think you needed to apologize, Chuck,” Logan said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.

Charles smiled knowingly. “I see the two of you have been enjoying each other’s company.”

You opened your mouth to respond but faltered, unsure what to say. Logan, as always, was quicker.

“Yeah, we have,” he said simply, his gaze unwavering as he looked at Charles.

“Well,” Charles said, his smile growing as he nodded toward you, “carry on, then. But do try not to block the hallway.” With that, he moved past, his wheelchair gliding smoothly down the corridor.

Once he was out of earshot, Logan glanced down at you, his smirk returning. “You’re blushin’, darlin’.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands, being careful of your glasses. “Of course I am! We just got caught—”

“Kissin’ in the hall?” he interrupted, clearly amused. “Not exactly a crime.”

“It’s not about that,” you said, peeking up at him through your fingers. “I just—”

He cut you off with another kiss, his lips brushing against yours in a way that melted your embarrassment. When he pulled back, his smirk was softer, his voice quieter. “Relax. It’s just us.”

You nodded, the tension easing from your shoulders. As he laced his fingers with yours and guided you further down the hall, you couldn’t help but smile. Logan had a way of making everything feel simpler, even when it wasn’t.

And as you walked together, you realized you didn’t mind if people noticed. Being with Logan—his hand in yours, his presence steady at your side—felt right. And that was all that mattered.

---

The radio played softly in the background, some classic rock tune filtering through the medbay as you and Jean worked. The scent of disinfectant lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the faintly metallic tang of medical supplies. Jean stood by one of the cabinets, carefully stacking bandages, while you sorted through a box of various medications and supplies.

“So then,” Jean said, a smile in her voice as she spoke, “he gets back up, brushes himself off like it didn’t just happen, and tries to give me this look—you know the one—like he’s still in control.” She laughed lightly. “Scott can be so smooth until he’s not.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you placed another vial into the correct drawer. “He tripped over the toolbox again, didn’t he?”

“Third time this week,” Jean confirmed, setting down the stack of gauze she was holding. “It’s like his visor blinds him to anything below knee level.”

“Maybe he needs a warning system,” you joked. “Like a little beep every time he’s about to trip.”

Jean laughed, but it turned into a small, sharp intake of breath. Her hand shot to her temple, and she winced, nearly dropping the bottle she was holding.

“Jean?” You stepped forward, concern pulling at your features. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, waving you off with a tight smile. “It’s just a headache. Probably from not drinking enough water—or Scott stressing me out.”

You didn’t look convinced. “That looked more like a migraine starting than just a little headache.”

She brushed your concern aside, her voice steady but with a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. “I’m fine. Really.” She turned back to the cabinet, her movements deliberate. “Let’s just finish up here.”

You hesitated, but when she didn’t elaborate further, you decided not to push. Instead, you returned to sorting through the supplies, though you kept an eye on her. The quiet between you stretched for a moment, filled only by the sound of bottles and boxes being moved.

“So,” Jean started again, her tone lighter as if trying to steer the conversation back to normal, “how’s Logan?”

Her question caught you off guard. You glanced at her, feeling heat creep into your cheeks. “What do you mean?”

She arched a brow at you, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, come on. You two are… spending time together.”

“Spending time together,” you repeated, deadpan.

Jean rolled her eyes and turned to face you, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Fine. You’re dating. And don’t try to deny it, Y/N; I’ve seen the two of you.”

You sighed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and warmth at the thought of Logan. “We haven’t exactly been keeping it a secret.”

“No, but you’re not shouting it from the rooftops, either.” Her smile softened, and she tilted her head. “You seem happy.”

“I am,” you admitted, unable to keep the smile off your face. “It’s… it’s nice. Being with him feels natural.”

Jean nodded, her expression thoughtful. “He’s good for you, you know. I mean, Logan’s not exactly the easiest guy to figure out, but with you—” She trailed off, her gaze flickering toward the window as if something had distracted her.

“Jean?” you asked gently, watching as her brows furrowed slightly.

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. “I lost my train of thought.”

You frowned, but before you could ask more, she straightened and reached for the clipboard on the counter. “Anyway,” she continued briskly, “we’ve got about half an hour before the next group comes in for their check-ups. Let’s finish this up.”

Her shift in tone was enough to signal that she didn’t want to dwell on whatever had distracted her. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was… off. You nodded, deciding to let it go for now, and returned to your task.

The quiet settled over the two of you again, broken only by the occasional rustle of supplies. But in the back of your mind, the image of Jean’s wince lingered. You made a mental note to check on her later, even if she insisted she was fine.

---

The steady rhythm of your sewing needle was oddly soothing, the soft swish of thread through fabric blending with the distant murmur of voices from the common room. You sat in the library, a warm lamp casting a golden glow on your hands as you carefully repaired one of the kids' shirts. The hole wasn’t too big, but enough for Theresa to complain about it after snagging it during a game of hide-and-seek.

Logan leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed as he watched you. He didn’t say anything, just stood there, the faintest of smirks tugging at his lips. You’d known he was there for a few minutes now, but his silence didn’t bother you. Logan wasn’t the kind of man who needed to announce himself. His presence was as steady and grounding as the floor beneath your feet.

“Don’t know why you’re doin’ that,” he finally said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Kid’s just gonna tear it again.”

You glanced up, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile. “And I’ll sew it again,” you replied simply, not missing a stitch. “It’s what she asked for.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’re somethin’ else, darlin’.”

Your focus remained on the shirt, though you felt the weight of his gaze. You didn’t need to look up to know the expression on his face—the soft fondness that had crept in over the last few months.

A low tsk broke your concentration, followed by the unmistakable sound of Logan clicking his tongue. You looked up, your brows furrowed in confusion, only to find him patting his thigh. The gesture was casual, but the look in his eyes was warm, almost coaxing.

“C’mere,” he said, the gruffness in his tone softened by a hint of amusement.

Your cheeks warmed, and you hesitated, glancing down at the shirt in your hands. “Logan, I’m sewing—”

“You can sew sittin’ here,” he interrupted, patting his thigh again. “Don’t make me ask twice, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip, the shyness you thought you’d been shedding creeping back in. But Logan didn’t rush you, his patience as steady as his presence. After a moment, you set the shirt and needle aside, standing up and crossing the room. He didn’t say anything as you approached, just slid his hands to your waist to guide you onto his lap. His arms wrapped around you loosely, holding you steady as you settled in.

“There,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple as you reached for the shirt and needle again. “That’s better.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “I can’t believe you wanted me to sit here just so I could keep sewing.”

“Not just for that,” he said, leaning back slightly, his hands resting on your hips. “I like havin’ you close.”

The simplicity of his words made your heart stutter, and you ducked your head, focusing intently on the fabric in your hands. Logan chuckled, his chest rumbling softly against your back.

“You’re cute when you get all shy,” he teased, his voice low. “Still tryin’ to figure out why, though. It’s just me.”

“Exactly,” you muttered under your breath, earning another chuckle from him.

For a while, the two of you stayed like that, the silence between you comfortable. Logan’s thumb traced absentminded circles against your side, a grounding presence as you worked. You were nearly finished when a voice broke the quiet.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?”

You startled, nearly pricking your finger as you turned toward the doorway. Jean stood there, arms crossed, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. Her eyes flicked between you and Logan, her amusement obvious.

Logan didn’t so much as flinch. “Got a problem, Red?”

Jean raised her hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. “Not at all. Just wondering how long you two were planning on hiding in here.”

“Not hidin’,” Logan replied easily, his tone daring her to argue. “Just relaxin’.”

Jean arched a brow, her gaze settling on you. “Relaxing, huh?”

You groaned softly, the warmth in your cheeks betraying you even as you tried to focus on your sewing. “Jean…”

“What?” she said innocently, though her smirk suggested otherwise. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Logan asked, his voice tinged with mild irritation. But the way his hand tightened ever so slightly on your waist betrayed his protective instinct.

Jean rolled her eyes but didn’t push further. “Fine, fine. I’ll leave you two alone. But don’t forget, we’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes.” She glanced at you with a pointed look. “Both of you.”

You nodded, though you didn’t trust your voice to sound steady enough to respond. Jean gave you one last smile before disappearing down the hall, leaving you and Logan alone again.

“Meeting, huh?” Logan murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Guess we better get movin’ soon.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, a small smile playing on your lips. “In a minute. I’m almost done.”

Logan hummed, his arms tightening around you slightly. “Take your time, darlin’. I’m not in any rush.”

And for once, neither were you.

---

It was unusual for you to not feel a weight around you when you slept with Logan, either from his arms around you or his body pressed to your back.

You turned around to face him when you noticed a bead of sweat on his forehead and him mumbling something you couldn’t make out. His brow furrowed in distress, and his body shifted restlessly under the covers, his breaths shallow and uneven. You leaned in closer, brushing a hand against his arm.

“Logan?” you whispered gently, your voice soft enough not to startle him. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He didn’t respond, his mumbling growing louder, words spilling out in broken fragments. “No… stay back… can’t…” His hands gripped the blanket tightly, his knuckles whitening as a low growl rumbled from his chest. The sound sent a shiver through you—it was feral, almost pained.

“Logan,” you said again, louder this time, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Wake up.”

Before you could react, his claws shot out with a sharp snikt, slicing through the fabric of the blanket and grazing your forearm. You flinched as pain flared, a thin line of blood welling up across your skin. But you didn’t pull away.

“Logan!” you said firmly, your free hand cupping his face. “It’s me. Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open, wide and wild, and for a moment, you weren’t sure he even recognized you. His chest heaved as he took in his surroundings, the tension in his body slowly melting as reality settled back into place. His claws retracted with a metallic hiss, and he reached for you almost instinctively.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, guilt already thick in his tone. His gaze dropped to your arm, and he froze. “Shit… I—did I do that?”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, covering the cut with your other hand. The sting was already fading, and honestly, you were more worried about him than the injury. “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

His jaw tightened as he sat up, shaking his head. “Don’t give me that. I hurt you.” He reached for your arm, carefully pulling your hand away to inspect the cut. The sight of the blood made his expression darken. “I could’ve done worse.”

“Logan—”

“No,” he cut you off, his grip on your wrist firm but gentle. “This ain’t fine, Y/N. I could’ve—”

You exhaled softly, pressing your free hand to his chest. “Logan. Look at me.”

Reluctantly, he did, his eyes meeting yours, guilt flickering beneath the surface. “I’m okay,” you said firmly. “And I can fix this.”

Before he could argue, you focused on the cut, a faint shimmer of energy surrounding your hand as you slowed time around the wound. The blood seemed to retreat, the torn skin stitching itself back together until it was as if the injury had never happened. When you looked back at Logan, his brows were furrowed, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” he muttered, his voice low. “You shouldn’t have to use your powers just ‘cause I can’t keep my shit together.”

“Logan,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. His palm was rough, his fingers warm as they curled around yours. “You had a nightmare. That’s not your fault.”

He shook his head, his eyes dropping to where your arm had been cut. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve to get hurt ‘cause of me.”

You reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I’m not scared of you,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotions swirling in your chest. “I know you’d never hurt me on purpose.”

His gaze softened, though the tension in his shoulders remained. “Doesn’t mean I don’t worry about it,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve hurt people before… people I care about.”

You squeezed his hand, leaning closer until your forehead nearly touched his. “You’re not that man anymore. And even if you slip up, I’m still here. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Stubborn as hell, aren’t ya?”

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” you teased gently, earning a soft chuckle from him.

For a while, the two of you just sat there, the weight of the moment slowly giving way to a comfortable silence. Logan’s hand lingered on your arm, his thumb brushing over the now-healed skin as if to reassure himself it was really gone. His other hand moved to rest on your back, pulling you closer until you were tucked against his chest.

“You should sleep,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his shirt.

“I will,” he said, though his tone made it clear he had no intention of letting go of you anytime soon. “Just stay here.”

“Always,” you whispered, the word barely audible but enough to make him tighten his hold on you.

And for the rest of the night, neither of you let go.

---

After cleaning up the kitchen, Ororo had mentioned that the ice trays needed to be refilled tonight for the next morning.

The water faucet hissed softly as you tested the stream with your fingers again, patiently waiting for it to warm. A stack of five empty plastic ice trays sat next to you on the counter, neatly arranged like a to-do list. You dipped your fingertips under the flow and frowned when it still wasn’t quite hot enough. Behind you, the quiet creak of heavy footsteps announced Logan’s arrival.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, stopping just a few feet away. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“Filling the ice trays,” you answered without looking up. “Ororo mentioned they needed to be ready for the morning.”

“And why,” he said, stepping closer, his tone tinged with amusement, “are you waitin’ for the water to heat up for that?”

You turned, already gearing up for an explanation, and saw Logan leaning against the edge of the doorframe, arms crossed. His expression was bemused, but there was that familiar glint in his eyes—the one that told you he was in no rush to stop poking at you.

“Well,” you started, pushing your glasses up on your nose, “if you use warm water instead of cold, it freezes faster because of the Mpemba effect.”

“The what-now effect?” Logan tilted his head, his smirk growing. “Y’gonna tell me you’ve got some science magic that makes hot water turn to ice quicker?”

“It’s not magic,” you said, exasperated but smiling. “It’s physics. Look, it’s counterintuitive, sure, but the Mpemba effect happens when warmer water loses heat more quickly in certain conditions because—”

He stepped closer, watching your face as you gestured, your explanation picking up steam. “—warmer molecules have a higher average kinetic energy, and that affects convection currents. Plus, there’s evaporation at the surface, which reduces the volume of the water, and—”

Logan let out a soft laugh, cutting you off with a simple, “You’re cute when you ramble, y’know that?”

Your words stumbled, and you blinked at him, thrown by the sudden warmth in his voice. “I—what?”

“I said you’re cute,” he repeated, stepping into your space until the counter pressed against your back. His hand found your waist, fingers brushing lightly through the fabric of your shirt. “Real cute. And too damn smart for your own good.”

Your cheeks heated, and you tried to turn back toward the sink, but his hand slid up to cradle your jaw, keeping your attention on him. “Logan, the water—”

“Let it run,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your cheek. His expression softened, the teasing edge slipping away. “I love you.”

The words landed so easily, so naturally, that for a moment, you thought you’d misheard him. But the look in his eyes—the steadiness, the certainty—left no room for doubt.

“You… love me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Yeah,” he said simply, his hand slipping back to your waist to pull you closer. “I love you, Y/N. Been waitin’ a long time to say it.”

Your heart raced, your mind spinning as you processed his words. He loved you. Logan loved you. You opened your mouth to respond, but all you managed was a faint, breathless laugh, your hands curling against his chest.

“That funny to you?” he teased, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“No, no, it’s not—” You shook your head quickly, a wide grin breaking across your face. “It’s just—Logan, I love you too.”

His grin softened into something warmer, something private, as he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You reached up, sliding your hands along his shoulders. “Even if you don’t believe in the Mpemba effect.”

That earned a real laugh from him, low and rough and filled with so much affection it made your chest ache. “Don’t need to believe in it,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours. “I believe in you.”

And when he kissed you, warm and sure and so full of love, you knew you didn’t need anything else.

---

The mansion was unusually quiet for a Sunday afternoon, the calm settling like a blanket over the sprawling halls. Most of the students were outside enjoying the sunny day, their laughter floating faintly through the open windows. You’d been curled up in the living room, reading one of your well-loved books on the couch, when Logan strolled in.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he said, the rough timbre of his voice wrapping around you like a warm coat.

You glanced up from your book, smiling at the sight of him. His shirt was slightly rumpled, his hair doing that effortless thing where it looked messy and perfect all at once. “What gave me away?”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a habit, darlin’. You disappear every Sunday around this time. Figured you’d be here, buried in a book.”

“Guilty,” you admitted, shifting to make room for him on the couch.

Logan didn’t sit at first. Instead, he hovered, leaning over you to catch a glimpse of the title in your hands. “Pride and Prejudice?”

You arched a brow. “Surprised?”

“Not really,” he said, his smirk softening into something fond. “Figured you’d be into that kinda thing.”

You gave him a mock glare. “That ‘kinda thing’? It’s a classic.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He lowered himself onto the couch beside you, his arm draping over the back so his hand could rest on your shoulder. He pressed a soft kiss to your temple, murmuring, “I love you.”

Your heart fluttered, the now-familiar warmth of his words spreading through your chest. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, your lips twitching into a playful smile. “Again?”

“What?” Logan said, his grin widening. “You expect me to stop sayin’ it?”

“Never,” you teased, leaning into him. “I just don’t think you’ve gone more than an hour without saying it since last week.”

“Can’t help it,” he said simply, his voice low but earnest. “I love you, and I like sayin’ it. You got a problem with that?”

You shook your head, your cheeks warm. “Not even a little.”

Logan chuckled, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. His fingers traced lazy patterns over your shoulder, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear grounding you.

“Y’know,” he began after a few moments of comfortable silence, “I used to think this kinda thing wasn’t for me.”

You tilted your head up to look at him. “What? Lounging on a couch with someone while they read Jane Austen?”

He snorted. “That too. But mostly… this. Bein’ close to someone like this. It’s different with you.”

His words settled over you, weighty and sincere, and you felt your throat tighten. You reached up, your fingers brushing over the stubble on his jaw. “I’m glad it is,” you whispered.

Logan’s lips curved into a small smile, one reserved just for you. He leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that was soft but unhurried. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice dropping to a murmur. “I love you.”

Your laugh was quiet but full of affection. “That makes four times today.”

“Not keepin’ score, are ya?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Well,” he said, his tone turning playful, “better get used to it, darlin’. I’m not stoppin’ anytime soon.”

You didn’t think you’d ever want him to.

---

You were standing in the kitchen, brushing crumbs off the counter after dinner when Logan walked in. His presence was as effortless as always, but his eyes softened when they landed on you.

“You cleanin’ up again?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Habit,” you replied, tossing the crumbs into the trash. “Stormy made dessert earlier, so I’m just tidying up.”

Logan hummed, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “Looks clean enough to me.”

“Logan,” you protested lightly, though your smile betrayed you.

“What?” His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “Can’t a guy hug his girl?”

“You’ve been clingy today,” you teased, though you leaned into him, savoring his warmth.

“Clingy, huh?” he rumbled, his voice low. “Thought I was just bein’ affectionate.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?”

“Yup.” He turned his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before whispering, “I love you.”

You sighed, not in exasperation but pure fondness. “Five times.”

“Like I said,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smile against your skin, “better get used to it.”

“I’m starting to think I might like it,” you admitted softly, tilting your head to give him better access.

“Good,” Logan said, his voice a quiet promise. “Because I’m not stoppin’. Ever.”

You didn’t think you’d ever want him to.

---

You watched Jean walk down the hall from her classroom to the medbay, almost unaware of her surroundings. You didn’t follow her—didn’t want her to lie to you again about a ‘headache’ or ‘stress.

You let out a soft huff as she went into the elevator. As the door closed, footsteps sounded out from your side, “she’s been off… hasn’t she?”

Scott’s question hung in the air between you, a subtle inquiry wrapped in a shared concern. He glanced at you, a quiet weight behind his gaze, but it was the way he waited for your response that made it clear he was looking for validation.

“You think she’s off too?” you asked softly, not quite meeting his eyes but feeling the truth of it in your own chest. Something was definitely different about Jean lately, though it wasn’t easy to put a finger on. She was always a little intense, but the past few days had felt like a quiet storm was brewing behind her eyes—something just out of reach.

Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to find the right words. “Yeah. She’s not… herself. And I’ve noticed she’s been acting distant.”

You nodded, folding your arms across your chest as you leaned against the wall. “I’ve seen it too. She’s been more withdrawn, like she’s not really… there, y’know? Like she’s somewhere else in her head.”

Scott let out a breath, his eyes darting to the elevator as if hoping Jean might come back out any minute. “I don’t know, Y/N. It’s like she’s on edge, and I can’t figure out why.”

“I think… I think it’s more than that,” you said, your voice low, uncertain. “She’s been different for a while now. It’s not just today or this week. I think it’s been building up, and I don’t think she even knows what’s going on.”

Scott frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t argue. “You think it’s something with her powers?”

“I’m not sure,” you said, shifting your weight and glancing down the hall as if expecting Jean to walk out from one of the rooms. “Her abilities have always been intense, but now it feels… unbalanced. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Scott ran his hand through his hair again, a habit of his when he was anxious or frustrated. “I just wish I knew what was going on. I don’t want to keep pushing, but I don’t know how to help her.”

You could hear the frustration in his voice, and while you didn’t blame him, you knew there was nothing you could offer in terms of answers. Only… a feeling. A gut instinct telling you something deeper was at play, something neither you nor Scott could quite put together.

“Maybe,” you began, pausing to choose your words carefully, “maybe she needs space. But… if it were me, I’d want someone to ask. I don’t think she’d come to either of us unless we made the first move.”

Scott looked over at you, eyes thoughtful. “You’re right. Maybe I should go talk to her. I just don’t want to push too hard.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of helplessness settle in your chest. “You know her better than anyone. Just be gentle. She’s not the same Jean anymore. Not like she was before.”

Scott glanced down the hall again, his brows knitting together as he thought. “I’ll talk to her. But if it gets worse…”

“I’ll help,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. You didn’t know exactly what was happening with Jean, but you would always do your best to stand by her.

“I’m not sure what to think about it,” Scott admitted. “But I appreciate you being here to talk it through.”

The moment hung for a second longer, both of you lost in the uncertainty of the situation. Then, as though to lighten the mood a little, you added, “You’re a good friend, Scott. You’ll find a way to help her. Just… don’t let her push you away too much. She needs you.”

Scott offered a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Y/N.”

Before either of you could say more, the soft click of the elevator doors opening interrupted the conversation. Jean stepped out, her expression distant but trying to mask it with a smile.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a little too light, a little too forced. She turned to you both, but her eyes lingered just a fraction longer on you. “Everything okay?”

Scott nodded quickly, offering her a polite smile. “Yeah, we were just talking. About the team. How are you feeling?”

Jean’s smile faltered for the briefest moment, and for a heartbeat, you caught a glimpse of the fatigue in her eyes. “Fine,” she replied, but the word didn’t quite sound right. “Just... a little tired.”

“Maybe you should get some rest?” you suggested gently, your voice quiet but full of care. You hated how fragile she looked, how thin the veil of normalcy felt when she was around.

“I will,” Jean said, her gaze flicking between the two of you. “Thanks for checking in.”

As she moved past you both, heading back down the hall toward her room, Scott watched her with a pained expression. You could feel the same worry in your chest.

But neither of you said anything as Jean disappeared down the hall. You both knew that sometimes, despite your best intentions, people had to find their own way to deal with what was coming. And with Jean, something was coming. Something none of you were prepared for.

When the silence stretched out, Scott finally broke it. “I’ll talk to her later,” he said quietly. “I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’ve got to try.”

“I know you will,” you said softly, your words quiet but full of reassurance. “And just… be patient. She might not even know what’s going on.”

Scott gave a short nod before walking off down the hall. You stayed behind, lost in your thoughts, wondering what Jean was really hiding. And, more importantly, why it felt like it was all tied up in something far bigger than any of you realized.

But for now, you knew that your role was to be there when she needed you. Even if she didn’t know it yet.

---

The bedroom was quiet except for the faint rustling of the wind outside. Logan leaned back against the headboard, arms loosely crossed, watching you with that familiar, steady gaze that always seemed to settle your nerves and set them alight at the same time.

You sat at the edge of the bed, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your sweater. The shy smile tugging at your lips didn’t escape him—nothing ever did. His brow arched slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he tilted his head.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?” The low rumble of his voice carried more warmth than teasing.

You shifted, exhaling softly before crawling over to him, knees sinking into the mattress. His arms uncrossed, hands resting lightly on your hips as you settled yourself across his lap, straddling him. The move caught him off guard; it wasn’t something you did often. You felt his body tense briefly, then relax as his hands instinctively held you steady.

“Just… you.” The words came out soft, almost bashful, but your grin grew when his lips quirked in response.

Your hands slid up to his shoulders, fingertips brushing against the fabric of his shirt before tracing their way to his jaw. His stubble was rough beneath your touch, a texture you’d grown to love. Without a word, you leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

Then another.

And another.

“Hey,” he murmured, a quiet laugh in his tone. “What’s this about?”

You didn’t answer right away, instead brushing your lips along the curve of his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. He turned slightly, trying to catch your lips with his, but you pulled back just enough to avoid it. The playful glint in your eyes made him grin wider.

“I’m repaying you,” you finally said, punctuating the words with another kiss, this time on his nose.

Logan’s hands flexed against your hips. “For what?”

“For saying ‘I love you’ thirty-four times this week,” you teased, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “I counted.”

That earned a genuine laugh from him, deep and unguarded. His head tilted back slightly, the sound rumbling through you. “Thirty-four, huh? Sounds about right.”

You hummed, leaning in again to press another kiss to his cheek, then his temple. “I’m not gonna say it thirty-four times back,” you admitted, your lips brushing against his skin as you spoke. “But… this works, right?”

“It works,” he assured, his voice softer now, a hint of reverence in the way he looked at you. “Keep goin’. I’m not complainin’.”

Your laugh was quieter than his, but just as genuine. You pressed another kiss to his forehead, then to the spot just above his collarbone where his shirt didn’t quite cover his skin. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer as you kept at it, the lingering shyness in your actions melting into something more natural, more you.

By the time you finally leaned back to meet his eyes, his expression was a mix of amusement and something much deeper. His thumb brushed a light circle over your hip.

“Thirty-four’s got nothin’ on you, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low but sure.

Your face warmed, but you couldn’t stop the smile. “Good,” you said, leaning in to kiss him one last time, this one slower, more lingering. “It’s supposed to.”

Logan’s hand slid up your back, the other tightening slightly on your hip. The kiss deepened, his lips pressing firmly against yours, not rushed but deliberate, as though savoring the moment. By the time you both pulled back, breath mingling, he was smiling in that way he reserved just for you—a little lopsided, a little boyish, and entirely endearing.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured, voice thick with affection.

You didn’t have time to respond before he shifted beneath you, his hands moving to the backs of your thighs as he rolled you onto your back with ease. A soft gasp escaped your lips, and Logan’s grin widened at the sound. He hovered over you now, the weight of him just enough to feel safe and grounded without being overwhelming. His arms bracketed you, caging you in gently but firmly.

“Now, what’s this about me sayin’ ‘I love you’ too much?” he teased, lowering himself just enough to nuzzle his nose against your cheek. His stubble grazed your skin, and you couldn’t help the breathy laugh that bubbled up.

“I didn’t say ‘too much,’” you countered, your hands instinctively moving to his shoulders. “I just said you’ve said it thirty-four times this week. Big difference.”

“Uh-huh,” he drawled, his lips twitching with amusement as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Sounds like someone’s keepin’ real close tabs on me.”

“Of course I am,” you replied, your tone softer now. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. “You’re worth keeping tabs on.”

That earned you another smile, this one less teasing and more tender. He stared down at you for a long moment, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your side. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward—it never was. It was full, warm, and unspoken words lingered in the air.

“You know,” Logan began, his voice quieter now, “I don’t just say it to hear myself talk.”

“I know.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jawline. “I like hearing it.”

Logan huffed a small laugh, then dipped his head again, this time pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, low and steady, the words carrying all the weight they always did.

You smiled, your hands sliding up to cradle the sides of his face. “I love you too, Logan.”

At that, he sighed—a deep, contented sound that rumbled through his chest. Then, slowly, he shifted again, resting his weight beside you rather than on top of you. His head found its place against your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist as though he needed to anchor himself to you. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and you instinctively combed your fingers through his hair, nails gently scraping against his scalp.

Logan closed his eyes, the tension that always seemed to linger in his shoulders finally melting away. “Y’know,” he muttered after a moment, “this might be my favorite spot in the whole world.”

You felt your cheeks warm again, but the smile that tugged at your lips was unstoppable. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s yours,” he said simply, his voice muffled slightly against the fabric of your sweater. “And I figure if I’m here, then I’m good.”

Your chest tightened at the simplicity of his words, at how effortlessly he could turn you into a puddle. For someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders, Logan always had a way of making you feel light, cherished, even when you didn’t think you deserved it.

“You’re definitely good,” you murmured, your hand still carding through his hair. “Better than good.”

“Don’t push your luck, sweetheart,” he said, but the teasing tone in his voice made you laugh softly.

The two of you stayed like that for a while—his head on your stomach, your hands in his hair, and the world outside your bedroom fading into irrelevance. Eventually, Logan let out another contented sigh.

“Thirty-five,” he muttered, barely loud enough for you to hear.

You frowned slightly, glancing down at him. “Thirty-five what?”

“‘I love you,’” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he tilted his head to look at you. “Said it thirty-five times now.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “And counting,” you teased.

“Damn right,” he said, his voice a low growl that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. He nestled closer against you, his arms tightening around your waist. “Gonna say it every chance I get.”

As the wind continued its soft rustle outside, you couldn’t help but think that, in this moment, everything felt exactly as it should.

next chapter is the last stand!!

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath the Noise - George Clarke

———————————————————————————

Masterlist

Chapter three: Laugh Track

———————————————————————————

By the fifth pub, Y/N’s voice is starting to slur at the edges.

Not dramatically—just enough to notice it herself. Her cheeks are warm, her thoughts a little looser than they were two hours ago. She's riding that golden middle ground between anxiety and abandon, the space where self-consciousness starts to soften around the edges.

She doesn’t quite trust it, but she’s letting herself sit in it for now.

ArthurTV is waving a receipt like a victory flag. “Ten pubs is a scam,” he announces to no one. “It’s just capitalism in a different hat.”

“Mate,” Bach replies, gesturing at him with a chip, “you just spent thirty quid on nachos and a single pint.”

“It came with extra guac,” Arthur says, affronted.

Y/N snorts into her drink.

She doesn’t remember the last time she laughed this much with people she barely knows. Her default setting has always been cautious—a little held back, always scanning the room, looking for cues on when to speak and when to disappear. But today, dressed like a walking punchline and surrounded by people who don’t seem to care about how they’re perceived, it almost feels... safe.

“Okay,” Bach says, peering at the bingo list again. “We still need to: swap shoes, skull a pint on the street, and get a stranger to sing to us. Oh and swim? Even though we did but it was for a bonus point?”

“Who made this list?” Y/N asks, squinting at the chaotic scrawl. “Are they okay? Mentally?”

“Chris,” ArthurTV answers, deadpan. “So, no.”

“Explains a lot,” she mutters. “It’s giving energy drink and repressed trauma.”

Bach grins. “It’s giving ‘second breakfast is the only joy I have left.’”

“Yeah,” Arthur adds. “It’s very ‘Frodo, but with a YouTube channel.’”

Y/N laughs, sharp and surprised. “Are we just bullying Chris for being short now?”

“Not short,” Bach says solemnly. “Hobbit-sized.”

They dissolve into laughter again, loud enough that a guy at a nearby table gives them a look.

By the time they reach the sixth pub of the afternoon, they’re starting to feel the buzz settling deep into their bones. The city around them seems blurrier, friendlier. A drunker London, Y/N thinks, is a slightly more magical one.

They’re halfway through convincing a guy in a Tottenham jersey to sing Bohemian Rhapsody when her phone buzzes again.

Chris

> Tell Bach his big nose is getting in the way of our win

> Also we’re at pub 6. Suck it.

Y/N shows the message to Bach without saying a word.

“Tell Chris I said I hope Sauron wins,” Bach says immediately.

Arthur nods. “Tell him to enjoy his pints in the Shire.”

She grins as she types. Being the group’s designated roaster-by-proxy wasn’t on her bingo list for today, but she’s not mad about it.

Then she sees him again.

George.

Across the street this time, stepping out of a corner shop with Arthur Hill. They’ve got plastic bags in hand and smiles that look way too relaxed for a competition. George spots her first, raising a hand in casual greeting.

She returns it—awkwardly. Her stomach does a weird little somersault.

She hates how aware she is of him. Like her body’s antennae pick up on him before her brain does. It’s not helpful. He hasn’t even done anything new. Just exists nearby, and her pulse decides to act out.

“Earth to Y/N,” ArthurTV says, waving a hand. “You good?”

“Yeah,” she says quickly. “Zoned out for a sec.”

She doesn’t explain what she was zoning out about. No one needs to know she’s mentally editing the way George said Nice shirt earlier like it’s an embarrassing voice note she can’t delete.

Eventually, they do manage to get a stranger to sing for them—badly, loudly, and completely off-key. Bach gives him a standing ovation like he’s just watched Les Mis.

Challenge complete.

By the time they reach pub seven, Y/N’s voice is scratchier and her legs are sore, but the warmth hasn’t left her chest. She feels... light. Like she’s slowly unhooking from the weight she didn’t realize she walked in with.

They wedge themselves into a booth again, chips in the center, drinks in hand. ArthurTV offers her a sip of something that tastes like battery acid. She politely declines.

Then George shows up again.

Of course he does.

He wanders in like he’s not part of a competing team but just happened to find them. Pint in one hand, smirk in place, like the universe told him she was finally starting to relax and he took it personally.

“Thought you guys might be in here,” he says casually.

“Or you were stalking us,” Bach offers.

George ignores him and looks straight at Y/N. “You surviving?”

“Just about,” she says, shrugging. “Haven’t been hit by a car yet, so I’m counting it as a win.”

He chuckles. “Low bar. I respect it.”

He leans against the edge of the booth, not sitting—just hovering in her space enough to make it feel deliberate.

“You’ve got something on your shirt,” he says, motioning vaguely toward her chest.

She instinctively glances down.

“Just kidding,” he says, already grinning. “Wanted to see if you’d fall for it.”

She groans. “You are the worst”

“Pretty sure you love it.”

She rolls her eyes but her mouth betrays her, lips tugging up into an involuntary smile.

ArthurTV watches the exchange like he’s clocking something but wisely doesn’t say a word.

George lingers for another minute, then disappears again. Back into the noise. The pub feels a little louder once he’s gone. Y/N exhales, not realizing she was holding her breath.

Bach eyes her. “You’ve got a little George crush, don’t you?”

Y/N nearly chokes on her drink. “Absolutely not.”

“Uh-huh,” Bach says knowingly.

Arthur raises a hand. “As a neutral third party, I can confirm: you definitely do.”

She buries her face in her hands. “I hate all of you.”

But she’s smiling. And somewhere under the teasing, the embarrassment, and the buzz of too many half-pints and inside jokes, there’s something else.

Something settling.

Something starting.

———————

I’ve already written 14 parts for this story… it goes into normal life streaming together, etc after this. Let me know if you guys like it!!! It’s very slow burn soz 💛💛

Masterlist

[rottingworship]

Beg and Bargain

The Proxies x F!Reader | Chapter Seven

[Masterlist]

Summary: Things are getting dicey, and only seem to get worse when you are sent out with the person that seems to like you the least.

Warnings: gun violence, mentions of suicide, mentions of sexual acts, blood, mentions of murder, not so healthy dynamics, non-sexual name calling, not beta read (of course, let me know if i happen to miss any <3)

Word Count: ~3.1k

A/N: I'M BACK AND LOVING BEG AND BARGAIN AGAIN. I do apologize for taking the break, but I feel better now. It was much needed. Things are getting exciting!!! No smut this chapter, but there may will be more soon 😈 divider credit to @sister-lucifer

You are sitting at the table; the last 24 hours have been awkward to say the least. Brian is tense, Toby seems ready to fucking murder you, and Tim is probably the happiest of the bunch. You had been able to do your own thing though. No one had really bothered you since Tim found you in the bathroom.

You are eating a frozen meal, supposedly it’s a Salisbury steak… You aren’t too sure though. But really? At this point you don’t care.

“D-Don’t you go back to w-work soon?” Toby sits in front of you.

Immediately, you tense. Your eyes widen momentarily, before you hide your fear. Toby seems to have caught it though. You snarl your lip up at him, and click your tongue, “What about it?” You grumble at him.

“W-well, what are you gonna do?” He is nosy. He seems curious, but not in a concerned way. More of a snotty kind of way.

Your eyes roll back and you groan, “Toby…” You inhale. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure a-are bratty.” Toby snarls back. “Tim needs to handle that.”

The most disgusting, guttural noise you can muster slips from your throat and a loud laugh follows. You shake your head. You may fear Toby, but you do not need to be put in any place. You almost fall backwards, out of your chair. It's so comical. “Tim?” You almost shout. “Shut the fu-”

Toby’s knuckles are suddenly white, nails digging into his palms. You do not finish your sentence. You swallow hard. “Say it.” Toby’s breath is shaky. “Fi-finish your fucking sentence.” His voice is dangerously low. You inhale sharply and shake your head ‘no’. “What were you g-going to say?” He is fuming. He obviously does not want to shut the fuck up. “Were you- Were you going to make me shut up?” He cocks his head at you.

“No.” Your head drops. Your eyes are cutting up at him through your lashes. You can’t help but be so scared. “But-” You exhale heavily, “I can do that.” It’s like you just remembered you can control him. But with consequences… Toby seems excited when you say this. “I won’t though.” Your voice is soft. “I’m not going to give you that satisfaction. Especially because you still haven’t returned my panties.” You finish your little frozen meal.

Toby looks like he wants to launch the table. “That w-wasn’t me!” He almost screams it at you, leaning across the table. You flinch back. “Why the fuck would I lie about it? I bet it was Brian!” The front door opens. Brian and Tim walk in. “What was Brian?” He cocks his head.

“You took her panties!” Toby is yelling now. You are startled. Brian and Tim seem used to it. “Sh-she thinks I took them, but- but it wasn’t m-me!” Toby is furious. He is standing up now. You feel so small sitting across from him.

“Fine!” You snap, “It wasn’t you! You didn’t fucking do it!” Your voice is strained.

Toby storms off, Tim stops him. His hand hits Toby’s chest and he pushes him back into the living room. The look in Toby’s eyes is absolutely feral. “This is my house! Do not-”

“Shut up.” Brian rolls his eyes. “We need to talk to her.” He points at you. “And ‘we’ includes you.”

Your stomach drops. Tim and Brian walk into the kitchen and sit down at the table. Toby stands a little ways away, in the living room. Fuming. “What’s going on?” You cock your head. Are they finally going to kill me? Am I still useful? You think to yourself. You are sure all color has drained from your face. You want to puke.

“You are supposed to go back to work soon-” Tim starts.

Toby interrupts. “I a-already asked ab-”

“I quit.” You interrupt Toby. Your eyes are on Tim, and Tim alone. You bite the inside of your lip. All of them seem confused. So much so that they all ask you ‘what’ in unison. Toby seems the most frustrated.

“Oh!” He throws his hands in the air. “I s-see! Tim is just s-so fucking good-”

“Toby!” You yell at him without thinking. “What the fuck?”

“I mean,” He scoffs, “yesterday y-you were in his room naked, and now y-you quit your job?” He shakes his head. “What the fu-fuck did you do to her?” Toby is looking at Tim now.

You swallow hard. Your eyes are stuck on Tim. Waiting for his answer. He seems smug. You are praying he doesn’t say something stupid. “Tim-” You whisper at him. “Don’t.” You do not want him to push Toby any further.

“Why’d you quit?” Toby looks back at you. His eyes are dark.

“I had to.” You are baffled. “I can’t work in these conditions!” You want to flail around. “Are you aware of my- our circumstances?”

“Very.” Toby’s voice is low, lethal, full of venom.

You don’t say anything else. You are sitting straight up in your seat, hair standing on end, and eyes wide with fear again. Toby leaves. He stomps to his room and slams his door. Your stomach turns.You let out a nervous laugh, “That guy, huh?” You give an awkward smile to Tim and Brian. “He sure is-” You swallow hard, “-something.”

“Oh, by the way,” Brian smirks at you, “you’re going out with him later.”

Tim immediately shoves his friend. Your stomach leaps into your throat. “What? When? Why?” You ask, full of fear and anger.

“Well, we don’t need you fucking around if you go out with Tim. And Toby’s good at these kinds of missions…”

“What kinds of missions…?” You cock your head.

“The killing kind.”

You are tired. Truly. Exhaustion is catching up to you quickly and you have no way to even rest right now. You have trekked through the woods towards your destination. And to be honest, that could be anywhere. You might as well be walking towards your death. You spot a cabin ahead and figure that's your stop. It's a bit bigger than Toby’s cabin and there is a singular light on. The upstairs light.

You look towards Toby, who is not stopping for anything. “Psst,” you stop walking. “Where are we?” You really have no clue.

Toby grunts and turns towards you. “Wh-who’s the bastard that wants you dead?” He sounds so… done with you. You should obviously know whose house you are at.

Your blood runs cold. “Ethan…?” You ask. You now know, but it still comes out like a question. Toby rolls his eyes and keeps walking towards the cabin. You are stuck briefly. Toby has a way to hide his identity. You do not. Your stomach turns. You quickly creep behind Toby and stay as close as possible to him; as much as you are not sure you want to do that. “How do we do this?” You whisper.

“Follow m-me.” It’s all Toby gives you.

He approaches the door, slowly. And then does the opposite of what you think he’s going to do. Toby’s foot slams into the old wood and the door flings open. Every single light on the bottom floor is off. Toby yanks you into the house and you cover your mouth, keeping in a yelp. It's impossible to see where Toby is moving, but you hear his footsteps; you try to stay close by. Toby grabs your arm and begins to guide you --albeit roughly-- up the steps. There is a light coming out from under a closed door.

Toby does not let you go. As you both near the door your anxiety is rising. You are growing antsy and, more importantly, terrified. Toby briefly releases you and slams into the door. It easily opens, almost falling off of its hinges. Toby steps into the room, you hot on his trail. The lights may be on, but the room is completely empty.

The chair in the corner of the room seems to have been sat in recently, someone is nearby. Ethan is nearby. You swallow hard and look at the back of Toby’s head, waiting for his next move. The hair on the back of your neck begins to stand on end. You begin to turn around and something slams into your head, hard. You stumble forward and slam into Toby, the both of you are sent flying to the ground. You let out a whimper and cry out for help. Cry out for Toby.

He is quick to get back on his feet. You, however, are stunned. You look up and find Toby standing between you and Ethan. His hatchets are now out and he is pissed. He snarls under his muzzle and swings at Ethan. The man dodges and trips Toby, easily moving around him and towards you. Toby hits the ground, his head slamming into the wood floor.

“Come on bitch,” Ethan hisses, “aren’t you gonna control me?”

Your face contorts. You shake your head violently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

He pulls a gun off of his hip and brings it to your forehead. “Tell me, cunt, how did John die?” You are stuck. Memories of John the night you had him killed come flooding in. Tears prick your eyes and you hold back a sob. Your eyes are laser focused on Ethan, so much so, you don’t see Toby standing up behind him. “Did you mind control him? Did you force him to put that gun to his head?” Ethan’s voice is steadily rising. “Because I fucking know he did not do that on his own accord!” He screams, spit flying. Toby raises a hatchet. “Do not! I will fucking shoot her!” Ethan pushes the gun harder against your forehead. Toby freezes.

“Please,” You are begging. “I don’t know-” Your eyes screw shut. You shakily inhale and Toby tenses. He needs you to tell that man to back the fuck up. Your eyes open and you begin to speak. “Put your gun down.”

Ethan blinks at you. His hand twitches. Your stomach sinks. It did not work. Ethan laughs; he laughs so hard you are shaken up once more. Tears threaten to spill once again. It did not work. Why did it not work? It’s all you can think as you sit there, about to be fucking murdered. Your eyes shoot to Toby, who seems to be just as baffled.

“Oh,” Ethan smiles, a wickedness you have not seen before takes over him. “This is good. This is really fucking good.” He laughs again. He seems to be breaking. “I’ll handle you in a minute, I have to take care of your little boyfriend first… You sure did move on so quickly!” Ethan directs his attention to Toby, who is most definitely ready to fight. His movements are swift, the gun moving from your forehead to Toby’s direction in milliseconds.

Without thinking, you move and fast. “No!” You scream, pushing yourself up and slamming into Ethan. Your hand grabs his arm, moving the gun upwards. As it goes off, the bullet goes through the ceiling.

“You dumb fucking-” Ethan does not finish his sentence. He whips around as fast as possible, the gun slams into your face, and you fall back down. Your head hits the ground, again. As you are slipping in and out of consciousness, you feel a boot press to the side of your head. Before there is any more pressure placed onto your cheek, the boot is gone. You feel warmth covering your face, but that’s all you can process as you try to stay awake.

You let out a soft sigh and quickly let go. You don’t try anymore. You let yourself go into the darkness.

The sound of birds chirping brings you back to reality. With your eyes closed, you take in your surroundings. You are most definitely on the couch at Toby’s cabin. Your face aches and your head is pounding. You let out a cry and your eyes shut a little tighter. The floorboards creak a bit aways from the couch, footsteps near you.

“Careful.” A voice you do not recognize begins to speak. “You may have a concussion.”

Your eyes shoot open, and you sit up, a little too quickly. You are face to face with a woman. A woman you most definitely do not know. You look around the room, finding no one else, and then back at her. Her dark hair frames her face, her eyes look almost emotionless. Yet, she’s staring at you with an intensity you do not like.

“Who the fuck are you…?” You feel fear. She snorts. She really thinks this is so funny. “I’m not fucking joking, I will make you-”

“Not in this state, you won’t.” She deadpans. “Anyway,” Her head drops to the side, ever so slightly, “I don’t think you’d be okay with the consequences of compelling me right now…”

“Okay… Well, why the hell are you here?”

“This used to be where I slept, before you got here.”

Chills run up your spine. There’s more than just Toby, Brian, and Tim? “Sorry.” That is the only thing you manage to get out. A stupid apology. She rolls her eyes at you. You shift, pulling your legs up to your chest, and you hold on tightly. You can tell the woman finds that weak, you do not care. Not at the moment.

The door of the cabin opens. Brian and Tim walk into the room, some grocery bags in hand. Tim looks at you and the woman and he narrows his eyes. “Kate… I hope you’re being nice.”

“She’s being nice.” You nod at him. Nice enough… You give Tim a soft smile. “Can I ask what happened last night? Is Toby okay?”

Kate is the first to answer you. “After you were knocked unconscious, Toby brought you back here-”

“Is Ethan- Did he-”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Kate starts again. “Ethan is alive. If you had not been so reckless he may be dead now-”

“Reckless!?” You snap. “I couldn’t fucking compel him, and he was about to shoot Toby!”

“Do not interrupt me!” Kate snaps back. You immediately lean back, hitting the arm of the couch. “Toby picked saving your ass over killing Ethan. He let Ethan get away to make sure you were safe!” Kate stands up, hands falling from her hoodie pocket. You tense. Everyone is tense. You watch Kate in horror. “Things have shifted since you arrived.” Kate snarls, lowering herself to your level. “For some reason these men just adore you… If that had been me in that fucking house-”

“Wh-what would you have d-done?” Toby enters the room. Your eyes dart towards him.

Kate backs up from you and lets out a frustrated noise. She exits the house abruptly and you look at the men. You let out a nervous laugh and then sigh awkwardly. You look at Toby and mess with the hem of your shirt, placing your feet on the floor.

“Uh, thank you…” You mumble the words.

“What?” Toby cocks a brow at you.

You groan. “Thank you!”

“For what?” He wants you to explicitly tell him why you are thankful.

You want to combust. “For saving me.” You stand up. “You could have easily just- not saved me! But you did. I fucked up, being reckless, or whatever…” You roll your eyes. “But I'm alive at least.” You inhale sharply through your mouth, your nose hurting too badly to breathe through it, “I don’t know what’s really going on in that head of yours,” you narrow your eyes briefly, “or what your feelings are towards me; we all have a lot going on! If you want-” You pause momentarily, causing Toby to tense. “If you want, we can start a new, clean slate…” You wait for his answer. You feel like you are going to die when he just continues to stare. Your face contorts. “We don’t have to actually,” You cross your arms, “We can stay the exact same and I will hold everything you’ve ever done against you forever-”

Toby laughs. “I j-just saved your life, and all y-you’re offering is a clean s-slate?” He is acting as if it’s the most comical thing he’s ever heard.

“I don't owe you anything, actually! But I’m thankful.” You take a step closer to him, feeling a bit braver, knowing he saved your life makes you feel like he does not want to take it. “What do you think you deserve?”

Toby shakes his head. “You-You’ll revoke the cl-clean slate.”

You let out a laugh. “Okay, really, don’t tell me.” You put a hand up and nod.

“Do I get a clean slate?” Brian asks from behind you.

“N-no! You did-didn’t save her life. You just- just recorded her. Fu-fucking creep.” Toby is standing beside you suddenly.

You genuinely cannot tell if Toby is playing around or not. “Toby,” You gently place a hand on his arm, without thinking about it. Toby does not relax; in fact, he grows more tense. “I’m feeling generous. I mean, I did not die. That’s a plus! And, uh, you guys are kind of all I have right now, I don’t want there to be tension in the house…”

“Wow,” Toby smirks at you. He’s about to say something diabolical, “Me- Me saving your life and the h-head you got from Tim really has you f-feeling generous, huh?”

Your hand drops from Toby’s arm. You snap your head towards him and stare, mouth agape. You quickly look at Tim and narrow your eyes. “You fucking told him?”

Tim looks at Brian, mimicking your shock. “You fucking told him?”

Brian laughs, hard and loud. “I mean, yeah. We all kind of live together… It was bound to get out.” He has a point.

You are still upset though. “God, at this rate, Kate knows!” Toby nods at you. You stomp your foot in frustration. “I wish I had a room!” You want to hide.

“Just go to Tim’s.”

Your jaw clenches. “Shut up! I’m trying to start over with your three!” Your fists ball up. “You guys do not make anything easy…”

For a brief moment, it’s normal. As normal as it has been. The four of you are standing in the living room, not fighting, the guys are laughing. Maybe at your expense, but nothing is going wrong. And most importantly, you are alive.

You try to ignore the fact it will not be like this forever.

[wwilloww]

sh. | chapter twenty five | ot7

PAIRING ot7 x reader RATING Explicit. 18+. GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers. SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no? WC 4.2k

WARNINGS AND TAGS none

AN hi, thank you to each of you who's been reading and leaving comments. each comment that comes thru is equivalent to two to three cups of caffeine when it comes to writing these chapters. essential, and so deeply appreciated! and thank you to @thatlongspringnight for her help with this one. love you all so much.

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CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE: OUT THE WINDOW

“But what is it?” Jimin asks, his brow furrowing. 

You think back to all of those times you shuffled off pointed questions from your friends with a joke, every moment you skirted conversations with a change of subject, every time you simply walked away. You think of Jungkook, with you in the kitchen all those weeks back, who had whispered in your ear, “Don’t run.” You think of how those words me your ears like ice, how they had frozen something inside of you. 

For so long it has felt like you have existed in the void between two selves—maybe even more than two. 

There is the careful portrait you allow everyone else to see; the self that appears polished and in control. Even the chill, cool-girl facade comes from a kind of careful grooming, a filtering of all of the filtering, messy, confusing bits of you. 

And then there is the beast that lives inside you. The creature that croons the names of your seven friends, again and again, in your dreams and in the quiet moments of your waking life. This creature that wants and wants and goes on wanting. The creature that—if you give her what she truly wanted, would turn wild and rip through your carefully built life, destroying everything in her wake. You had worked so hard to build this shelter, this sanctuary of friendship and you believe, with your entire self, that giving this beast what she truly wants will shatter it all. 

You wish things were simple and straightforward for you—like Yoongi or Jungkook, two men who chase what they want, who hold immeasurable depths but surface quickly and with honesty. You wish you could have waltzed into this life with ease, but that was never the case.

As you sit with Jimin in the bathtub, you picture the beast, laying in the center of a forest clearing of sorts. She sleeps, her chest slowly expanding and falling in a gentle rhythm. A flurry of snowflakes falls thickly around her, like static, keeping things quiet, keeping things still. 

You wonder if you stand still long enough, if the snow will cover her entirely. If she will disappear beneath a blanket of snowdrift if you leave her undisturbed for long enough. 

And you know that to answer Jimin’s question is to wake this beast. 

So when he says, “But what is it?” with the floral aroma drifting up with the steam from the bath, you say, “I don’t know.” 

And Jimin says nothing. He does that thing again, where he just holds your stare. There is no coldness in his gaze, in fact, there’s something soft, like sympathy or understanding lighting the back of his eyes. And there is firmness in that warmth. That is what terrifies you.

He waits. 

And finally, after what feels like minutes, you whisper, “It feels like a monster.”

He tilts his head just a little. You have the eeriest sensation that he can see right through you, into the snowy clearing with the beast, where the flurries are falling even faster now. “Why is she there?” he says, finally.

“What?” your voice shakes. 

“Why is she there?” he repeats, as if your question has expressed that you haven’t heard him, not that you don’t understand. “Where did this monster come from?” 

The snow is falling faster. It’s harder and harder to see straight. The ache in your chest is beginning to burn. 

“I—I—” How do you know why a beast is a beast? How do you know what makes a monster? How do you trace something sick back to its root? You want to dunk underneath the water—you want to drown out the pressing tone of his voice—but for a moment your stubbornness wins. You stare back at him. 

His eyes are soft. 

You know your eyes are cold. 

“Do you want it?” Jimin asks quietly. “Do you want to keep running?” 

It’s like he can feel your muscles tensing, ready to stand up out of the tub, drip your way angrily and resentfully across the tile and through the rest of the house until you’ve put a league of distance between you and this question. 

And him. 

But before you can, he reaches out to you and grasps your hand. You flinch when he makes contact. He wraps your hand in his. 

The snow stops. The flurries freeze in mid-air. Your breath halts in your lungs. The beast in the clearing is stirring, stretching her sleeping limbs, a little sound escaping through sharp teeth. 

And then—finally—you say something true: “No,” you say. “I don’t want to keep running.” 

The words echo too loud through the bathroom, and the clearing, and the whole house. 

The beast opens her eyes. 

Your chest feels like it’s going to break open. 

Jimin leans towards you, pulling you between his legs and into his arms. You are stiff against his movements, but he folds your bodies into one another, his legs and arms wrapping around you. His breath, slow and steady, brushes against your ear. You squeeze your eyes shut and wrap your arms around your chest. How can he breathe so easily when something is about to break inside your chest? 

“What are you so afraid will happen if you let yourself feel?” Jimin whispers. The question takes up all the air left in the bathroom. It echoes around like a ghost, like something you’ve heard before. Like a voice spoken from the cold of the mountains just beyond the room that you sit in, a haunting from a far-off winter. 

Instead of responding, you choke out a rattled breath. 

He pulls back his face far enough to get a good look at you. It feels like he’s looking right into you, right through you. Like with that heavy gaze he sees every little bit of you. But he’s not turning away from you, or what he sees in you. He’s not running from you. 

How come? 

Your mouth gapes open and closed like a fish. You are looking for words. You are looking for air.

Jimin repeats the question, slowly, holding your gaze. “What are you so afraid will happen if you let yourself feel?” 

Within you, the beast, stands. Stretches. She is ready. 

But you aren’t. 

You can’t—

You start to pull away from Jimin. You make to stand up from the tub, but Jimin holds you firm. 

“Don’t,” he says, and your rebuttal rises within you. But he surprises you. “I’ll go,” he says. “You stay.” 

You’re not sure if that’s disappointment flickering in his eye, but there’s also clarity there. He sees what you can’t—and that terrifies you. 

Jimin leaves you silently. You remain in the tub. The bathroom suddenly seems gigantic. 

You press yourself back against where the tub meets the wall, the chill of the tile a stark, cold contrast to the warm water, and wrap your arms around yourself. It’s not the same as Jimin wrapped around you, but it’s quiet. The scent of rose drifts up from the water, reminding you of summer, which has entirely disappeared from the air in the last weeks. 

Maybe it’s too quiet. 

Plink. A drop of water falls from the faucet, hitting the water. 

You stare at your hands through the water. They are wrinkled and pruney, and shift lighter beneath the water. These hands which have brought you all this way. These hands that have held each of the men in the house. 

It was a gift Jimin gave you, you realize. He gave you the choice to have space and silence without making you run away from him to access it. A hollow opens in your stomach as you look at the contents of the day. The sweetness of your moments with Jimin, juxtaposed with the seeping coldness that spills out from you now. 

You see it clearly now. 

Jimin’s absence—the too-large space remaining in the tub—the loud silence of the bathroom—the empty air—is a new kind of separation. 

And your stomach begins to sink anew. 

You find yourself standing up out of the bath. Towel-less and clumsily, you knock your shin against the tub as you clamber out. You drip water and rose-scented soap onto the bathroom floor. 

“Jimin?” you call as you open the door. But the bedroom is empty and dark. 

He has laid out a towel and set of clothes for you, both folded neatly on the bed. The bed has been made, the curtains opened. There is a new freshness to the room. But he’s not here. 

You try to dress quickly, attempting to pull a t-shirt over your head. But you fail. The water has the fabric clinging clumsily to your skin.

When you leave the bedroom, you force yourself to walk: you fight the urge to run through the halls, calling Jimin’s name. 

—----

He’s nowhere to be found. And when you can’t find him, and begin to think maybe he doesn’t want to be found—at least by you—you give up. Maybe too quickly. 

You make your way back to the living room after combing through the house. The place feels mysteriously empty; you hadn’t run into a single friend or fuck-buddy in your wanderings. 

Your chest still feels unsettled and restless, and you think of that one overused quote you see all over Pinterest and Instagram: The mountains are calling and I must go. You think, in that moment, that you understand anew what John-whatever-the-fuck meant in that long-ago letter: when everything inside you feels without a home, there is direction in the mountains. They simply cannot be ignored. As the sun sets over those broad peaks, the rivets and valleys of the great range before you call in a way that feels all too physical. It’s magnetism, this place, this land that calls your name.

And yet—

You have wet hair. 

And you cannot help the sinking feeling that this place does not want you. 

As much as this place has trapped you here. 

Stuck between the conundrum of wet hair in the cold autumn wind and the burning sensation in your chest that cries for cool air, you compromise: you beeline for one of the large windows overlooking the firepit, and throw it open.

Hands gripping the sill, you lean out, testing your balance. Your wet hair is plastered to your scalp and face in, what you can only imagine, is an unsightly manner, and your t-shirt clings in odd damp spots to your warm skin. You’re sure you look like you’ve just been through half of a laundry cycle, but you don’t care. 

The bathroom was too quiet. But here, the wind howls and howls until you can no longer hear the call of the beast. 

You try to remember all the things you’ve learned along the way, you try to cobble together the pieces of what you know now. 

Inside you, your chest swims with muddiness. A swirl of snow, leaves, detritus. It seems as if the beast has left you entirely. Everything you said to Jimin, that too, lies before you. 

What have I done?

You cannot help but think of Jimin’s face, open and afraid, as he had told you about what he feared most all these months. The fear that he had shown to you—trusted you with—and that you had chosen to slam back in his face with the brutal clang of a great thing breaking. Something once carefully built up, now crashing down. 

All those months ago, on the floor of your bedroom while you talked with Taehyung, you thought you had made a change. In that moment, you believed you had taken a critical turn on the long path of isolation that you had created for yourself. But as you look at the wreckage behind you—in the direction of Jimin’s room—you realize you had never really stopped running. At least, not in the way that you needed to. Not in the way that loving—op, living with—these men required you to.

You are surprised when a spot of rain slips down your cheek. You lift your finger to touch it, finding the trail from your eye to the drop—are you crying? As the tears slip silent down your face, you realize. 

I am unhappy.

You squeeze your eyes shut. 

You suck the alpine air into your lungs. In. Out. The burn of the cold is the antidote—chilling your mind, slowly, slowly, stilling the storm. Or, stuffing the beast back into sleep.

You jolt as a body wraps around your back, a head notching on your shoulder. Breath brushes your tender neck, and hands run down your bare arms. 

“Christ, you’re freezing,” Yoongi says. 

“It feels good,” you say, automatically. Your system shudders with shock as a memory from long ago rises to the surface. A balcony. Yoongi wrapped around you. A secret lingering on your tongue. A hidden relationship. How is it that so much time has passed—how is it that everything has changed—and yet you still feel just like you did that January night almost a year ago? 

“Why are you always chasing the cold?” Yoongi asks. 

“Why is everyone always asking me so many questions?” It comes out harsher than you meant. You cobble yourself together, and think this is a question you think you can answer. You soften your tone: “The cold lets me feel.” 

Yoongi nods against your shoulder like he understands immediately. “I don’t have to ask any more questions,” he says, a note of disappointment in his tone. 

You feel him begin to pull away from the one sided embrace, so you wrap your arms around his that snakes to your front and cradle it—and him—against you. You don’t want him to go. He tenses, as if surprised, then relaxes and wraps himself further around you. You still haven’t opened your eyes. You fear, if you do, everything will shatter. “I won’t ask what’s going on,” Yoongi says. “But can I assume—if it’s alright with you—that you’re less than okay right now?” 

You find yourself nodding, praying that he hasn’t seen the quiet tears on your cheeks. 

“That’s okay,” he says. “I’m here. I’ll stay here.” 

You nod again. Yes. Yes, please stay. You feel like a hypocrite, subtly asking Jimin for space, and then falling into Yoongi’s arms. The difference is, Yoongi has seen you like this before: raw, open, yearning. You’ve never shown this side to Jimin before. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice thick. “I just don’t have words for it.” 

“And that’s okay too.”

So, he just holds you, his arms wrapping even tighter around your belly, pulling you in closer to him. You find your head tilting back to rest on his shoulder. He places a chaste kiss in the hollow of your throat—and you know, suddenly, that he means the gesture as reassurance, he means it as a response to all the words that you cannot say. 

At your front, the mountain howls. 

At your back, Yoongi stands firm and steadfast, the heat of his body bringing yours back into balance. Your breath calms. The tears dry. You are breathing together. In. Out. 

“Thank you,” you whisper to Yoongi, finally, finally opening your eyes to the night before you. But when you do, you’re surprised by what you see. 

At the fire pit just beyond the house, two figures huddle around a blazing fire, figures darkened in contrast with the flickering red flame. After a moment, you realize it’s Hoseok and Taehyung. They’re talking, but you can’t hear them no matter how you strain. In a flash, you feel suddenly nervous. What could they be talking about? 

—------

Tonight, with the brisk wind that rushes down the mountain side, it seems as if the stars are huddled closer to earth than ever before. Hoseok thinks they shine a little brighter tonight, like they are leaning in to hear what he has to say. 

Taehyung and Hoseok sit close together on one of the benches that surrounds the fire pit. The rest of their friends—Jungkook, Namjoon, and Yoongi—had abandoned them a few minutes before for bed, refreshed drinks, or the more reliable warmth of the house. Silence had settled over the pair as they gazed out over the scenic view, the sun only just disappearing entirely from the sky. For Taehyung, it was a comfortable silence. 

For Hoseok, his words mulled and churned as he searched for the right iteration, the right pattern. And then it had all come out like a flood, a bursted dam: a rushed question that only Taehyung could answer. 

“I dunno dude.” Taehyung rubs the back of his neck in response. “I didn’t realize you were that down bad after—” 

“It’s not bad, is it?” He answers the question for himself: “It’s bad. I know it’s bad. It looks bad, right?” 

“Nah,” Taehyung chuckles and grips the arm of his friend squeezing him in reassurance. “Nah, it happens to the best of us.” 

“It does?” Hoseok asks. Taehyung nods vigorously. But before he can respond, Hoseok continues: “You’re sure I’m not asking the wrong person about this?” 

“I mean, to be totally honest, it is a little weird but—” Taehyung sighs. “I want you to be able to talk to me about these things. You’re my friend. It’s important for you to talk about them. Actually—it’s important for all of us.” 

Hoseok nods solemnly, wringing his cold hands before speaking. “I just don’t know what to do,” he says. “I want to show her that I can be the kind of man that she wants.” 

His friend gives him a long, appraising look and sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I get it. I remember that—wanting the same thing—like it was yesterday. She deserves the world.” 

“Do you…still feel that way?” Hoseok asks slowly. 

“Are you asking, do I still feel the same way I felt when we were nineteen?” Hoseok nods. “Hell no.” 

But Taehyung glances to the ground. Fiddles with his fingers. Hoseok tries to read whatever’s going on in his friend’s head—but before he can understand what Taehyung is thinking, his friend speaks abruptly: “You know, she’ll want space to grow. Smothering her is only going to make her freeze up. But man, I don’t think you have all that much to worry about. I see the way you look at each other. 

Hoseok’s brow presses in confusion or interest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Taehyung chuckles and lightly slaps his friend on the shoulder. “My friend, you’re worried about something you have no need to worry about. You’re already five steps ahead in this game.” 

“What game?” 

“The game of loooove.” This, Taehyung says with a childish tone and a handsome smirk. 

Hoseok looks shocked. “I—I didn’t—We didn’t—But—” He collects himself. “We agreed as a house that this is all only sex. Anyways, I said nothing about love.”

“You didn’t have to.” 

“Do you really think…?” Hoseok asks, his eyes wide with hope. 

Taehyung shrugs, then picks up a stick to poke at the fire with. “I dunno. I can’t promise you the future—no one can. But I see something… I see things starting.” 

Hoseok nods as if he understands the vague statements of his friend. When he stands to walk away, he walks with the particular stride of someone who finally sees the light through the end of a hedge maze. 

—-------

You watch as Hoseok strides inside while Yoongi is still wrapped around your back, speaking softly in that deep lilt of his about his day. 

While you hadn’t heard what the two men discussed, you did feel a strange sense of watching something you weren’t supposed to be seeing. 

Yoongi’s warmth has brought you back to earth. When his breath brushes just-so against your neck, you find yourself shivering in his grasp. 

“Are you finally getting cold?” he asks. You hear the smirk in his voice—and the tender care too. 

“Maybe,” you say. “Yes,” you correct as a deeper chill settles within you. “Warm me up?” you ask softly. 

He leads you back into the living room, where he wraps a blanket around you and settles with you on the large couch. 

“Come here,” you insist. “I need your body heat. All of it.” Never quite the one to indulge in—or, better said, initiate—cuddling, Yoongi hesitates like he’s calculating where to fit his limbs. Then, he settles with a jolty, awkward collaboration of limbs into a spooning position with you tucked into him. 

It’s there, wrapped up in his arms while he tells you about the song you’re working on, that you slowly start to drift towards a deep sleep. 

—

As Hoseok strides back into the house, he wears a smug smile on his face. He’s a man on a mission, a guy with gusto, a dude with direction. He’s chosen his path—he’s walking it now. 

As he swings open the back door to a dark hallway in one of the lower levels, he notices a figure, lingering against the wall. The hallway is dark. He can’t make out the figure’s face. 

“Oh—hey,” he says anyways, making himself smaller to scootch right on past. 

But the man steps into the center of the hallway, effectively blocking Hoseok’s path. “I was looking for you,” the figure says. “But I didn’t want to interrupt. It looked like whatever you were talking about seemed quite important. I haven’t seen Taehyung that serious in a minute.” 

Hoseok shifts back and forth. “I guess you could say it was.” Then he shakes his head, as if to clear it. “But to be clear, I wasn’t making a move on Taehyung—nothing like that—I promise—” 

The man steps closer, and Jin’s handsome face comes into the dim light of the singular bulb that burns outside. 

“I wouldn’t mind it if you were.” Hoseok’s mouth flops open and then shuts again. Jin takes another step closer, tipping Hoseok’s chin shut. “Though maybe I’d like you to tell me if you were, first—just to know what’s going on between the people in my life. But why are you suddenly so nervous, Hoseok? Have you done something you’re not supposed to be doing?” 

Hoseok flounders for an answer. “I—no, I mean, I don’t think so. I mean, maybe we aren’t supposed to be doing things like this or—” He shuts himself up. “No, no I don’t think there’s anything wrong.” 

Jin tilts his head, scanning Hoseok’s flustered gaze. 

“Then why do you seem so nervous?” He takes another step towards Hoseok and suddenly Hoseok’s back is up against the wall and Jin is impossibly towering over him. “Do I make you nervous, Hoseok?” 

“You keep saying my name like that—” 

“Like what?” Jin’s thumb traces Hoseok’s chin, then wanders upwards, tracing around the bottom of his lip. Hoseok swallows loudly. “Like I want you?” 

“Do you want me?” Hoseok asks. “Really?” 

“I do.” It’s such a simple phrase and it makes Hoseok’s mind go empty. Jin places a kiss right below the younger man’s ear, his plus lips warming the tenderness there. “And if you don’t want me—tell me to stop.” 

Hoseok says nothing, but his hands come up to grip Jin’s shirt, implicitly pulling him closer. 

“What about Taehyung?” 

“What about him?” 

“Won’t he be upset?” 

Jin pulls himself up from where he had begun kissing down Hoseok’s throat, leveling his gaze. “Why? Do you plan to take me from him?”

“Not him—”

“Then tell me to stop or kiss me, goddamnit.” The decision is as simple as Hoseok tipping his chin towards his friend. And as Jin’s lips descend on Hoseok’s, the younger man nearly smiles. 

—-

Yoongi watches carefully as you drift towards sleep. He chooses his words carefully, too, to be simple and mundane enough to soothe the storm he sees warring within you. 

You mumble mmms and oh?s as he tells you about the way the music moves in his mind—how sometimes it is like water flooding him through and through—and how other times it is also like water, but only arrives in a trickle. 

He knows you’re only catching a few of his words, but he likes how they fill the dark, large room. He sees more of himself in speaking it all aloud in this way.

When he tells you about his most recent song, you too feel the water in him lift up and sing. It is simple, passion. And you can do nothing but lift your lips to his and kiss him, softly, like finding your way in the dark. 

He hesitates in surprise, and then leans in. 

Your mouths move gently with one another like curiosity, or learning someone’s body anew, and you find your breath filling your entire chest. Your arms wrap around him. You find that in you, too, everything has turned to water. You find that you can give Yoongi this—messy, tender, uncertain. You find that you are giving him exactly what Jimin asked you for, and a door in your chest creaks open with a painful creak. 

Light shines in through the crack. 

When the kiss is done, which—as many kisses do—arrives softly and sweetly and with finality, you tuck your head into his shoulder. Together, you breathe without saying anything. 

“I need to find Jimin,” you murmur as sleep comes over you. 

“Soon,” Yoongi says. 

As you cross that final barrier into sleep, Yoongi kisses the tear that slips across your cheek—the one you thought you could hide from him. 

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©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

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[smutinlove]

↳ CARL GRIMES MASTERLIST

—dedicated to the whores of alexandria and the walking dead.

special mentions: @hiro--aoki @carlsdarling @taylormarieee @loveforcarl @jas2010 (im mentally ill and these are my pookies)

rules for requesting

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Smut —Carl gets jealous when Ron tries to hit on you

Smut—Carl gets rough

Smut—Slutty slut

Smut-Dinner with Grimes—You and Carl decided to host dinner at your place. But you wanted to tease Carl, so you wore an extremely short dress.

Smut—Begging

Smut—Just sex

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Suggestive—Eyes apparently don't lie

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Fluff—Reader writes a love letter/appreciation letter

Fluff-Cabin—Carl Grimes asks to marry you

Fluff—CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

Fluff—NEW YEAR SPECIAL (2024)

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Angst—Carl, Rick, and Glenn notice that the reader hasn't been eating/sleeping. They force an intervention.

Angst—Reader cries about Carl's death

Angst—Reader dies. Carl cries. (Lineup)

Angst—Reader hurts herself. Carl comforts her.

Angst —Carl comforts an insecure reader. SH WARNING

Angst leading to fluff—Carl goes on a scavenging trip but gets lost. The reader goes to look for him.

Angst—After Negan kills readers father figure, Glenn Rhee, she and Carl start to fight a lot. One day, after an intense fight, Negan suddenly arrives to Alexandria. He manipulates the reader to Carl.

Angst/fluff—Dad figure Glenn. Carl hangs out with Enid a lot, making the reader jealous. !argument

Angst/fluff—Shy/sensitive reader. Carl and reader fight because she sneaks out and Rick scolds Carl, making him apologize.

Angst/fluff—Dad figure Glenn. Reader runs away because she hates Enid and her father figure adopted her. Carl finds her.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Small Series

You were my light part 1 —The daughter of the now dead Negan Smith is walking in the woods. She thought she was alone. But she wasn't.

You were my light part 2

You were my light part 3

You were my light part 4

You were my light part 5

You were my light ALTERNATIVE ENDING—The daughter of Negan Smith wakes up from what she thought was real but was a dream. She wants to find him. Y/N Smith wants to find Carl Grimes.

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

WORDS BURN HARD: CARL GRIMES X FEM!OC

Chapter One: The Woods

Chapter Two: Undetected

Chapter Three: Solitude

Chapter Four: a secret

Chapter Five: I watch as you're leaving

Chapter Six: Meddlsome

Chapter Seven: The Journal

Chapter Eight: A caged boy

Chapter Nine: Lavenders

Chapter Ten: Little Blue light

Chapter Eleven: Shopping and Paranoia

Chapter Twelve: The Start of Shame

Chapter Thirteen: War of Shame

Chapter Fourteen: Linked Destiny

Chapter Fifteen: Resurrection

Chapter Sixteen: coming soon

[naushtheaspiringauthor]

Crawl home to you- Bob Reynolds x reader

Chapter Eight

Chapter seven

Summary: Ever since you had met Bob inside the vault, your life had took a drastic turn, one there was no coming back from. Through helping him deal with his struggles, you were able to heal your own scars. However, untold truths, silent battles and reassuring lies start to break apart all you've built together.

Warnings: just like, one mention of SH

A/N: This one's really short but it's pure flufff to make up for all that angsttt soooo i hope it gives u satisfaction while reading. And tis is also the last chapter so I rally want to thank everyone who read this eight chapter long fic that was originally supposed to be a oneshot lmaoo. More bob fics will be out really soon whenever inspiration hits. And share your thoughts on this fic in the comments I'd LOVE that heheheeeee

Word count: 733

Bob found you sitting near a window, Yelena sitting by your side.

You were wearing your favorite sweatshirt, hair falling close to your eyes.

You were tired, but you were here.

“And let me know if you need anything, okay” said Yelena as she held your hand.

You chuckled, “I’m getting princess treatment from Yelena Belova” you said, lifting a shoulder. “I should fake being sick,” you said, considering the idea.

She gave a light smack on your hand but she too, was grinning. “Whatever” she rolled her eyes, but then she smiled gently.

“I’m just glad you’re okay”.

Bob stepped forward, finally mustering up the courage to approach you.

“Hi, Y/n” He spoke, but you were already looking at him.

“Hi Bob,” you smiled. 

Yelena stood up, “I’m gonna go find something to eat” she said.

She placed a hand on Bob’s shoulder before leaving.

He stepped closer.

You shifted to your side, making space for him. 

He sat down next to you.

“Y//n” he began. 

You turned to him.

“I’m really sorry,” he spoke. "For all the things I said”.

 He shook his head.

 “I didn’t mean any of it” He sighed, pressing his fingers to his eyelids briefly.

“It’s just that..” he began.

“The void-” his voice wavered.

 “His voice got loud, and he kept on saying these terrible, awful things” He pressed his lips briefly. 

“Until I started believing them too”.

“Hey no it’s not your fault” you shook your head. “I should’ve told you”.

“I kept-” you took a breath, formulating a proper sentence.

He knew

He waited

“I kept thinking,” you sighed.

“ kept telling myself that I was protecting you that way” you frowned slightly. “By keeping you away from worrying, from the-” you turned your gaze down. “from my pain”.

You sighed, brushing a hand over your face. “But deep down I was scared.”

You admitted, shaking your head. “Scared that it’d all be too much for you”.

“I was scared that I might be too much for you”.

His gaze turned sombre as he furrowed his brows.

“So I just hid it” you lifted a shoulder as you winced. “For as long as I could” you said.

“For as long as I would have to”.

“And in doing so I-” you pursed your lips briefly. “I hurt you”.

“I led you to believe that I didn’t trust you enough to tell you.”

Your gaze softened, you raised your brows. “But I do trust you, Bob” you took his hand in your own, and he felt a weight lifting off his chest, a burden he didn’t even know he was carrying.

He furrowed his brows, concern spreading over his features, before he smiled.

He moved his hand up, gently tucking a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I know now,” he nodded. “I know you do”.

A thought came to his mind. He took a deep breath, “Can you-” he began. “Can you show me please?” he asked.

Your gaze softened

You knew what he meant.

Slowly, you lifted up your sleeve, revealing the scars covering a better part of your arm.

He held onto your hand, gently, he moved it up and placed a kiss on top of a scar. “I love you, Y/n” he said. 

“All of you”.

"And I will love you through it all” he nodded in encouragement. 

“The good, the bad,” he met your gaze. “the worst”.

‘I’ll be here, always”.

He smiled, slowly lifting a shoulder, “Isn’t that what we always do for each other?”.

You smiled, the tears in your eyes shining. 

“Yeah” you nodded.

You cupped his face in your hands, moving closer.

He silently took a deep breath, mustering up all of his courage. 

He was the one to close the distance between you two.

The kiss was slow, gentle, patient, hesitation lingering in the air.

But when you kissed him back, he knew the moment was real, he knew you truly felt the same.

It mended every broken piece of him, healed every wound, it was the solace he'd been seeking his whole life, without ever realizing it.

When you pulled away, he chuckled.

“You terrify me,” he said with a wide-eyed gaze.

You grinned proudly. “Maybe” you shrugged. 

“But you love me anyway,” you smiled.

He nodded in response, “I love you” he said, before kissing you again.

You rested your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

You were there with him

And he knew one thing for sure, he was never letting you go.

@uncertified-doc @uracowboylikemee @jkjklopo

[patrickispinky]

Masterlist

Sex, Drugs, Etc.

Warnings: Talk of drugs/Drug use. Possible smut in the future. SH. A lot of plot. EXTREME Canon divergence. Before Maddies time. Set in 2022 - early 2023. Sleep Paralysis. Panic attack. Blood. Hearing voices. Disassociation. Suicide. Drowning. Rehab. Overdose. Vomit. Dead Body. Death. Self Depreciation. Angst. Relapse. Self Hate. Huffing Chemicals. Reader is Bipolar Coded Though Its Not Explicitly Stated. This is NOT meant to romanticize addiction or mental illness.

(The trigger warnings will grow as the story goes on. This story is dark and has a lot of mature topics. There will be specific warnings before every chapter. Please read responsibly. If you have any questions feel free to ask. :)

Title: Sex, Drugs, Ect.

Status: Ongoing

Parts: 10

Words: 19,359

Paring: Wally Clark x Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)

You can also find this fic on Wattpad or AO3

{ Part one } { Part two } { Part three } { Part four } { Part five } { Part six } { Part seven } { Part eight } { Part nine } { Part ten }

-

School Spirits Masterlist

General Masterlist

[yanderecrazysie]

Twisted Zoo: Chapter Two

This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .

Also @twistedcece @cenatour @ursinaw @xiaopleasecomehome @bearshideout @koebishrimpuwu @v-sh @help-whatdoimakemyusername @secret-potion @magmdnv @sunshine-for-serotonin @mel-star636 and @thisisafish123 wanted to be tagged! Let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged for future chapters. If you no longer want to be tagged, please tell me! (I hope the tags worked, I'm new to having a tag list!)

Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you. 

Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.

Previous chapter: Chapter One

Next chapter: Chapter Three

WARNINGS: none for now

Note: All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.

Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.

Note 2: I’m in love with Ruggie, so I accidentally made half of this chapter about him. Oops.

—----------------------------------

You decided that the best course of action would be watching from afar. The hyenas were afraid of you, the king of the lions didn’t like you, and the wolves were wary of you. All in all, not the greatest situation.

You didn’t know what you expected. Did you really think they would all love you from day one? They were half-animals, after all. They had the instincts of wild animals, not domesticated pets.

Still, you were determined to make them like you. The hyenas would probably be easiest, once they warmed up to you. The wolves would probably get used to you eventually. The lions- well, that was a tricky situation. They all followed Leona, so you’d have to win him over before you could win over the entire pride, and that would not be easy.

You grabbed your journal and pen from your locker and walked to the savannah exhibit’s door. This time, you had brought a water bottle with you, prepared for the upcoming heat you would have to face. You had also bought binoculars from one of the vendors, knowing you would need it if you were going to keep some space between you and the halflings.

You entered the exhibit, wincing at the heat that hit your skin. You scanned the dry land for the hyenas and found them lounging around the watering hole, talking amongst themselves. You stepped behind a large rock and leaned over it, raising your binoculars to your eyes.

It was impossible to hear what they were saying, but they seemed to laugh a lot. You really wished you knew what they were saying, but if you approached them, they would probably stop their conversation and focus on getting away from you.

Day 1

HYENAS

There are seven hyenas and they all seem to be close to each other, as they stick together in a group. Their conversations seem to be humorous, as they are often laughing. This could be from their hyena half, as hyenas are known for their “laugh”.

Each of the halflings are easily differentiated by their hyena ears and tail. They all seem to be around 5’5, but even the tallest ones do not hit 6 feet. 

They are relaxed until a female approaches them. In this case, all seven hyenas are male, so the problem starts when a female keeper tries to feed them or study them up close. They suddenly become extremely wary or even frightened and are very hesitant to come anywhere near a female keeper.

The best way to calm them down, I believe, is to show them that you are not aggressive like female hyena halflings are. It doesn’t get rid of their fear, but it definitely helps.

You peered through your binoculars and watched the six hyenas as they drank from the watering hole- most of them scooping water into their palms and drinking from their hands, while others put their head down to drink directly from the source.

Wait- six hyenas? Weren’t there seven?

You felt a hot breath on the back of your neck and you spun around, heartbeat skyrocketing. There, standing behind you, was the hyena halfling you had talked a little bit with when you were handing out breakfast.

He retreated to a safe distance and sat down, cross-legged, studying you curiously, a slight smile on his face as though he was proud that he had frightened you. Suddenly, you were all too aware of the claws on his fingers and the unnaturally sharp canines that shone in the sunlight when he flashed you a lazy smile.

“Shishishi,” he giggled, eyes locked on you, waiting for your reaction.

“You scared me, Ruggie!” you said, your heartbeat starting to go back to its normal pace.

His grin only widened. You noticed his eyes flickering from you to your notebook.

“Oh! Are you interested in my notebook?” you asked, holding it out to him.

Ruggie frowned, looking a little offended, “I can’t read.”

Oh. You felt your cheeks growing warm. Of course a halfling, who had spent his life in the wild and then captivity, wouldn’t know how to read. It was a miracle that any of them had picked up enough English to be able to speak it.

“Do you want me to read it to you?” you asked.

Ruggie’s eyes widened and he cocked his head at you. Finally, he shook his head. A little disappointed, you closed your notebook. “That’s alright. Did you want to talk?”

Ruggie shook his head once more and you felt yourself at a loss for words. You weren’t sure why he was still here if he wasn’t interested in talking. One of the other hyenas made a whooping sound and Ruggie responded with his own hyena noises, turning his attention to the other hyenas for a moment before he turned back to you.

You decided to try to get him to speak to you, “So, did you enjoy breakfast? You had three servings, after all.”

Finally, Ruggie nodded then, as an afterthought, added, “I like donuts better.”

“Donuts?” you couldn’t help but laugh, “Would you like it if I brought some?”

Ruggie’s eyes widened, “Donuts?”

“Yeah!” you said happily, “My boss said I could bring you guys anything, as long as I paid for it with my own money.”

He looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky, “Donuts!”

Ruggie called back to his friends with a series of whoops and other hyena noises and they responded back enthusiastically. You wished you could understand their language.

You turned back to your notebook.

It seems like hyena halflings like sweets or, at least this group likes donuts. One of them, the one named Ruggie, seems like he has warmed up to me a little. We talked a little, mostly about donuts, but I feel like he isn’t as scared of me as the others are.

Ruggie seemed to have had enough, because he stood up and, with a curious glance back at you, he ran off to join the others, kneeling by the watering hole to drink along with his peers.

You were a little disappointed by how short the conversation had lasted, but more than anything, you were excited that you had a conversation with a hyena halfling at all. Ruggie still seemed a little wary of you, but much more comfortable with your presence than earlier.

It was a step in the right direction.

You were not looking forward to seeing Leona, but you were already in the savannah exhibit and the lions weren’t too far off. The pride’s positions were the same as this morning’s, with Leona lounging on the large rock while the other lions sat and laid on the grass beneath him. The lions were either napping, grooming their hair, or just talking quietly amongst themselves.

The lions were not frightened by you and why would they be? They had a killer bite and claws on each hand. They regarded you lazily, as if you bored them a little.

“Hello, everyone!” you did your best to not sound as terrified as you felt. None of the lions stopped what they were doing for you, continuing their actions as if you weren’t even there.

You hadn’t even noticed at first that Leona was awake, until you glanced at the rock, hoping to get a reaction from him. 

He sat up on the rock, staring at you with an impassive expression. Despite his lack of a warm welcome, your heart soared. This was your chance!

“Hi there!” you said cheerfully.

He looked down his nose at you, clearly not impressed by your greeting.

“Did you have a good nap?” you asked.

Leona continued to stare at you, unimpressed with your attempts at earning his attention.

“So, I know your name is Leona, but would you like to know mine?” you asked hopefully.

Leona’s eyes turned to the right, as though he was making a decision. Finally, he spoke in that slow, rumbling voice of his, “Whatever, I don’t care. Go ahead”

You smiled up at him, pleased that you had gotten his permission, even though he wasn’t as interested as you had hoped, “I’m (Y/n), it’s nice to officially meet you.”

Leona laid back down but didn’t close his eyes, watching you as you looked back at him.

“Did you eat your steak? I don’t want you to go hungry.”

Leona’s eyes widened a little, as though you had taken him by surprise. And maybe you had.

His gaze evaded yours as he responded to your question, “Yes, I ate it.”

“Oh good!” you smiled happily up at him.

Leona studied you closely, clearly unable to read you. Leona tilted his head and turned away from you, “Is that all you need?”

“I’ll write in my notebook, if you’d prefer me to do that.”

Leona grunted in response and closed his eyes.

DAY 1

LIONS

The lion halflings are not shy like the hyenas, but they are hesitant to talk to me. I feel as though, if I earn their king’s acceptance, I will be able to talk to them all. The king has started to talk to me, even if it was only a few words.

The lions are taller than the hyenas, most around 6 feet tall. They are easily differentiated by their lion ears and tail. There are 19 lions, with most being female, and only one cub.

Unsurprisingly, the lion halflings spend a good chunk of their time sleeping. I assume this is from the lion part of them.

“Did you want to read what I wrote?” you asked, sensing Leona’s eyes on you. Your eyes met his and he held your gaze for a few moments before growling, “I’m going to sleep.”

He flopped back down on the rock and closed his eyes again, his breathing becoming rhythmic almost right away.

You didn’t want to bother Leona when he was trying to fall asleep, so you sneaked away, sending an unrequited wave over your shoulder to the other lions. Maybe if you weren’t so determined to get out of the heat, you would have noticed the eyes boring into the back of your head.

The walk to the wolves’ exhibit was a long one. After all, you had to cross half the savannah before making it out into the back hallway meant for staff. Then, you had to push through the crowds to get to the wolf exhibit. At least the crowds weren’t too bad, since evening was on its way.

You were excited that the sun was falling. You’d be able to watch wolf halflings at their preferred time of day. After all, wolves hunted in the twilight hours.

You hoped that didn’t mean they’d see you as prey.

The exhibit door opened easily and you found yourself breathing the air in deeply. It took you a moment to discover just why you liked the wolves’ enclosure so much. Mountain air. Somehow, some way, the zoo had made the enclosure smell like the mountains. The air was even a little thinner here than it was on the pathways.

These wolf halflings must have been living in the mountains when they were brought to the zoo. The thought made your heart hurt a little. Were they offered a deal to live in captivity or were they captured and brought here by force? You didn’t like to think about it too much.

This wasn’t your battle to fight.

The keeper who fed the wolves their evening meal walked past you with full buckets. As she passed you, she gave you a word of advice, “You aren’t gonna find them all together like they are at mealtimes. They all split up, especially in the evening.”

You nodded, a little disappointed. That could make it harder to find them, much less study them. Plus, it’s not like you could look in several directions at once. This might be a little more complicated than you thought.

Or maybe it’ll be fine, you reassured yourself, trying to stay positive.

You reached a steep, downward slope and decided it was probably the best vantage point you would find. You found a nice place to sit down between a cluster of rocks and took out your binoculars. 

It took almost half an hour for you to see any movement. Down, at the base of the hill, one wolf halfling walked close to the barrier between the wolves and guests. He had his back hunched in a sort of prowl, and you realized that he was probably in hunt mode. 

Excited, you pulled out your notebook to make some notes.

Your pen froze above the paper when you heard a growl.

You slowly turned your head, and what you saw made your blood run cold. A buff wolf halfling with dark gray hair and pin-pricked ears had his lips drawn over his fangs in a snarl. He was growling so ferociously that flecks of spit flew in your direction. His yellow eyes dilated as he grew closer, back hunched as though he were ready to lunge for your throat at any moment. 

You gulped, forcing yourself to stay completely still. You were afraid, if you moved, you’d have your throat torn out before you could blink.

The wolf took one step closer, growled one last time, then lunged.

The halfling seemed to stop midair and, before you knew it, he was lying on his side in the dirt a few feet away. The cause of his sudden stop was made clear after a few terrified moments, when your eyes turned upwards.

The white-haired wolf halfling stood with his shoulder still out in front of him. You realized that he had shoulder-checked the older wolf during his attack. Shakily you smiled at him.

“Thank you so much!”

The dark-skinned halfling took a seat on one of the rocks surrounding you. You studied his features, everything from his white tail to his white ear tips. He, on the other hand, watched the older wolf warily.

The older wolf pushed himself to his feet, shaking the dirt from his clothes. His yellow eyes glared at you, but he limped off in the opposite direction, disappearing into the shadows of the trees. 

The white-haired halfling turned his attention back to you. You decided to offer your friendship to him.

“My name is (Y/n), what’s yours?”

He stared at you for a moment, before his rumbling voice said, “Jack.”

“It’s nice to meet you Jack,” you said, trying not to come across as too excited to be talking to him. You didn’t want to scare him away with your eagerness.

Jack continued to stare, his golden stare softening a little when he said, “Not safe.”

He didn’t seem to have a very good grasp on the English language, but that was understandable. It didn’t seem like the wolves were all too friendly toward humans.

“I have to stay,” you explained to Jack, hoping he would understand.

“Not safe,” Jack replied. He got up from his sitting position and crossed the distance between you in less than a second. You watched, trembling, as his one of his clawed hands took hold of the back of your shirt collar. 

You blinked owlishly as Jack began to carry you by the collar, stunned by his behavior and not wanting to tick him off by fighting. From what you could tell, he didn’t seem to want to actually hurt you, but you didn’t want to push your luck.

After a long walk, Jack set you back down on your feet. He pointed one clawed finger behind you. “Not safe.”

You turned around and, to your surprise, you were met with the exhibit door. Comprehension dawned on you. He wanted to keep you safe.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you soothed, “I have to study-”

“Not safe,” Jack responded, voice even gruffer.

You tried to come up with the perfect solution. You had to soothe Jack but you also had to do your job.

“Well, you could protect me,” you suggested.

“Pro-tect?” Jack’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, keep me safe,” you replied. Jack took a while to think that one over. Finally, he nodded.

He followed you back to your spot like an obedient puppy, but refused to sit down, choosing instead to hover over you, eyes darting in all directions.

Day 1

WOLVES

Wolf halflings tend to be around 6 feet tall, distinguishable by their wolf ears and tails. There are 12 of them in this zoo, with 6 females and males each. 

Some of the wolf halflings are very aggressive, and this seems to amplify in the evening hours, possibly because these are their hunting hours. One wolf, however, acts in a protective manner towards me.

It is interesting to note the wolf halflings appear to be in hunting mode despite just being fed.

All of the halflings, save for one, have hair and fur in different shades of gray, while one has white hair and fur.

You didn’t see any other wolves for the next few hours and you eventually decided it was time to go home. Jack shadowed you on your way to the exhibit entrance. You waved goodbye, and he mimicked the action awkwardly.

Laughing a little, you went home for the day.

[catsteeth]

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader 

+:✿ Chapter 8 ✿:+ : Bad Poetry

Prev Chapter | Chapter Index

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister.  You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his. 

CW: afab reader, Proposal, NSFW themes, mention of non-con, misogyny, mention of violence, mention of arranged marriages, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes, mention of parental death.

Word Count: 5.7k

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

After you and Podrick’s heated reunion in the snow behind the walls of Castle Black, you and Podrick attempt to resume your duties as normal. He attended his training, and you continued to pester the old Maester. 

However you came together again in your chambers that night. Now that you were near, Podrick would waste no time. Any moment he had he gave it to you. So naturally he and you coupled again. But that night he told you of what happened in the RiverLands. The dead black fish you saw in your dream was not only a black fish but the BlackFish, Brynden Tully. And that was not the end of your dreams.

That night, you dreamt of an old friend. Margaery. You thought of her long hair, the pale auburn of her hair. Only in your dream, she looked far different than how you remembered. Her hair was uncurled, her clothes were modest and dull, and her crown hung heavy at the top of her head. Her smile was gone and left was an expression of anger. 

And suddenly a flash of green, bright blinding green. And a siring, burning, all too vivid pain ripped through your skin. You saw the bricks of a great and tall building crumbling, and seven pointed stars falling with it. The green grew, and burnt through it all, through your skin, through your bone, until you finally broke free from your dream.

You woke up with your eyes still closed, screaming from the pain.  

Your screaming naturally woke up your lover sleeping beside you. He instinctively wrapped his arm around you pulling you in closer. His other hand came to your face, holding it firmly, “(Y/N)!” He shouted waking you from your dream. As soon as your eyes opened, your screaming ceased. Your eyes wide, darted around the droll room until they finally settled on Podricks face. He looked at you with his sleepy, scared, and watery eyes “What is it?” He asked in a hush tone, “What’s wrong?” He asked as he brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“Green, green, green fire…” You whispered, muttering incoherently, you felt the remnants of the pain you felt in the dream. Your eyes began to water, and you began to pant and shake as your mind began to understand your dream.

He held you closer, your face nuzzled into his neck, “It’s alright, it’s alright…” He whispered as he ran his hand up and down your side soothing you.

As you catched your breath in his arms, your dreams' meaning came clear to you. 

You knew that Margaery’s life was in danger, that she was going to die a terrible death. A terrible and undeserved death. 

So you peeled yourself away from your lover's arms. Stumbling around the cold room, beginning to dress yourself. 

“What’re you doing?” Podrick asked as you dressed in haste. “The sun is hardly out.”

“I have to leave here.” You said lacing your corset quickly. 

Podrick sat up in your bed, looking at you suddenly wide awake “Leave where?”

You looked back at him as you quickly shoved your feet into a pair of boots, “Leave here, Castle Black.” 

He threw the blankets off of himself and stood as you fastened your baldric holding your sword around your waist. “You can’t-“ He asserted. 

“Podrick, I have to.” You asserted back, you felt rotten with guilt but you knew you’d no choice. 

Podrick came close, putting his hand on the back of your neck, “What did you see?” He asked earnestly.

You took a breath, “Destruction. The Sept, in the Capitol. It erupted into a wildfire.” You said with fear in your eyes.

Podrick shook his head in confusion, “Why go then?” He wasn’t angry with you of course, but he couldn’t understand why you would put yourself in such danger.

“Margaery is there.” You said with a tilt of your head.

“You could die!” He said as you moved away from him, grabbing hold of your cloak and slinging it over your shoulders.

“She will! If I don’t go, she will.” You insisted desperately attempting for him to understand. Though of course a man would not understand the connection you and another woman would have. You continued to dress yourself, shoving your hands into your leather gloves.

Podrick, knowing he’d exhausted all his options, stood in front of the door. “I won’t let you.” 

You shoved your hand into your leather gloves. You stopped and stared, completely still once he said those words, “What?” you asked with narrow eyes.

“I said I won’t let you.” He asserted with a false confidence. 

You finished placing your hands into your gloves. Then stepped in front of Podrick, staring him down, “Say that one more time.” You said softly but intensely. 

He swallowed hard, and attempted to puff out his chest, “I won’t let you leave. I refuse to allow you to try to kill yourself.” He shook his head. Attempting to dominate the situation. 

“You won’t let me leave?” You asked with a raised brow.

He nodded, “That’s right.” As soon as he said those words you turned around and opened the window shutters of your chamber, beginning to climb out of it. He must have forgotten your chamber was on the ground level. “He-“ He began before rushing over to the window that you were jumping out of, “(Y/N)!” He shouted out the window as you landed on the ground. 

“I’ll return!” You shouted back to him as he watched you run towards the stables. 

Podrick, still half naked from waking up beside you, stumbled around the room attempting to dress himself quickly enough to catch you before you left the gates. 

However by the time he was dressed and running outside, the gates were closed. And your brown horse is now gone. 

Podrick stood there for a moment just staring at the gates. Unsure of what to do next. When he looked beside him, he noticed the tall lady knight he served. Brienne was entering the courtyard for Podricks training, as they did each morning. She looked upon his helpless expression with confusion.

“She’s gone.” He said breathless and defeated.

“Gone where?” She asked, irritated with a furrowed brow. 

“Kings Landing.” Podrick said in a huff.

Brienne scrunched her face, “Hm, She seemed strange but not stupid.”

“She’s not stupid.” Podrick nearly snapped, which was very out of character, especially towards her. “She’s strong wielded.” He said more calmly. 

“Then go.” Brienne said as if it were the obvious answer… which it was. 

“What?” Podrick asked, he never thought of himself capable of it. 

Brienne rolled her eyes, “Gods- Podrick, if you fear for her then help her.” She huffed, “Honestly you thinking you’d be able to stop her was pathetically idiotic.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Your journey south was pitifully uneventful. You knew now where to avoid in the roads and what Inns would throw out day-old food. It was getting into the capital that proved to be a challenge. And you knew that getting into the castle walls would be even harder. However it wasn’t long after arriving that you had heard enough murmurs among the smallfolk that Margaery was not in the walls of the castle at all, no she was in the Sept. 

You knew then that your time was running thin. But at least in the sept there was a way in. You snuck in through the Septa’s quarters. Hiding your sword and cloak there. You dressed in the gray humble smock, and a matching gray headdress to conceal your hair. 

Soon after stumbling through the sept long enough you found where they were keeping her. 

As you looked in through the small crack in the door, you could see her curled up in a corner of the room. 

“You there!” A voice called out, 

You were startled, and jumped slightly as you looked over to the voice who called out. You saw it was a younger boy holding a tray of food. 

“Are you giving the Queen her supper?” He asked innocently. 

You nodded, and took the tray from the boy. “Can you open the door?” You asked, “I seemed to have forgotten my keys in my quarters." 

The boy rolled his eyes in annoyance, but did as you asked. 

As you entered the room you made sure that the boy closed the door behind him, and waited to hear his footsteps fade. Then you approached Margaery. 

She was curled up in the corner of the room facing away from you. You walked closer to her, placing the tray of food by her feet. 

She looked nothing like herself. Her feet were dirty, almost black, and she was dressed in a gray rag. 

“Leave it and go.” She said defiantly. It was nothing like the Margaery you knew. 

“Margaery-“ You whispered. 

She turned to face you, recognizing your voice. She pulled your headdress down, looking at your hair as it fell out of it, “What are you doing here?” She asked terrified of you. You coming here was a dangerous choice. She knew the risk you were taking was great. Not only for you but for her as well.

“I’ve come to take you away from this pious shit.” You said quickly, knowing your time had run thin, and it was now or never for her to leave this place. 

She looked at you with narrow eyes, “This pious shit is going to let me stay queen.” 

You looked at her with confusion. Not understanding how she could possibly wish to remain prisoner. “It’s going to kill you. I saw it.” You grabbed her by her shoulders, “They’ll never listen to you and it will kill you.” 

She shook her head, looking at you with the same confusion you looked at her with, “You don’t know that.” She stood, 

You stood with her, “I do, I dreamt it.” You said with a nod. 

She stifled a laugh, “You didn’t come all the way here for a dream I should have hoped for.”

“They come true.” You said pleading with her to understand, “I dreamt of a dead black fish and Podrick-“ You began explaining but were cut off but a scoff, 

“Oh! Podrick, I am glad he indulges your fantasies. What a doting suitor he is.” Margaery said, rolling her eyes. 

“I know you’re upset with me-“

“Upset?” She asked, her eyes welling up, “You left me.” She said quietly, “Left me, for someone you loved. Someone else.” She said walking across the room, frustrated. 

You felt helpless, you couldn’t give her what she wanted, “Come with me.” You asked in a soft voice, she turned to you with heartbreak in her eyes, “Please.” You begged. 

She breathed hitched as she breathed in. She held back her emotion, closing her eyes for a moment, then finally looking at you with her head held high, “I am the Queen.” She said with teary eyes, “A Queen does not abandon her people.” 

“You are my friend.” You said softly. 

“That’s the problem, that is what I am to you.” She said, lowering her head. “That is not all you are to me.” 

You knew what she meant by it, and so did she. You always knew. And if Podrick had not come along, who knows perhaps you would have. But with him, there was only him. 

You let out a sharp exhale, “Margaery-” You began stepping towards her, 

“Go.” She said heartbroken once again, “Go with your dreams and your lover.” She said sitting back down. 

You stood there in silence for a moment not knowing what to say, “That’s it then?” You said defeatedly, fighting back tears.

She huffed, angrily, “That’s it.” She whispered in a hiss. 

Defeated, and now already mourning the friend you loved. You nodded, wiped your cheek, and headed for the door. 

As your hand touched the handle of the door, Margaery stopped you. Grabbing hold of your hand. Startled you turned around to face her, 

“Your hair.” She said as she handed you the gray headdress. Before you could take it from her hands she began putting it on herself. Tucking your hair into the headdress, you stared at her face. She was holding back tears as she smoothed out the fabric for you. 

You couldn’t help it, you wrapped your arms around her, hugging her close. Her arms did not embrace you for a moment. Hesitant to give into your gesture. Until she heard your quiet sobs in her ear, she finally embraced you, closer and harder than you did to her. 

You wanted to hold her forever, your dearest friend, who you knew would soon parish. But who you knew you had no sway over any longer, and you were unsure you ever did have any sway.  

Before you could pull away, Margaery, while still embracing you, opened the door behind you and pushed you out of the room, closing the door behind you. 

No goodbye.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

You managed to find your way back to the Septa’s chambers, gathering your things, and leaving the same way you snuck in. 

As you walked through the streets of the capital, you couldn’t help it but let your tears fall down your face. Knowing that you’d failed and that your dearest friend would soon be dead. You felt even more guilty for leaving Podrick, and even more ashamed to face him again. You knew that you would be dreading it your whole journey back to Castle Black. 

Only what you didn’t know is that you wouldn’t have to wait the whole journey to see him. 

As you walked in the streets, a hand grabbed your arm from behind and pulled you into an alleyway. You yanked your arm loose, and pinned the man against the wall with your dagger. 

With your dagger pressed against his throat, “It’s me!” Podrick said

As soon as you registered it was Podrick, you dropped the dagger. “Oh-“ You said shocked, you held his face, “I’m sorry-I’m so sorry- I was stupid-“

He grabbed your face, “You’re not stupid.” asserting. 

You shook your head, “I’m sorry.” You said, beginning to cry again. Though he did not wish to hear apologies, because he did not need them. He pulled you in close and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was passionate, and desperate. 

Your kiss was an apology, and a proclamation of devotion. 

As you pulled away, you looked around and noticed that the crowds around you were paying more attention to you. “We’d better move.” Podrick said, taking your hand and pulling you along. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You and Podrick we're now on the rode together for the first time. You aimed your bow and arrow at a rabbit, far into the woods. 

“Sh- If you’re too loud you’ll scare it.” You said as Podrick kneeled beside you as you tried to get your aim perfect. 

Podrick looked out into the woods, “Think we might be too far-” before he could continue, you let your arrow loose, and it flew across the woods. Piercing through the rabbit's skull, “How’d you get so good at that?” Podrick asked in astonishment.

You shrugged, “Time… Lots of it. Boredom.” You said standing and approaching the rabbit. 

Podrick shuffled to stand, and followed you into the woods, “I had time, and lots of boredom. Never had anyone to teach me.”

“My father taught me some before he up and left and then my brother taught me some before he up and left too. Then my aunt.” You continued, holding your skirts as you walked further and further into the woods. 

“Most girls get taught how to sew, needle point-” 

You took his hand, “I can do some of that. Sewing up wounds and all that.” You said as you turned his palm over, showing him his scar of the wound you stitched up. Making him smile. You kept holding his hand as you continued, “My mother was a young bride. From what I hear she would have taught me to make dresses and embroider silks. But…I killed her when I came out of her.” Before Podrick could respond to what you had said, you got to the dead rabbit in the woods. You picked it up, holding it up by its legs, “Do you know how to skin a rabbit?” 

That night, Podrick, somewhat in an attempt to impress you, built you a fire, and cooked you that rabbit. However much he had improved he was not much of a cook. Though you appreciated the gesture all the same. 

As you ate it, you attempted not to grimace, “It’s not bad.” You said to Podrick, who knew you were being polite. “I like mine burnt anyway.” You shrugged and he smiled at you softly, “You don’t need to know how to cook to be a knight.”

“Suppose not.” He smiled, taking another bite of his burnt rabbit. 

“You came for me?” You looked back at him.

He looked back to you, “Course I did.” 

You placed the burnt rabbit down, and snuggled up closer to him. “I am sorry.”  You placed a hand on top of his, “I should have listened to you.” 

“People usually don’t.” He shrugged, genuinely not seeing the issue.

“I should.” You asserted, you leaned in closer to him “Your words mean a great deal to me.” You looked down in shame, “I don’t understand this thing. If I cannot change its course, then all it does is torment me.” You said somberly. 

He took your hand, “I want to help you understand your gift. Whatever it may be.” He brought your knuckles to his lips.

You smiled at him as he kissed your hand, “And I want to help become a Knight.”

“You do?” He asked with a giddy smile.

You nodded, “Of course, as long as you’re not a KingsGuard. I can’t have you swearing to chastity. It’d be a great waste of your talents.” You jested.

“Talents?” He stifled a laugh, 

“Your talents that are renowned around all the brothels in westeros.” You teased, and he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you on top of him, “Ah!” you giggled,

As you settled on top of him he looked up at you with adoration and warmth, “You’re the only woman I’ll ever touch.” He said earnestly. 

You smiled and stifled a laugh as you ran your hand through his hair. “Well, I am sure all the whores in the realm will be quite disappointed.” He did not say anything, just continued to look up at you with loving eyes, “What?” you asked innocently. 

His smile tugged on the corners of his mouth slightly, making him smile wider for a moment. “Would you take me as your husband?” He asked you, his grip around your waist tightening ever so slightly. 

You smiled warmly, placed your hands on his cheeks, now covered in an unfamiliar stubble. “Of course, you imbecile.” You thought it was obvious. You abandoned him once, and now we’re determined never again. You pressed his forehead against your own, “You and me.” You whispered. 

His hand that caressed your back, trailed up to hold the back of your neck. Pressing his lips against yours. You rocked your hips teasingly against him, and his hand tangled into your hair. Your hands roamed his chest, and his arms, admiring how strong they’d gotten. He did the same, his hand pawing at the neckline of your gown. 

You were content on ridding him of his pants, and riding him, but you were interrupted by the sounds of twigs snapping under the weight of a person's feet.

You pulled away from him, looking out into the woods. “Sh-“ You hushed him before he could even speak.

“What?” He asked quietly.

“Footsteps.” You replied. You got off of him, and pulled him up to stand. 

Soon the footsteps grew louder as they approached. And soon, a man appeared on a great black horse. A man in Bolton colors, with a Bolton sigil on his horse.  

“Hello there.” The man said with a disingenuous smile.

It was silent for a moment. You were unwilling to respond, simply glaring at the man who spoke to you. Podrick however did, “Hello.” he said in an attempt to ease the tension. 

The man, noticing your glare, smirked, “My Lady.” He said in greeting to you, once again.

“Can I help you?” Podrick asked, attempting to get some of the attention away from you.

The man still looking at you said, “She your lady?” 

Podrick looked at you, noticing your hostile glare, he let out a small sigh before saying “Aye.” 

“Not much of a talker is she?” The man’s eyes still did not leave you, you rolled your eyes at his comment. 

Podrick looked back at the man, “She can choose when she speaks. Can I help you with something?” Podrick asked, trying to understand what the man wanted. 

“No. But maybe, I could help you. Where are you traveling.” The man still holding up his pleasant facade.

“You can’t help us.” You interjected, knowing the man was “Will make our own way.” 

“Not a polite birdie, are you?” The man asked, grinning at you. 

“He asked what you wanted.” You said, your eyes hard and narrowed at the man. 

The man bit his lip, and stifled a laugh. He shrugged, “I want to know what you’re doing here.” “Then we can’t help you. Now fuck off.”  You said with a tilt of your head. Podrick felt a dread growing inside of him. 

Your words riled up the man, he huffed and began to speak again “Listen-” 

“Stop talking.” You commanded, 

The man was thrown off by your words, it angered him, “I will not stop talking, woman. If I have something to say-” 

You aimed your bow and arrow at the man, “I said stop talking. Leave.” 

“You let your woman speak for you?” The man asked mockingly, looking at Podrick. 

“He’s one of Bolton’s men.” You said to Podrick, in a low tone.

“And I take it you two aren’t?” The man said with a crooked grin.

“She told you to leave.” Podrick said, reaching for the hilt of his sword.

In return, the man pulled out his own sword, and pointed it towards Podrick. 

Your eyes narrowed, “I don’t like men who don’t listen.” You just released your arrow. It flew and hit the man in his eye, killing him just like the rabbit you killed earlier that night. 

You looked at Podrick, who looked at you in awe. Never having seen you kill another person. “We’d best keep going then.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

By the time you had arrived back to Castle Black, tensions between the Starks and the Boltons had risen. As soon as you set foot within the walls of Castle Black Jon summoned you. He handed you a letter written by Ramsay Bolton. A letter threatening killing, pillaging, raping, burning, and varies forms of torture to all tratorus houses. 

“Like bad poetry.” You said as you finished the letter. 

“We’ve been threatened with war. If we are to take back Winterfell we will need an army, an army we don’t have.” Jon said with a brooding face. 

“You want the Mormont army? You’ll find it to be lacking in numbers, no doubt. Though our men and women fight harder than any other army.” You said proudly. 

“So you’ll give us the men?” Jon asked, you could sense the desperation in his voice.

You shook your head, “I have no sway. Lyanna is the Lady of Bear Island, not I.” 

“You are the eldest living inherited Mormont, you have claim-”

“Out of the question.” You interrupted him, “Lyanna stepped into her role admirably in place of my aunt. She’s served the house well. I will not return just to take it from her. I do not want it.” You asserted adamantly.  

“Convince her then.” Jon pleaded with you, “Lyanna Mormont has been unwilling to provide aid to anyone.” He said as he handed you another letter. 

As you unscrolled the letter you read the words, “Bear Island knows no king but the King in the North, whose name is Stark." In your cousin's writing. 

You smiled at her writing, “She is just like her mother.” You rolled the scroll back up and handed it back to Job, “I’ll go. Though I am not sure it will help you. Mormont’s hold grudges, and I left them holding a rather large one.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

And so you did. You got on a ship with Davos Seaworth, Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, and of course her sworn sword Brienne, and her squire Podrick. Who was now your intended. 

As your ship approached the docks of Bear Island, you looked out the front of the ship at the giant green island you were approaching. You felt uneasy, like your stomach aches. Nervous for what the people of the island would say. But you’d never let that show.

Podrick, who stood behind you, leaned forward to hold your hand, but was interrupted by Jon’s voice. 

“Any… advice?” He asked, unsure if you would be able to help at all. 

“Don’t rely on flattery or small talk. She might be young but being called pretty will not soften her judgment.” You spoke plainly as you looked at the green mountains of the island, “Infact do not attempt small talk with anyone on the Island. Be blunt, and harsh with your words. It is the only way to get their attention.” 

“You suggest we walk in and demand their army?” He asked, displeased with your answer.

“Essentially, yes.” You nodded and looked back to Jon, “You remember how to handle my father?” You asked with a raised brow,

Jon scoffed, “You believe the girl of ten and three is as hard as he is?”

“Harder.” You asserted, looking back to the ship's port. You noticed someone as your ship docked. A man by the name of Dareon. Ser Dareon, a man who once loved you, who fucked you only once when you and he were both quite drunk. However you did not love him back. Since that day he and you shared a mutual disdain for one another. “Fuck…” You murmured under your breath.

Podrick, hearing what you said, leaned in close to you, “You know him?” You looked at him with an uncomfortable and concerned expression. 

Unable to explain it to him, and he unable to prod you for more information, your ship docked into the port. As you stepped off the boat, you looked at the knight with irritation. Irritated simply by his presence. “Hello, Ser Dareon.”

“Fuck is she doing ‘ere?” Dareon asked Jon, angry that he had brought you.

“This is my home, Ser Dareon.” You said irritated. 

“It’s your home when it suits you?” He said mockingly, he turned to some of the other men beside him, “Tell Lady Mormont, the deserter has returned.”

“I’ll see my cousin now.” You said, not willing to wait. 

“Aye, she’ll see you. Not them.” A guard from the house said. Your arrival must have been announced already. “The Lady wishes to speak with her kin, then she’ll speak to the rest of you.” He said looking at Jon, Sansa, Davos, and Podrick. 

“He comes with me.” You said linking your arm with Podrick’s. After all, if you were going to marry him, he would soon become her kin as well. 

“Who the fucks he?” Ser Dareon spat, his tone oozed with thinly veiled jealousy.

“My betrothed, Podrick Payne.” You said with your head held high, it made Podrick smirk to himself. “Now get the fuck out of my way.” You said with venom dripping from your voice as you pushed past him with Podrick’s arm linked to yours.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

As you entered the great hall of your home. You looked around, the familiar interior seemingly offering you no comfort as you stood in front of your younger cousin, Lyanna. You bowed your head respectfully to her, as did Podrick. 

“And who is this?” Lyanna asked, already exhausted by the situation. She sat at a large table in the great hall, the same chair your Father used to sit. 

“Some westernmen by the name of Podrick Payne, My Lady.” Ser Dareon said, intentionally wanting to get under your skin. 

“My Intended.” You added, proudly. 

“Payne?” Your young cousin said, “Of House Payne?” Her voice dripped with disdain, “The same house which raised Illyn Payne? The same Illyn Payne that took Ned Stark's head?” She attacked with her words.

“His name isn’t Illyn, is it?” You defended. Podrick stood unsure of how or when to interject. This was your home, and he desperately wished to be accepted, even if you yourself hardly were.

Lyanna’s small, and beady eyes landed on you again, “You leave us to travel across the seven kingdoms, become the Queen’s handmaiden, and return with a westerman for a husband?” She questioned you hard. 

Though her words were hard, you spoke softly. “I left, that's true. I left after I had nothing left here. I was kidnapped by the Lannisters and forced into their service. Once I was able to escape, I did.”

“Once my mother was killed.” She added. 

“No.” You asserted emphatically. 

“You want to be head of house now? Now that you’re the eldest Mormont. Eldest inherited Mormont.” She was accused. 

You shook your head. “No. Truth is I would hate to be in your position.” You spoke plainly, “And you seem to be better suited to the role.” You said earnestly.

“She is.” Ser Dareon interjected, 

“Enough out of you.” Lyanna snapped at Ser Dareon, and then turned her attention to Podrick once again, “Let’s hear from him then. What house do you fight for?”

“My Lady,” Podrick said respectfully, stepping forward, “I squire for Brienne of Tarth, the sworn sword to Lady Sansa Stark.”

“House Stark then?” Lyanna asked, attempting to get to the point.

“No, my Lady.” He shook his head, “I fight for (Y/N).” He looked at you, “My house is (Y/N).”

NOTE: I am so sorry this sucks lmao, I have the worst brain fog from covid it is insane.

Y/N: I don’t be giving no fucks. I say whatever I want I do whatever I want. I’m counting up-

Podrick: Money for fun! ☝️😜

Bambi

BELOVED TAGS:  @ryn-away @boojaynaqueen @holierthancunt @symonedoesart @siimiasoi  @evilunicorns4minions @randomgurl2326 @theunknownduck0

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.6)

Chapter Six: “The Entreaty”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Five: “Blindsided” Next Chapter: Chapter Seven: “The Blind Date”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Six: “The Entreaty”

The smell of coffee hit you before you even opened your eyes.

That was weird. Eddie didn’t usually make coffee first. He was more of a ‘wander into the kitchen half-asleep and whine until you make it’ kind of guy.

You blinked against the light seeping through the blinds, stretched, and padded down the hall barefoot.

That’s when you noticed the bathroom door cracked open… and steam billowing out like it was a sauna.

You paused for a moment.

Listened.

Eddie was humming something behind the door- badly. Something metal, probably, but filtered through the fog of morning brain and the acoustics of a bathroom it came out sounding suspiciously like ‘I Found Someone’ by Michael Bolton.

You pushed the door open wider.

“What the hell is happening in here?”

Eddie stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, towel around his waist, applying what looked like… two different kinds of product to his hair. Bottles lined the counter like a shrine. Yours and his, all mixed together now. No order. Just chaos.

He glanced over his shoulder, completely unfazed. “I have discovered the concept of layering.”

You gawked. “You’re using my curl cream.”

He held it up. “This stuff? It’s like magic. Makes me look like I belong in a shampoo commercial.”

“You have too much curl in your hair already for curl cream.”

He turned to face you dramatically, towel still secure around his hips. “I have texture, thank you very much.”

You made a beeline for the sink and started pulling bottles out of the way. “You mixed my purple shampoo with your drugstore garbage. Do you even know what this stuff does?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “Makes you smell fancy and insults my masculinity all at once.”

You squinted at one of the bottles. “Did you shove a comb down this one?!”

“It got stuck,” he said defensively. “I was experimenting.”

You groaned, grabbing a roll of tape from under the sink and scribbling a label with a sharpie: DO NOT TOUCH - DEATH WILL BE SWIFT and slapped it on your most expensive bottle.

Eddie just smirked and pointed at the label. “That’s cute. You think I can be threatened by stationary.”

“I’m gonna start hiding things in the cabinet above the toilet,” you threatened, jabbing a finger at him.

Eddie raised a brow, stepping closer. “I’ve lived on the run from D&D monsters and actual cops. You think a high shelf is gonna stop me?”

You rolled your eyes but you were grinning now. “This bathroom’s not big enough for the both of us.”

Eddie leaned in, teasing. “Then I guess we’ll just have to share the shower more often. For efficiency.”

You snorted and shoved him backwards gently, only for him to lean on the doorframe like he lived there now, towel still clinging to his hips like a warrior’s cape.

“I’m buying a padlock,” you muttered, stepping around him toward the sink.

“Get one for your heart while you’re at it,” he said, voice all smug velvet. “’Cause I’m stealing that too.”

You rolled your eyes hard enough to sprain something. “Gross.”

“Romantic,” he corrected, grinning like a menace. “But whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You flicked water at him from the running faucet.

He dodged like a ninja… barely, and retaliated by grabbing your toothbrush and holding it hostage above his head.

“Don’t,” you warned, voice low.

“Oh, I think I will.”

You launched for it, fingers scrabbling at his arm, and for one stupid moment, you were both laughing, real, full-body laughing, right there in the steamy mess of a bathroom. It ended with your hand on his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist, toothbrush forgotten in the scuffle, and both of you breathing a little too close for comfort.

It hit you all at once- the warmth of him, the scent of his skin still tinged with your shampoo, the way his eyes dropped for half a second to your lips before flicking back up.

The silence stretched.

Crackled.

And then he cleared his throat and stepped back, casual mask snapping back into place with practiced ease. He set your toothbrush down carefully.

“You win. No more product theft. For now.”

You smirked, ignoring the fact that your heart was suddenly doing gymnastics. “Damn right I win.”

Eddie gave you a half-salute and slipped out of the bathroom, mumbling something about needing coffee “before he started making questionable choices again.”

You leaned against the counter, hands braced on the edge, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

And when you looked at your reflection in the mirror… flushed cheeks, slightly wild hair, eyes just a little too bright, you couldn’t help but mutter to yourself, “You are so screwed.”

The coffee was still too hot when you finally made it to the kitchen, steam curling up from the mug Eddie had left on the counter, right next to the sugar bowl, lid already popped off, because the bastard knew you took your coffee sweet enough to give a dentist nightmares.

You stirred in three heaping spoonfuls, watching the granules dissolve into the dark liquid, trying not to think about the way his fingers had brushed yours in the bathroom. The way his breath had hitched when you’d pressed against him.

Nope.

Not thinking about it.

You took a sip, wincing at the burn on your tongue, and turned to find Eddie leaning against the fridge, arms crossed, watching you with that stupid, knowing smirk.

"Morning," he drawled as though this were his first time seeing you today, voice still a little rough from sleep.

You glared. "You're in my way."

He didn't move. Just tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he was determined to solve. "You look tired."

"Gee, wonder why," you deadpanned, taking another sip.

Eddie's smirk softened into something dangerously close to concern. "Another bad dream again?"

You shrugged, swirling your coffee. "Nothing I can't handle."

He hummed, pushing off the fridge to grab his own mug, black, because he was a monster, and leaned back against the counter beside you. Close, but not too close. Just enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

Silence settled between you, comfortable in a way that should’ve been impossible after the night you’d had. After the morning you’d had.

Then, out of nowhere…

"Cancel the date."

You choked on your coffee. "What?"

Eddie didn’t look at you. Just took a slow sip, staring at the wall like it held the secrets of the universe. "You heard me."

You gaped at him. "You don’t get to tell me what to do."

"Not telling," he corrected, finally meeting your eyes. "Suggesting."

"Why?"

He hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough for your pulse to kick up a notch.

Then he shrugged, all nonchalance. "Because I don’t wanna hear about it if the guy sucks."

You rolled your eyes.

He set his mug down with a clink, turning to face you fully now, arms crossed again, but this time, there was no smirk. No playful glint in his eye. Just something raw and unguarded that made your breath catch.

"Because," he said, voice low, "I don’t wanna hear about how he doesn’t know how you take your coffee. Or that he doesn’t steal your shampoo like a gremlin. Or that he wouldn’t sit through a documentary about jellyfish at 3 AM just because you can’t sleep."

Your fingers tightened around your mug.

Eddie took a step closer.

"Because," he continued, quieter now, "if you go on that date, I’m gonna have to sit here and pretend I don’t give a shit when you tell me about it. And I’m really bad at pretending when it comes to you."

The air between you crackled.

You swallowed hard. "Eddie…"

He didn’t let you finish. Just closed the last bit of distance, his hand brushing yours as he took the coffee from your grip and set it aside. His other hand came up, fingers skimming your jaw, tilting your face up to his.

"Cancel the date," he murmured, thumb tracing your bottom lip. "Please."

You wanted to say yes.

You should’ve said yes.

Instead, you whispered, “I can’t… I promised Robin.”

Eddie’s gaze held yours for a second longer than it should’ve. Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes… disappointment maybe, or something darker, fleeting, there and gone like a shadow under streetlights.

Then, just like that, he smirked. "Right. Duh. Robin." He turned away before you could say anything else, stepping back and giving you a mock salute. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, then. You and your... blind date.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile faltered when he walked away. His shoulders were a little too stiff, his gait just a little too casual to be natural. And right before he disappeared down the hall to his bedroom, he glanced over his shoulder.

It was brief. A flick of his eyes. A flash of something wicked curling at the corner of his mouth.

You didn’t understand the look… but you felt it. Like a storm coming.

Friday Evening…

Your hands trembled slightly as you smoothed your palms down the front of your jeans for the third time. You’d changed tops twice already, you wanted to look decent without looking like you cared. Casual. Comfortable. Normal. Just a date.

Just a blind date. With a guy you didn’t know. Arranged by Robin. Who meant well. Who promised he was cool.

You weren’t excited. Just... nervous. And the fact that Eddie hadn’t brought it up again all week? Weird. And a little unnerving.

You stepped out of your room, glancing down the hall- just in time to nearly bump into him.

Eddie.

He was leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping from a can of Coke, wearing that soft band tee you liked and those ripped jeans that hung just right, off his hips.

“Oh hey,” he said, perking up like he hadn’t been waiting for you to walk by. “You clean up real nice, sweetheart.”

You flushed, instinctively brushing invisible lint from your top. “It’s not that serious.”

“Sure it’s not,” he said, smiling too wide. “Just a totally chill, not-serious date with a complete stranger. What could go wrong?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re being weird.”

“Me?” He put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Never.”

And before you could respond, headlights flickered through the front window.

Eddie craned his neck to look outside the window, then quickly opened the door eagerly. “Ohhh damn. That your ride?”

You followed his gaze.

Parked outside was a bright yellow Surfer Boy Pizza van. Stickers on the back windows. Hawaiian air freshener swaying from the rearview mirror. Loud music thumping from inside.

You blinked. “No way.”

“Oh yes way,” Eddie said, clearly delighted. “Looks like you scored a real beach boy.”

The van door slid open and out stepped Argyle… tall, long haired, tan, and beaming.

“Yo!” he called out. “You must be her! What’s up, dudette? I’m Argyle!”

He waved enthusiastically at you, then turned to Eddie. “Hey man, you coming too?”

You froze. So did Eddie- though only for half a second.

“Oh…” Eddie scratched his chin. “I mean, if that’s cool?”

Argyle grinned. “Totally cool, bro. I don’t mind at all… more the merrier, right?”

You blinked. “You really wanna third-wheel my blind date?”

Eddie just shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve done this week.”

And just like that, he followed you outside like a stray cat who’d decided he was welcomed. He met your gaze as he crossed through the door. The grin on his face, it was friendly. Innocent.

But his eyes… They were scheming.

The inside of the van smelled like weed and pineapple pizza- which, honestly, wasn’t the worst combination. Argyle had the music cranked up, some psychedelic surf rock that made Eddie drum his fingers against his thigh in time with the beat.

You sat sandwiched between them, trying very hard not to notice the way Eddie’s knee kept brushing yours every time Argyle took a turn too fast.

"So," Argyle said, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. "Robin didn’t tell me much about you. Just that you were cool and, like, super single."

Eddie snorted into his fist.

You elbowed him.

Argyle either didn’t notice or didn’t care. "You into music? Movies? The cosmic mysteries of the universe?"

"Uh," you said. "All of the above?"

"Rad," Argyle said, nodding sagely. "We’re gonna get along great."

Eddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the back of Argyle’s seat. "So, Argyle... you always pick up dates in a pizza van?"

Argyle shrugged. "Only the special ones."

Eddie’s grin turned sharp. "And how many special dates have you had?"

You kicked his shin.

Argyle just laughed. "Dude, relax. I’m not, like, a serial dater or whatever. Just thought it’d be fun."

Eddie hummed, settling back. "Fun. Right."

You shot him a look. Behave.

He smirked. Never.

The van rolled to a stop at a red light. Argyle turned in his seat, grinning at you. "So, what’s your deal, man? You and Eddie, like... roommates?"

You hesitated.

Eddie didn’t. "Best friends," he said, voice dripping with something you couldn’t quite place.

Argyle’s eyebrows shot up. "Ohhhh. ‘Best friends.’ Got it."

You wanted to melt into the seat.

The light turned green. Argyle hit the gas, and the van lurched forward- sending you crashing into Eddie’s side. His arm instinctively wrapped around your shoulders to steady you, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. For a split second, you were pressed flush against him… his warmth, the scent of his leather jacket, the way his breath hitched when your hip pressed against his.

Then he let go just as quickly, clearing his throat.

"Easy there, sweetheart," he muttered, voice rough. "Wouldn't want you falling for anyone too soon."

You glared at him, but your face was burning.

Argyle, oblivious to the tension, just chuckled. "Yo, you two are hilarious, man. Like, seriously, this is better than TV."

Eddie flashed him a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Glad we could entertain." He said with an all too chipper tone and sarcastic shrug of his shoulders.

The rest of the drive was... tense.

Argyle kept trying to make conversation, but every time you answered, Eddie would find a way to interject… sometimes with a joke, sometimes with a pointed question, always with that look in his eyes like he was playing some game only he understood.

By the time you pulled up to the beachside diner- some kitschy 50s-style place with neon signs and checkered floors, you were ready to strangle him.

Argyle hopped out, stretching. "Alright, dudes. Burgers, pizza, shakes, maybe some deep philosophical discussions. Sound good?"

You forced a smile. "Sounds great."

Eddie slung an arm around your shoulders as you walked in, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "Bet you five bucks he orders a milkshake with extra whipped cream."

You elbowed him again. "Stop being you for five minutes."

He grinned, unrepentantly. "Never."

And as you slid into the booth- Argyle in front of you, Eddie somehow ending up pressed against you, you realized one thing with absolute clarity: This was going to be the longest night of your life.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne

Masterlist

[brights-place]

⋆˚࿔ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝟏‼ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Read The full book on my wattpad

๋࣭ ⭑ ❝ 𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 ❞𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[Name] 'Raven' Queen

"I want to choose my own happily ever after"

"I don't seem to get this place at all... its nothing like ever after high and the people here too I tell you these guys act like kids especially snooping into my own story! Plus its better if they don't know I'm the daughter of one of the people they idolise they'd flip their crowns if they find out!" - [Name] To Grim

Grim 'The Great' "I'm gonna let you be my minion lucky you!"

"Brothers Grim? Were your headmasters last name? Heh! Of course the Great Grims name must have been spread even towards your universe!!"  - To [Name]

A monster who aspires to be a great mage. He will eat anything and everything, and his tendency to get carried away often gets him and the main character into trouble.

๋࣭ ⭑ ❝ 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐮𝐥 ❞𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Riddle Rosehearts "If you refuse to obey the queens rules, you understand what will happen right?"

"I remind you of your friend..? Hmph.. I'd rather you be reminded of me and not someone else- oh they also enjoy rules and MY! They are the future queen of hearts?! Tell me more" - To [Name]

Housewarden of Heartslabyul. A serious-minded student who firmly upholds the rules written by the Queen of Hearts. While a top student, he is easily angered and just as strict with others as he is with himself.

Trey Clover "Just the one I wanted to see! Would you help me paint the roses red?"

"You know how to bake because of a friend of yours? Ehe thats actually cute and sweet maybe you should come around more I'd love the extra pair of hands if you'd want" - To [Name]

Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul. Mild-mannered, he acts as a parental figure for the dorm's students, and is frequently left to smooth things over when Riddle's strictness gets out of hand.

Cater Diamond "Play Croquet with me"

"EH?! YOU DON'T HAVE MAGICAM- oh it's called my chapter? BUT YOU DONT POST ON IT-?! Oh my Seven... LET ME JUST SHOW YOU" - To [Name]

Casual and carefree, this expert room-reader is often called on to mediate between others. He's always on top of the latest trends, and has an exhaustive familiarity with social media in all its forms.

Deuce Spade "Hurry up. We'll lose our heads if were late to the tea party"

"Your so strong and pretty my mum would love to meet you- I mean ahem thanks for helping us out even though you didn't need to thanks alot" - To [Name]

An earnest young man who enrolled at Night Raven College with the singular aim of becoming a respectable mage. He tries as hard as he can in his schoolwork, but he can be slow on the uptake, and his grades suffer as a result.

Ace Trappola "Stop Spacing out. You wanna get lost in a rose maze?"

"In my defense, your honour, I simply did not vibe with the law... YOU CANT SAY ANYTHING [Name] YOU TECHNICALLY STARTED A REVOLUTION with your whole rebel thing from where your from!" - To [Name]

A quick learner with an upbeat personality and a mischievous streak. Since he and Deuce are both Heartslabyul freshmen in the same class, they regard one another with amicable antagonism.

๋࣭ ⭑ ❝ 𝐒𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰 ❞𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Leona Kingscholar "Honestly, most of your life's decided for you from the moment you're born. There's no point in workin hard"

"Dragon games? Hah... sounds weird if that horned bastard heard of it he'd start thundering... Hey herbivore lets do a 1V1 just for fun I know from the savana the females enjoy the hunt so maybe you would too with how strong you are" - To [Name]

Housewarden of Savanaclaw. Perpetually effort-averse, his immense magical ability contrasts with his lazy demeanor. Given his position as the secondborn prince in his homeland, he treats others with an imperious attitude.

Ruggie Bucchi "You're pretty brave, Stepping foot into our territory shyeheehee"

"Why'd I bowed to you when you weren't looking...? And why did I avoid you- uhm ITS NOTHING anyways you gonna eat that donut shishishi"  - To [Name]

A long-suffering runt who spends most of his time cleaning up Leona's messes, both literally and figuratively. Raised in a poor environment, he gets downright shameless when it comes to food.

Jack Howl "If you're scared tuck your tail and get outta here. I'm more then enough for them on my own"

"You have a friend who would of loved to race me? Huh never thought I'd hear that... I do like the thought of you cheering me on though *coughs and looks away*" - To [Name]

A stern student focused on self-betterment. He's the kind of misfit who hates acting buddy-buddy with others, but still respects the pecking order.

๋࣭ ⭑ ❝ 𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 ❞𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Azul Ashengrotto "Come this way. We musn't lurk in doorways. It's rude"

"Your giving me this coin...? Why would you give me a coin form your world- ah don't take it it's now collateral for the contract now *stares at coin with slight sparkly eyes*" - To [Name]

Housewarden of Octavinelle. He runs a café on campus and makes it a point to gather information in all forms. His benevolent demeanor belies an extremely calculating personality.

Jade Leech "If you have a problem we can help you"

"My you have large of magic yet you hid all of that from us? My how sad *sniff* we're just here to help poor unfortunate souls. You could come help us too in the monstro lounge... why not? Are you afraid you'd might enjoy it there? Angelfish you shouldn't be afraid to visit" - To [Name]

Vice Housewarden of Octavinelle and twin brother to Floyd. He is soft-spoken and courteous to everyone he deals with.

Floyd Leech "C'mere. I'll give you a nice, tight squeeze"

"Oyyy shrimpy... Professor beakfish said we'd be Partners for this thing ehe~! Hey why dont we ditch so you and I can just go around! TOO LATE! Were going~!! Oh your hands are soft... hm" - To [Name]

Twin brother to Jade. His mood swings make it hard to predict what he'll say or do next. He likes to call others by odd pet names.

๋࣭ ⭑ ❝ 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐚❞𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Kalim Al-Asim "You'll liven things up. I'd know; I'm an excellent judge of character!"

"Habibi! You should try these biscuits! Oh and this and- huh-? Oh okay you dont need to eat a-lot but you can sit by me the whole time I'd love to tell stories about where I'm from if you tell me about this Ever after high thing!" - To [Name]

Housewarden of Scarabia. Born into vast wealth, he is a generous boy who always has a smile on his face. He's grown up with Jamil since a young age, and considers him a brother in all but blood.

Jamil Viper "Could you be a diamond in the rough?"

"Here let me just move this for you, and please dont worry your guests I dont see an issue on helping you out- is that a bug... *runs out of the room and slams the door shut leaving Grim inside* Ahem... That room belongs to the bug now" - To [Name]

Vice Housewarden of Scarabia. Born into a family that has served Kalim's family for generations, he has spent the better part of his childhood and later life being subjected to Kalim's carefree whims.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 【Hexes & Hushes — MASTERLIST】

[nyeddleblog]

Unrequited. [Part 5]

Pairing: Andrew! Peter Parker x Fem!Reader; Mentions of past Gwen Stacy x Andrew! Peter Parker; Mentions of Mary Jane Watson x Fem!Reader. Warnings: Swearing, shower tension, misunderstandings and a tiny bit of angst. Summary: Dinner with Gwen Stacy.

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 5: Late night memories.

The water in the shower stopped running. As soon as you realized this, you jumped out of the couch quickly to get in the shower yourself. The chicken, despite how incredibly cliché it sounded, was already in the oven and who knew when your guest would arrive, so you didn't take into mind that Peter was still in the bathroom.

"Jesus fucking Christ?"

"Move, I need to take a shower" you stated, not even looking at the way he grabbed the towel against his crotch, barely even covering him. 

You let the water run once more and took off your shirt, making him gasp. You frowned then, looking back at him like he was the one acting weird. Peter was blushing, taking slow flustered steps back and out of the bathroom. You raised an eyebrow.

"It's not your first time seeing me shirtless."

"I guess I'm not used to it" he stammered, looking away.

"Yet I have to be used to you being shirtless."

He leaned in, taking a hold of the doorknob and settled his eyes on your bare shoulders. You, instead of shying away from his weak attempt of teasing you, untied the string on your sweatpants and slid off them with ease. Peter froze for a second and slammed the door shut. 

He could hear your laughter when he did.

Of course he'd seen you in your underwear, you'd been living together for seven years and had spent countless summers with no air conditioning. But one thing was seeing you walk around in your panties and an oversized shirt two years ago and a completely different thing was seeing you now, getting ready for a shower.

You'd always been incredibly hot, but it had been some time. If you weren't you, he would be begging to be suffocated by your thighs. Of course, being you he was weirded out he even begun to think about it.

"I don't think there's any hot water left" he yelled, just to be casual. Just to come back to your usual roommate/best friend banter.

"I'm taking a cold shower" you yelled back. 

He bit his lip at that. He looked up at the ceiling until he heard his phone buzz inside the bathroom and remembered he was butt naked because he'd gotten kicked out of there. He didn't want to get in, but his decent clothes were in fact neatly folded on top of the sink.

"Hey, sweetheart!"

"Yeah?"

"My clothes are in there!"

He heard you giggle and he rolled his eyes.

"Come in, then."

Peter thought about it, considered waiting until you came out of the bathroom. Then the bell rang and he swung the door open. He heard you whistle behind the curtain, letting his towel drop to the floor to quickly get a hold of his boxers. 

"I'm coming!" he yelled out. 

He had a bit of practice with changing quickly with the whole Spider-Man thing, but he was still nervous about Gwen. It was Gwen Stacy, for fuck's sake.

Peter greeted her with wet hair, an inside out t-shirt and barefoot. She smiled playfully, same big green eyes and freckled nose. He held his breath.

"Hello, Peter."

He let out a nervous laugh, "Gwen, how...?"

The oven rang. He cringed, making the woman in front of him laugh that adorable laugh of hers. He guessed he had a fun reaction, so he laughed with her.

"You cooked?"

"No, uh..." he opened the door a little bit more, expecting her to come inside, and explained that you did.

"She's here?" she asked in excitement, taking a look around.

"Yeah, she lives here."

Gwen's eyes widened, he wasn't sure what that meant but he really hoped she wasn't judging him. He heard the bathroom door slid open and relief washed over him.

"I won't say hi yet," you stated casually, towel wrapped around your body as you crossed the hallway towards your room, "'m naked."

The blonde frowned in response, turning to scan Peter's disheveled clothing and his wet hair. She raised her eyebrows after a while and he finally noticed the strange look, "What?"

"Nothing." she simply let out. 

The rest of the evening went incredibly well. He stopped feeling nervous when you took a seat next to him, putting your hand on his shoulder comfortingly to show him that you were there for him, if anything. And Gwen, well, she was still this charming, charismatic, funny person that he'd fallen in love with so many years back. 

"So, Gwen" You begun the first conversation, leaning on the counter to reach for the empty plates that you'd taken out for the occasion, "What brought you back to New York?"

Peter realized that you may need some help with taking out the food, so he stood up, holding your waist to let you know that he was passing by, and started cutting the chicken.

"Well, my youngest brother is graduating college" she begun to say, gaining a small hum from you as you set the table, "And I thought it was as good of an occasion as any to come and say hi."

From then, the conversation only escalated. First there were some casuals, 'Oh, and what did he study?', 'How's your mom doing?', 'How's it like living in London?' But then you were lost in thought, frowned, looked at your empty glass thoughtfully and let out...

"Does Philip still have a crush on me?"

Gwen bursted out laughing and Peter's light bulb lit up as he remembered exactly what you meant, "Oh my god! Fuck, you're so right!"

You smirked in response, eating a spoonful of your expertly cooked chicken, "He used to get so nervous whenever I came over. It was adorable!"

"I remember that one time... You want some?" he started saying, interrupting himself by gently filling your glass with wine, "...That one time I went over Gwen's for dinner, and you were there, and he didn't know you were there and he tripped over the couch when he saw you!"

"Oh man!" Gwen took hold of her forehead, chuckling, "Poor thing, we had to take him to the hospital because he actually broke his nose..."

"He actually-?"

"He did?!"

"Yeah," she nodded with a smile, "He made me promise not to tell you..."

"Oh, you're such a bad sister!" you exclaimed, pointing at her with your fork, "I will let him know that you betrayed him!"

It was easy to recall fun memories between the three of you, because every time you hung out, something just seemed to happen. Like when you arrived to the Midtown, and Gwen was assigned to stay with you or, in your words, "assigned to be your friend". Or when you had to be Peter's lab partner for a whole semester, and aunt May was so convinced that you'd end up together because she had never seen Peter bring home any other girl. Or when Peter defended a kid from Flash, and he got beaten up, and was saved by Gwen. 

And that conversation led to a bunch of anecdotes of how Peter was as a boyfriend, but seeing your roommate tense up, you came in to the rescue.

"Oh, I bet..." you were preparing yourself to tell some really embarrassing stories about him, when Gwen raised a fierce finger towards you and yelled:

"And don't get me started with you!"

She told Peter, to your dismay, about the amount of times you had stolen the answers for your exams to sell them to lower grades, or that you'd always figure out the latest, hottest gossip going around school. He had almost completely forgotten about the way you used to be. 

Less feisty, a lot quieter, shorter and as cunning as you could be. 

"Okay, I'll give it to ya', I was way worse than this boy..."

Peter didn't know, however, that you once tried to ask Flash fucking Thompson out on a date so your father would stop pestering you about not dating anyone.

"In my defense...!" you begun, leaving the glass on the table and raising your hands in mock surrender, "You guys were too busy smooching each other and I felt left out!"

"But Flash Thompson?" Peter inquired, indignation conquering his face.

"He was my first kiss!" you exclaimed. Both Peter and Gwen gasped in unison, "And I knew you guys would hate the idea! It's the reason why I was doing it in the first place!"

"I need to know more about that..." Gwen nodded, taking a small sip of her wine, "You never told me about it."

You sighed, "Since you stopped tutoring Flash when you started dating Peter, I was asked to do it and..." You looked away, feeling the blush creeping up your neck, "And I... Wasn't used to guys paying attention to me back then, so it took like two cute compliments for me to fold."

"Okay, but what did he say?" Peter wanted to know, still in utter shock.

"I don't remember?" you let out in an obvious tone, "I think something very cringy like 'You look so beautiful without your glasses' or 'You're not like other girls', something like that!"

"And you kissed him?"

"It was Flash Thompson!" you blurted out, blushing more, "And, actually, he kissed me."

Gwen let out an incredulous laugh. Peter rolled his eyes, shaking his head. He couldn't believe it, whispering, "I'm so glad you don't like men..."

"Aw, someone's jealous!" the blonde smiled sweetly. You frowned, tilting your head, but you smiled back nonetheless. It was a bit obvious that Gwen was getting tipsy, "You know? From all the people in New York City that you guys could have ended up with... I'm just glad you ended up together."

Peter choked on dessert. Your eyes widened. You expected him to be okay, but after thirty seconds of coughing, you had to pat his back awkwardly and begin to form the idea in your head.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, well..." Gwen shrugged, "I always thought you had a crush on him, which was the reason why I stopped talking to you when I left" To her complete obliviousness, your smile faded, "But now, thinking back, it was a bit of a dick move on my part, because of course you didn't jump on him right away. Now I'm just happy for you two!"

Peter drank half of his glass of wine and looked at Gwen, "We're not together."

The face that Gwen made was priceless. You bursted out laughing first, just because of her reaction. Yes, it was bittersweet that you were just finding out why you lost contact, but you could also understand how it must have sucked for her. 

"We just live together" he clarified, then pointed in your direction and stated, "She's a lesbian."

You frowned again, "'m not. I'm bisexual."

"You're bisexual?"

"Yeah!"

"How come you've only dated women?"

The face that you made left him speechless. You added, "As a fellow bisexual, I could ask you the same fucking thing."

Gwen bit her lip. She looked down at her food and then back at you, "So you never had a crush on Peter?"

Peter looked at you too. 

You seemed so done with both of them and immediately replied, "No." 

You lied, he took notice of it. 

Neither of you told Gwen the truth, as she kept speaking, "God, I'm such an idiot..."

But you changed the subject, finally asking about her husband. Her eyes lit up then, and she told you the whole story of how she had met Dane, who was apparently a sweetheart. She explained in depth how they had become friends first, then fallen in love, and how they've been married for a year. You felt Peter almost vibrate beside you. 

"What about you?" Gwen inquired, "Have you met anyone special?"

You immediately thought back to MJ, "It comes and goes, I guess."

Gwen pouted, then looked at Peter and you opened your mouth to speak again, to save him.

"Though, I'm talking to this girl..."

NEXT PART.

TAGLIST: @marcspectorondeeznuts @slutfortheblog @chaoticaptendytelet me know if you want in or out of the taglist<3

[chokifandom]

— CHAPTER I: INCIPIO

wc: 5k [please check the masterlist for content warnings!]

a/n: oh shdhsj i’m lowkey so scared to post this bc i’m writing this after literal months of not writing... but anyway hello arknights nation i hope you’ll have me i love ebenholz mwah have a good day

masterlist

1085

alone in his room at the top of the spire, seven year old graf franz von urtica peers out of the small window with a stir in his heart. he watches the people toil in the fields, and sellers marketing their wares, until a servant whose name he had never bothered to learn finds him. “the sun is going to tan you, mein herr!” she exclaims, scampering to close the blinds. the room falls into a darkness just like his heart does after the servant leaves, shutting the door behind her.

franz does not bother lighting the candles, and so his room remains shrouded in darkness for hours after the sun dips below the horizon; he only sees light once more when a servant knocks to escort him to dinner, the light from the hallway spilling into the room and bathing it in a sombre orange glow.

he eats only what he’s been served, aware of every lethargic movement of his jaw. although there are a multitude dishes on the dining table, there is still an obvious unspoken limitation of choice. he feels eyes burning into the back of his head, burning into his scalp, burning his body whole like he is a sinner stepping into hellfire.

he had stepped out of one cage and right into another.

but young franz cannot comprehend the weight of his circumstances. all he knows is that he isn’t allowed to play outside with the other kids under the sun, that he isn’t allowed to watch the night sky full of stars, and that wherever he goes, he would be scorned for bearing the name of the most despised family in all of leithanien.

there is a knock on his door early in the morning. “come in,” he says, almost inquiringly; and in walks a little child, around his age, panting for breath as you shut the door behind you, only sighing in relief once you hear the click of the lock. “mutti won’t stop pestering me to eat my breakfast. she won’t think to look for me here because i’m not really allowed to be here.”

it is almost incredulous— franz had never before interacted with another child, let alone one of his age. he surmises that you must be the child of one of the servants. “what are you looking at me like that for?!” you are now equally as bewildered, before you remember your manners and the person before you, and clear your throat— “i– i’m sorry if i bother you, graf franz. i will leave right now, if that is what you want—”

“no, you can stay.” the corners of his lips turn upward in a smile that he is so obviously trying to conceal, and you burst into a fit of laughter.

“you look so funny! do they not let you smile?”

“stop saying such… ridiculous things!” he huffs in indignation, red tinting his cheeks, gaze averted. franz’s tone lacks the bite that nobles usually have, you think. but you also think that it maybe that he is simply still a child and so it makes sense that he wouldn’t speak the same way that all those adults do. “of course i can!”

“see!” he breaks into a toothy grin, held up completely unnaturally from wanting to prove that fact to you, the corners of his lips quivering slightly as he hopes this would be enough to quell your mocking laughter. but he was evidently wrong, as it only grows in intensity instead.

“silly graf! you’re missing one of your front teeth!”

“sh-shut up, it’s not like you aren’t!” you’re still laughing though, and even the gloomy boy in front of you can’t help but feel the smile returning to him as he hears the joyous sound escaping your lips.

“well, i think i should leave now,” you say after the both of you let the laughter die down, heaving a sigh, “i can’t hide in here forever, can i?”

“well—” he begins. “just don’t let anyone see you around here, alright?”

“yeah! i’ll come back here tomorrow, graf franz!” you reply, and you are out of the door before he can rebuke, the click of the lock sounding through the room once more. the caprinae’s face immediately falls back into one of neutrality, though his fingers can’t seem to still themselves, energy flowing through his veins like he had just been revitalised.

for all the sadness and annoyance that seven year old boy feels, he is still just that— a curious child. and so he allows you to break the rules this blatantly, and leaves the door to his bedroom unlocked at night so you can slip in at the crack of dawn. depending on your mood, you’d choose to either rudely awaken him from his slumber, or entertain yourself with the books stacked neatly upon the shelves— although they were mostly those adult books pertaining to subjects about politics, nobility and etiquette, which did not tickle your fancy.

some days, he’d wake up to find you snuggled in right beside him, snoring away without a care in the world. and then you’d leave as soon as the sun was fully up in the sky, and he wouldn’t see you again for the rest of the day, no matter how hard he looked among all the servants at mealtime, hoping to catch even a glimpse of your face.

one morning, you shake his shoulders frantically, begging him to wake up. the boy sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking at you. he yawns. “what’s wrong?”

“my mutti said they wanted you gone!” you cry out, the horror of it all dawning upon you. “why do they want you gone? a-are you a bad person?”

“i’m not! i swear i am not! who wants me gone?”

“but she said that you’re the great-great-great-great-great grandson of the…” voice reducing to a whisper, you say— “the-the witch king!”

franz’s eyes go wide at the revalation, but he does not seem too shocked— but a voice resounds in his brain, and suddenly he’s struggling not to collapse under the weight of his own head. “did you not a-already know? he is one of the forebears of urtica.” seeing that the fact does little to pacify you, he hurriedly adds his defense. “but-but i’m not like him! i’d never hurt you. or anyone else.”

“oh, franz!” your arms are thrown over his shoulders, and you sob into them with all the drama of a maiden about to be left by her husband going to war. he can do nothing but awkwardly pat your back, wondering if he was doing the right thing. “i knew mutti was wrong about you! i’ll go get you some water!”

so many years, the two of you spent in the same hushed routine. your hair had grown longer, both yours and franz’s— his horns were always neatly trimmed just like they used to be years ago, and he was ever the same prim and proper boy that he had been when you first met him, while the voice in his head only got louder and louder.

one time, you barge into his room in the dead of the night, right as he teeters on the edge of slumber— you take his hand in yours and pull him out of bed and out of his room. your steps are featherlight as neither of you dare to make a sound more than you should, climbing up the stairs of the spire and hoping, praying to the golden melody that you would not be discovered by the servants still roaming the building.

the night breeze hits you as soon as you open the door to the roof. having not let go of franz’s hand yet, you pull him to the ridge and motion for him to lie down next to you.

“i’m not doing that. my clothes are going to get soiled.”

“well, it is true that the roof has turned dusty from years of not being tended to,” you pout at him. “but i think an experience of this sort is in order for you.”

“and who are you to decide that for me?” he asks.

“your friend, of course!” you laugh, somewhere between a joke and a statement. “those servants down there want nothing but for you to rot to death in your bedroom. i’m far better than them, you know it.”

friend. sometimes, he wonders if you are only bound together by circumstance. you were all that he had, and he was all that you had— confined to the solitary spire, both of you bound to your doomed fates as the puppet graf von urtica and a lowly servant child who was forbidden from disturbing the graf and his peace. you had both seen each other laugh and cry, had devastating arguments and talked about everything under the sun, just like two real friends might have.

a chuckle slips past his lips. “amuse me then, dear friend. what have they been saying about me this time?”

“oh, it’s nothing new. just the same old drivel about how they’ll poison your food or never let you meet with any of the noblewomen and their daughters so that urtica would never have an heir. about how the witch king’s legacy must absolutely not be allowed to pass down into the future.”

the sky is bleak, so bleak, completely dark and filled with gloomy clouds. it’s not a worthwhile sight by any means, but franz does not care. his heart is already beating out of his chest, adrenaline rushing through his normally calm veins. it almost makes him feel giddy; the thought of being able to stare at the night sky with you for real begins to form in the back of his mind.

“when i finally become a graf—”

“are you not already a graf, franz?” you giggle, the honorific prefixed to his name long being dropped.

“you know what i mean! anyway,” franz looks towards you as you continue to stare at the sky as you both lie next to each other on the roof of the spire— something that would have the both of you in for a huge scolding if you were found. “i’m going to depose of this godforsaken house, that nobody in this country wants anyway, and then we’ll be free to live as we please!”

would you stay until that day arrives? the question begins to form in his throat, but he never gets the chance to—

“i’m sure we will,” you finally turn, meeting his pale purple eyes, standing up and dusting yourself off. “we should head down now, my dear graf, before they go on a wild chase for you and me, after which they are sure to kick my family out of the spire for influencing the graf himself to get up to this sort of mischief.”

the two of you return quietly to his bedroom, but franz can feel it. he feels a pair of eyes burning into the back of his skull, like the ones at mealtime. a shiver runs down his spine, and his heart refuses to stop pounding against his ribcage even after he shuts the door behind him.

after that night, you never showed up in his bedroom again. graf franz von urtica is fourteen now, learning to tread the murky waters of politics and nobility. he waits in his room like he always does, but the doorknob doesn’t turn. one day turns into years, and clammy hands turn into walls. now he only wears a sombre expression, hiding the pain in his heart and building the high fortress, mincing and dressing his words in sarcasm, refusing to spare another word to anyone else in the spire that should be his.

1098

the afterglow hall stands majestic in the daylight, and franz cannot help but wince at the structure that so resembled the cursed spires built by his distant relative. though the witch king’s blood has only thinned down in his veins, it is still there; it is still an ugly part of him that he cannot deny.

franz had mostly resigned to his fate by now— he knows there are still many who covet what he has, and that there are still many more who are trying to have a tug at the strings attached to his body and his seat.

the famous infected musician by the name of william fichte czerny prepares to have his farewell concert, with musicians from all over leithanien invited to participate. a long, long line of musicians formed right outside the afterglow hall— it is only understandable, since this could very well mean a potential path to fame for everyone of them, regardless of their intentions for participating.

but franz is only here for one thing— to get herkunftschorn, the witch king, out of his mind. this is what dame strollo of vysenheim had promised to him, a ticket to freedom like no other he’s ever seen. he only needed to participate in mr. czerny’s concert, and dame strollo would pull all the other strings behind the scene to remove the voice of mundane from him.

he thinks about it as he walks towards the center of the city— the deal with dame strollo truly looked tempting. he wonders if she’s also among the people who want to use him and his status to further their own interests. but it’s an offer that’s hard to refuse— it could only mean something good for him if it worked in his favour, but to be scorned and hunted to the ends of the earth and being labelled as a remnant of the witch king if he were to outright refuse.

“but i’m really in a rush to get my application over with,” a soft, timid voice piques his interest. he stops a few feet away from the line, watching a young man try to negotiate with presumably a standing officer, his pale hair shining under the bright sun. “i’m still caring for my grandpa back home.”

“no can do. look, we’re all afterglowers. who hasn’t got someone to care for at home?”

the black haired man approaches the pair, and musters all the authority that he can in his next words. “can you really not accommodate, just this once?”

“i said no. that’s just—” the officer begins, but then she turns to look at franz, and her eyes widen; in recognition, shock, or fear, he can’t tell. “wait, y-you’re a noble, aren’t you? you’re here to apply to our concert?”

“if you see as much, then could you oblige myself and my friend here?” franz retorts.

“but we’ve got rules…”

“or do you plan to reject a noble’s sincerest request?”

“i wouldn’t dare.”

“thank you for your understanding. come, now,”

the pale haired man is evidently quite surprised by the turn of events. he questions the appropriateness of the events that just took place in front of him— after all, the officer wasn’t wrong in her statement either.

“didn’t you hear me? they’re letting us through.”

“alright, but…” he begins, but franz is already making his way to the front of the line, deaf to any protests that he would make. he runs to catch up with him, entering the hall in perfect step together.

the hall is… grand. it is bustling with people from all over vyseheim, who have all come together to witness the first round of selections for the concert. but even then, franz cannot help but shake off the feeling that someone is watching— it is so similar to how he is treated in his spire, he almost wonders if he is merely hallucinating the feeling.

the emcee calls for the next person in line— the white haired man next to franz, who he learns is called kreide, takes his leave, and walks up onto the stage. his presence is humble and unauthoritative as he answers the questions he is asked— his name, and whether he had his own instrument or not (which he had not brought).

kreide is allowed to pick from amidst the collection of common-use instruments provided by mr. czerny— he picks up the cello and returns to the stage. “you may begin. do not go over a minute.”

but kreide doesn’t begin. franz sees the way his eyebrows furrow only slightly in confusion. “is there a problem?”

he speaks, just as softly as he had been. “i didn’t get to ask just now, but how do you determine pay for participation?”

“pay?” now everyone’s confused. “there is no material reward for performing in the concert.”

“well, it is your decision to perform or not. however, i do hope that you would grace us with a fine melody before you leave, if that is what you decide.”

after this revelation, kreide sighs in defeat, but he picks up the bow of the cello anyway, channeling his concentration into the instrument in his hands instead. but something stirs within franz, and his hands move to his flute. a few bars pass, and then he raises it to his lips.

he blows through the cold metal and joins kreide on the stage. the white haired man is momentarily taken aback, but he continues his passage while franz accompanies him, seeming almost like they’ve fallen into a telepathic harmony, halting as soon as the timer runs out.

“and… that’s one minute,” the commentator rises to greet them on the stage once more as the crowd gathered in the hall erupts into a thunderous applause. “well done, gentlemen, that just might be the most beautiful performance i’ve heard today.”

“are you here to apply to the concert too?” he inquires, turning towards franz.

“yes. i was planning to do so alone, but herr kreide’s performance struck me deep,” he affirms. “i would be loathe to miss the chance to perform with such an amazing instrumentalist as himself.”

“understood. may i have your name?”

franz takes a moment to think, before answering. “… ebenholz.”

“are you certain? your real name is ebenholz?” the man in front of him is surprised. “that’s not an alias you just came up with?”

“what does it matter if it is?”

“but you are a noble… your lineage and estate—”

“i’ll say it again, my name is ebenholz. do you have any other questions?”

“very well then.” he retreats, and turns his attention to kreide once more. “that said, since you and herr kreide brought no agreement on whether to apply as an ensemble, the decision lies with him. herr kreide…”

“well, i was only applying to this concert for my grandpa’s medical fees…” kreide begins, a resignation ready on the tip of his tongue.

franz interjects before he gets the chance to say it. “should kreide assent to an ensemble, i’d be very willing to provide him and his grandfather economic assistance.”

hope blooms in the heart of the pale haired caprinae and reflects in his eyes. “really?”

“i would advise you to be careful, herr kreide. such aid does not come without strings attached.” the emcee warns.

“please, i ask for some respect.” it takes franz— or rather, ebenholz— everything not to roll his eyes at the third man while kreide hums in contemplation.

“i’ll do it!”

“then i’ll leave it at that.” the two men smile at each other as they walk off the stage. kreide lets out a sigh of relief as soon as he steps out of the building. the sudden change in temperature from stepping out of the air-conditioned hallways of the concert hall does not go unnoticed.

“thank you, really! i can go back home to check on grandpa without any worries now.” kreide clasps his hands together.

“it’s no problem. let me accompany you.” ebenholz smiles back at him. it’s probably the most he’s smiled in a day in the time after his only friend left the spire years ago without so much as a noise.

“are you sure? afterglow is a while away from cliffy patio after all…”

“what’s it gonna take, just an extra few miles of walking?” ebenholz snorts. “besides, we could practice together after this.”

“well, as long as you’re okay with it.”

“herr kreide!” someone shouts. the pair look around to see two women wading through the crowd towards them— one of them with bright purple hair and sharp sarkaz horns distinct from the kind seen on the heads of the caprinae in leithanien. “herr kreide, if we may…”

the sarkaz woman introduces herself first. “i’m hibiscus, and this is my colleague, andante. we were present for your performance just now in afterglow hall.”

“we’re from rhodes island— we’d like to offer to you our assistance in treating your grandfather.”

“i… thank you for offering, but we currently cannot afford any sort of treatment right now…”

“do not worry, herr. we strive to provide treatment and other services to the infected at the most affordable rates. i’d at least recommend a free testing, so that you will be free to decide how you’d like to proceed further.”

“you do have a point, frau hibiscus,” kreide says. “i suppose a free test wouldn’t hurt.”

“do you live in afterglow, herr kreide?” andante asks. “we were on our way there too, we could come along.”

“of course. might i ask why? not a lot of people have business there.”

the group make their way back to afterglow district. ebenholz sees many infected out on the streets. some of them, familiar with kreide, greet him a good afternoon. kreide wishes them back before turning his attention back to the operators of rhodes island. the people are lively, and it is an environment much unlike his home turf.

“we’re trying to investigate a few cases of abnormal infected recovery, and they all happen to be located in the district.” hibiscus answers. a few scornful looks are thrown at her from the sides of the streets, but she ignores them.

“i see.”

“we’re here.” kreide stops at a fairly derelict building and announces. ebenholz notices as he enters the stairwell of the building that it is in far worse condition than the other buildings in afterglow; not that they were in good enough shape themselves either. kreide fishes out a bunch of keys from his pocket when they reach the top of the staircase. they slot awkwardly into the keyhole, and it takes a few tries for him to open the door, but he eventually gets it open. “the lock system’s probably rusted…”

“grandpa! i’m back.”

“kreide… what is this?”

ebeenholz, hibiscus and andante introduce themselves to the old man lying on the lone cot in the room. he struggles to sit up, but with kreide’s support, he is able to rise. “you want me to get tested?”

“yes, sir. we believe this would aid recovery and help us explore more nuanced treatment options.”

“i… well, i’d be willing to test, since you said you’d provide it free of cost, but we don’t have the money for treatment.” the old man says. “and besides, i’m almost about to be a goner, anyway, all that money would be better off for whatever other use my boy would want to put it to.”

“don’t say that, grandpa! i want you to get better.”

andante prepares the equipment— there is so much in the seemingly little bag that she carries around, that kreide almost believes it is some sort of arts modified device. hibiscus hands kreide a pad with some forms and asks him to fill it.

“test results are in,” andante announces after what feels like an eternity of waiting. kreide’s ears perk up at this. “i can’t say it’s too severe, but it’s not good by any means. any patient should receive standard treatment and hospitalised recovery at this stage.”

“the test might’ve been of no charge, but there’s no way i could get it all for free, is there?” grandpa says; it is the voice of a man resigned to his fate.

“we can refer you to some of the organisations that rhodes island is partnered with in vyseheim. you will receive treatment on subsidised prices under the collaborative protocol we have…” she says. “or i could try to negotiate and offset the prices even further for you.”

“there will be no need,” grandpa stands up weakly. “the hospitals still wouldn’t be angels to me, and i don’t want my life to be at their whimsy. kreide, you’ll return every last cent to that noble. we’re done here.”

“but…!” kreide begins to protest, but for lack of a better suggestion, no words come out of his mouth.

“how about he convalesces at the branch, instead of going to any partners?” after a long silence, hibiscus suggests. andante contemplates it, but her next words are worried. “hibiscus, it is only an office that we have…”

“i could give up my guest bed for him. besides, we would be able to monitor his condition more tightly.” she continues. there is a newfound determination in her voice. “sir, i guarantee you, your treatment will be of the highest priority to us.”

“i agree!” kreide adds. “besides, i have to practice with ebenholz, too. i might not have the time to look after you. the office is certainly a step up from the conditions here at home, too…”

grandpa’s sigh almost sends kreide’s heart into a spiral of guilt— but he pacifies himself by remembering that it is only for the best. “allow me to pack some of my things, then.”

“oh, look at the time… would you like to have dinner before you leave? i can cook something up real quick!” kreide shoots ebenholz an apologetic smile. hibiscus and andante have been long gone by now, and grandpa’s bed remains empty. “it probably wouldn’t have gotten so late if that whole thing with my grandpa hadn’t happened…”

“don’t sweat it, kreide,” ebenholz’s voice softens in a way that it barely had over the past years— at least not after you left him so suddenly. “we both want to do our best on mr. czerny’s stage after all, do we not?”

“i suppose you’re right,” he doesn’t fight back. “dinner?”

“it’s already so late, and i must rush back to cliffy patio. you’ve also got your grandpa to take care of, no?”

“it’s not a bother, really! you’ve already helped so much! this is the least i could do to repay you.”

“no need, kreide. i am glad, but you need the aid more.” with that, he turns to leave, bidding farewell to his new friend, and in a mood far brighter than he had been when he left his spire in the morning— perhaps, talking to these normal civilians was nothing like having to deal with the spire servants or other nobles.

the streets of the district are practically empty. it is not surprising considering the hour; what is more surprising though, is the footsteps he hears approaching him from behind, pace quickening every second.

“it’s you! franz, what are you doing here in afterglow?” ebenholz is surprised that there existed someone in this district who knew of his real name.

“you…” he turns around at the sound of the voice, almost unable to recognise the person he’s facing. “_____?”

he doesn’t smile. the years of memories consume him like a tide, and so does the sadness, anger and loneliness. his throat closes up, but he cannot find it in himself to rage at you. “i…”

“is… is this not a good time?” the smile on your face falters when you see his eyebrows raised in what you can only guess is anger or irritation. “i-i guess i’ll see you around then.”

he watches you back away and briskly walk into a turning, your dress flowing behind you, and then turns, continuing his solitary walk back to urtica’s spire.

as soon as you see the familiar building, you enter the stairwell and climb until you find yourself at kreide’s door. the pale haired caprinae greets you as soon as you rap against the old wood, and you let yourself in.

“hey, kreide! how’d the selections go?” you open your arms and he worms into your embrace.

“_____! it’s been a while since you’ve come home,” he sighs. “the selections went really well! the next round will be personally supervised by mr. czerny though…”

“oh, chin up, i’m sure you’ll do well.” you notice the empty bed behind kreide as you let go. “where’s grandpa?”

“his infection flared up, and we had to get him to the hospital.” kreide turns around, staring solemnly at the bed. “well, if the rhodes island branch office here counts…”

“he’ll be alright, then! they’ve got a good hand about these things. got my mutti into a good hospital at a much lower fee.”

“how’s she doing these days?”

“you know, same old. at least the infection is stable right now.”

“well, that’s still a good thing for now,” he replies.

his knife scratches against the cutting board and you sigh, deflating onto the empty bed that had belonged to his grandpa. “mind if i lie down here for a bit?”

“not at all!”

you shut your eyes, but as soon as you do, the image of the dark haired caprinae immediately flashes in your mind, his sour expression and irritated eyebrows down to the boot. you can hear him complain about the servants in his spire once more, and you wonder if he still does— if he’s found another to bemoan his fate with.

“alright, what’s bothering you?”

“you can tell?”

“you’ve been sighing and tossing and turning— it doesn’t take much to see that.” kreide’s violet eyes are the first thing you see when you open your own, as he kneels down next to you. “did anything happen?”

“i really can’t hide anything from you, can i?” you say. “it’s-it’s really no big deal at all, though.”

“you can tell me if anything’s wrong, _____.”

“i told you already, it’s nothing big! chop chop and get back to cooking. come, i’ll join you too.”

taglist: @arknights-imagines

[darklydeliciousdesires]

A Storm of Stars - Chapter Fourteen.

Thank you kindly to those of you still reading :)

Summary: The Targaryen twin stars. Two sides of the same coin. Aemond and Aemella Targaryen, second children of King Viserys I and his queen, Alicent Hightower, had spent their entire lives almost as one, the lines blurring where one twin ended and the other began. What started as an inseparable sibling bond eventually bloomed into a deep, limitless love.

A day would come, though, when their love story - famed for generations to come - would be tested by the one who sought to tear them apart. When the storm of stars descended, nobody who had wronged them would come away unscathed. 

Words - 3,905

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added.

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Incest, mentions of child loss through miscarriage. Minors DNI.

Previous Chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen

Aemond would be the first to admit, should he entertain such talk, that he often much preferred for his wife to be the more commanding in the bed chamber. This was even truer since his succession to the Iron Throne, the heavy weight of the realm and the crown – although not literally placed upon his head as yet – often burdening him heavily.  

Yes, to have someone in control of him for a while made for the perfect tonic of change. The morning of his coronation was no different.  

His vision swam with bursts of colour behind a closed eyelid, hands roaming over her body, opening his eye and viewing the utterly delectable sight of his love, knelt astride his head, the sweet honey of her cunt bathing his tongue as he ate her with fervour. 

They had newly moved into the king’s quarters, Aemella perplexing the handmaidens and various other courtesans alike by refusing the queen’s quarters entirely. Although they were next to the kings, she had no desire to reside in separation. One of the elder female courtesans had been most bemused, the woman within the employ of the castle’s textile needs, called by the queen to discuss new drapes and bed linens. 

“If I may be so bold, my queen, but when you are already with child, why is it that you seek to be with the king nightly within his bed?” 

Ahh, the older generation. To them, lovemaking was a means to procreation and little more. “For the comfort of his embrace. Also, because it is rather impossible to have sex with him when a wall divides us.”  

Her statement had a nearby Gileda quietly laughing behind her hand, the queen’s candour not quite what the lady with the armfuls of fabric had expected to hear, colouring to the shade of beetroot rapidly.  

Indeed, it had been many years since the reigning king and queen had been so genuinely in love with one another that they showed that love quite so regularly. While for Aemond, his respectable demeanour meant that he was never overt in his desires towards his wife, if the noise borne of those desires should happen to carry, however... 

“Ser Crison, I have handmaidens bothering me about not being able to gain entrance to the king’s quarters,” Ser Eddard bustled, not pleased over being disturbed by the trivialities of the servants. “Something about needing to begin seeing to the queen’s hair regime.” 

It was a little past dawn, the usual time in which the queen rose. “Then let us investigate.” The knights moved from their quarters up the many stairs which took them higher within the Red Keep, arriving upon the correct floor where the king’s quarters were located.  

The nearer they walked towards the door, the more apparent it became why the queen was not allowing the handmaiden’s entrance. It was doubtful she’d heard them at all.  

They paused, sharing a look, eyebrows raised. “Her grace is...” Ser Criston began, his words cut short by the noise that filtered from behind the doors. 

“Oh gods, fuck!” 

“Receiving the king, it would appear.” 

Eddard couldn’t bite back his smirk, or help the snort laugh that sounded his nose. “We should not laugh.” 

“No,” he agreed, his eyebrows raising a little. “Most certainly not.” 

“Tis’ not appropriate,” Eddard continued. 

Another bliss-filled wail sounded.  

“Well, at least the king will not be short of heirs, if this is how they intend to go on.” The knights walked away, both giving way to a moment of boyish immaturity as they shared laughter.  

While they headed off, on the other side of the door, Aemella felt like she was drowning in the ecstasy she received from her husband, head thrown back, thighs quivering, her moans unabashed. He gilded the pearl of her sex with wet heat, each lick rolling slowly, smiling against her as her cries filled the air. 

“Does my tongue please you, my queen?”  

He knew well that it did, but Aemella still gave him what he sought. “It never fails to, husband.” Her mouth dropped open; eyes pinching shut tightly. “Yes, right there, ohh!” 

He knew she was close, tongue fluttering in hard, rapid licks upon her bud, his hands tightening at her waist, entranced by the sight of her losing her mind to his mouth. She dug her nails into the lean muscles of his arms, dragging raspberry brandings over his pale skin as her body burned white-hot with every rolling ripple of her release, glimmers tingling up her spine, leaving her breathless.  

“I think I deserve rewarding for that, sweet wife,” he groaned, wiping his mouth, kissing her thigh and branding her with a little bite as she shuffled backwards, straddling his hips. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, leaning forward to kiss him, sinking down onto his cock. “And you shall receive it too, darling love. I know how keenly you enjoy being ridden.” 

Straightening, she rolled her hips, slipping down on as much of him as her tightly stretched cunt could take, feeling him filling her deep. “Oh, gods. I love you so much, Aemond!”  

He couldn’t help but offer a little tease. “You always do, when you’re all full of my cock.” The sudden upward punt of his hips almost unseated her, Aemond grasping her breasts and steadying her, sitting up, pulling her legs around him as he kissed her with filthy heat. “I love you, too, my sweet, beautiful wife.” 

It became torrid and wild with all the ferocity of a hurricane, bodies grinding against each other hard, all that had been softer in edge sharpening, his fingers clenching as he grasped her back, short nails grazing her skin as he bit her nipple.  

Groaning out the heat of his arousal, his teeth released the soft flesh, kissing the pink marks left behind upon a deep groan, his hair tugged at, her fingers weaving into the roots. Her hand yanked in a fierce tug, her eyes gleaming with all the power her fuck wielded over him. 

“Bend for me, my king.” 

He leaned back, arching like the bend in a riverbank, her lips meeting his throat as her hips worked in serpentine against him, each roll viciously slow yet savagely thorough, her inner muscles clasping in spasm on his cock. She had him sent mindless rapidly, his deep moans filling the air, fingers digging into her shoulders as she rode him with ember-burning vigour. 

In the place she had kissed one brother to his death, she sent her other to the edges of the heavens, tongue sliding in a sensuous lick along the column of his neck, the roll of her hips a little more purposeful, staring at him intently. The love within her heart echoed through her dominance, gentle glimmers meeting the sharper edge she fucked him with, scraping like feather kisses and razor cuts across his soul.  

Releasing her grip within his long, silver mane, she pushed him down, her hand curling elegantly at his throat and holding him there, whispering words of love, lust and desire to him in their mother tongue, High Valyrian spells that held him bound, enchanted into the bed.  

The fervid nature of their tryst held no hope of anything more than a rapid chase to their simmering release, Aemella grinding down upon him determinedly, the lighting dancing at the base of her spine streaking fully, bouncing from strike point to strike point. She came with a wail, the flutters of her walls around him milking his cock to erupt deep in the velvet wet of her, both panting in exhaustion as she collapsed atop his chest. 

Sweet glimmers ebbed, his hands stroking her sweaty back, Aemella looking down upon him with the kind of wide, satisfied grin that made his laughter sound, kissing her head.  

“Such a smug face, wife,” he chuckled, hand stroking her cheek. 

Turning her head, she kissed his palm. “I always am when you come that hard for me, love.” 

Indeed, he had. Lying there with his mind a foggy mess, he could have happily fallen asleep again. He didn’t have the luxury of dozing in the aftermath of his bliss, though, both getting out of bed and bathing quickly before a flurry of activity overtook their morning. For the entire time as handmaidens rushed around them, they stole little glances at one another, Aemella bursting with pride especially. 

There he was, her twin, her husband, her love, and he was about to be coronated. She didn’t think she could feel prouder, but later that morning, with thousands of people gathered there within the dragonpit to bear witness to the new king being named, her heart could have burst.  

Once again, Otto Hightower announced the proceedings, his mighty voice booming through the huge, looming space. 

“People of Kings Landing, today again we are united in our grief, our family and the realm alike mourning the loss of our beloved King Aegon II. But it is with his passing we are now fortified once more in the hope for a solidified future, with his younger brother, Aemond I Targaryen, succeeding to the throne.” 

Seeing him walk towards the platform beneath the arch of swords, a tear slid down Aemella’s cheek. After all his childhood torment, such indignities and deep-cut wounds, being made to believe he was not good enough by means of cruel bullying via his brother and nephews, there he stood. A literal king amongst men.  

Every storm they had weathered together had led to this moment.  

“My queen.” he whispered as she greeted him with a soft kiss, moving aside as he knelt.  

The High Septon walked forward, taking the small, gold bowl of anointing oil from one of his aides, beginning to mark little slicks upon his forehead as he spoke. 

“May the warrior give him courage. May the smith lend strength to his sword and sheath. May the father defend him in his need. May the crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom.” 

He then took the crown, handing it to Ser Criston Cole, who could only hope as he raised it aloft, the head in which he would place it upon would hold better sense and judgement than that of his predecessor. 

“The crown of the conqueror, passed down through generations.” As it was placed upon his head, Aemond felt with it the great weight, but it was far eclipsed by the sense of righteousness. This was how it always should have been, he realised. 

His sense of duty and destiny intertwined as he rose, the anointing oil cool on his brow, and the crown's heaviness a testament to his newfound responsibilities. Aemella's heart surged with a mix of pride and resolve, knowing even more so than before that their shared journey of hardships had culminated in this literal crowning moment. She could see in his eye, the unwavering determination to rule with sense and efficiency, a stark contrast to his predecessor's short, yet volatile reign.  

The atmosphere in the dragonpit was electric with anticipation, every eye fixed upon the new king, a crown upon his head, ready to lead them. 

“Let the Seven bear witness.” Ser Criston continued, stepping back as Aemond stood, receiving bows of acknowledgement from his family, his heart virtually bursting into flame to see the way his queen smiled at him. 

“All hail his grace, Aemond, first of his name. King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” 

Turning to his public, he nodded to them, standing poised before drawing his sword and holding it aloft, his name chanted by the thousands there to witness his triumph. Raucous applause and cheers filled the dragonpit, the celebration joyous and exuberant.  

Standing dutifully, Alicent leaned to her daughter. “Do you recall what it was that I told you, while you were still only a girl?” Studying her carefully, she inclined her head towards Aemond. “The husband is the head, but the wife is the neck…” 

Aemella finally peeled her loving gaze away from her husband. “And the neck can turn the head in any direction she wishes.” 

She nodded. “Exactly.” While her eyes flitted back to her son, she leaned close to her daughter’s ear. “I am trusting you to make those turns where you see fit, lest your husband become more unhinged than we both know well he is capable of being.” 

Something flickered in her daughter’s eyes, a dark light Alicent had rarely seen manifest itself. It chilled her for a moment, swallowing hard as Aemella leaned to her. 

“Trust that I know always, mother, exactly in which direction to wield my power.” 

Her statement should have settled her mother’s fears, yet for Alicent it only left her with an uneasy, nagging doubt over which of her twins truly was the more unhinged.  

Sheathing his sword, the king turned, extending his hand towards Aemella. She moved gracefully, taking it, Aemond pulling her close, his eyes glittering with adoration before turning back to the crowd. 

“My lords, ladies and gentlemen. I present to you your queen, Aemella Targaryen.” Very unprecedentedly, he then took to his knee before her, the cheers rapturous, kissing her hand. There was not a chance that on his coronation day, the woman who had brought him there would be pushed into insignificance. They were, after all, one. His triumph was hers. His adoration was hers.  

His rule was hers. 

As king, he planned to swiftly prove to her, too, just how significant she was to him. Not that she ever needed to be told, but there was a score to settle.  

The eroded cliffs that jutted out from the swirling sea stood formidable, Vhagar coming to land upon one of the high bridges that connected Pyke to its keeps. No matter that formidability, the mighty dragon dwarfed her standing, her ear-piercing roar signalling the arrival of the king.  

“My lord, king Aemond has this moment arrived upon Pyke, another dragon circling overhead.”  

Dalton Greyjoy did hate to be disturbed over dinner, but he would have been dealing in untruths had he stated not to have been waiting for this moment. “And what does the one-eyed king wish for from me?” 

His servant looked trepidatious, having of course witnessed the redoubtable air the new king had arrived in, waiting beside his colossal dragon for Dalton to make his way to him. “Your audience, outside.” 

Forking in a final mouthful of liver sausage, he swilled it down with a slug of ale, his eye sharpening towards his brother. “Come.”  

Obediently, Veron followed through the draughty halls and corridors, the sea spray flecking them as they walked to the bridge, Aemond standing in wait, arms folded.  

“Veron, stay where you are.” His eye burned like a flaming amethyst through the night as he stated menacingly at Dalton, curling his finger. “Proceed towards your king, Lord Greyjoy.”  

Dalton lifted his head as his feet strode out over the bridge, the ground as hard beneath his feet as the demeanour he wished to present himself with. Within himself, though, he felt his courage trickling. He’d never witnessed Vhagar close before, only from the air above. The mighty dragon stood as a chillingly terrifying sentry to her rider.  

“Halt.”  

Immediately, he stopped, the king still a good distance from him. “If you call me out here to discuss alliance...” 

That was as far as he got. “I call you out here at my queen’s behest, to answer for your crimes against her.”  

“My crimes?” he spluttered, his whole body stiffening as he jumped in fright, Fyreclaw’s screech from above shattering through the night.  

Aemond nodded, looking up at the sky as the dragon began to descend, Fyreclaw hovering in place in the air. “That is correct, Lord Greyjoy. Or did you think you would remain unpunished for all the times you raised a hand to my wife?”  

The colour began to drain from Dalton’s flushed cheeks, the king continuing. “I don’t take kindly to that, nor you attempting to rape her. Neither does she, as one might imagine.” 

Fear began to coil through him, entwined with a sense of indignance. “She told me herself that if I released her, she would not seek retribution!” 

Aemond sniffed, resting his hands upon the hilt of his sword. “You did not release her, though. I rescued her from your clutches. There is rather the difference there, wouldn’t you say, hmm?” 

Realising he was at a loss with the one quietly menacingly enraged Targaryen, he turned to appeal his plight to the other. “Aemella! Please! I beseech you. Do not do this to me!” 

“Address your queen correctly, you pathetic cunt,” Aemond gritted, looking up with pride as his wife.  

“You said that you would not have me burned, your grace! You swore it!” Dalton bellowed to the skies above, his voice only just audible over the mighty swish of Fyreclaw’s colossal wings. 

Aemella’s grin grew in its sinisterness, her pretty mouth twisting, all of the pain and humiliation she had felt simmering just below her surface. Here it was, what she had waited patiently for while putting other wheels in motion, her chance to offer a fitting punishment to another who had wronged her. 

“I lied.”  

The lord of Pyke, riddled with panic, sank to his knees, clasping his hands together. It was a piteous display. “I beg of you, please! Spare my life.” 

His appeals fell on deaf ears, for there was no room for mercy or pity remaining in the queen’s heart, a single word delivered with determination that sealed the Red Kraken's fate. 

“Dracarys!” 

With a bellowing breath, Fyreclaw roasted the man alive upon his rider’s instruction, Dalton screaming and flailing before he fell forward, charred to his very bones in mere moments.  

As Helaena had foreseen, the Red Kraken finally burned.  

Neither Targaryen flinched, and nor did his brother, the king moving past the fiery corpse and approaching Veron. 

“Your grace,” he spoke, bowing, looking up and extending the same to Aemella. 

“Lord Greyjoy,” Aemond replied, Veron realising that yes, he indeed was now. “I have a proposal I wish to put forth to you.” 

The proposal was a very rapid exchange, which lead to the newly appointed Lord Greyjoy sailing his fleet to Kings Landing, arriving three days later, to his first meeting upon king Aemond’s small council. He witnessed there the fallout to the king and queen’s actions against his brother, the lords present all quietly agreeing that the punishment he’d received had not been a becoming start to his new reign.  

Veron thought it very fitting. After all, it was no secret that should one play with fire, one should expect to get burned. It was no secret either that Dalton Greyjoy had been a monster. He had revelled in it, truly, worn it as a badge of honour. 

Perhaps the worst monsters of all were the ones who did not know that they were, though. 

“Not that he should have gone unpunished, your grace,” Otto began, the weight that had been lifted of one reckless grandson now bearing upon his shoulders once more. “He should have been reprimanded through the correct avenues. To burn the man to death shows a significant lack of restraint in a quest for personal indulgence.” 

Aemond sniffed with nonchalance, his fingers running over the smooth, marble ball before him. “Some claim the worst indignity a woman can face is that of a man forcing himself upon her. Others claim it is the loss of a child. My wife suffered the former, and could very nearly have also experienced the latter – for a second time, I hasten to add - had he been successful in his attempt to brutalise her.”  

A sharply glinted stare bored right through Otto’s eyes, a savage tingle he felt prickling somewhere in the back of his skull. “The queen’s choice was a very fitting retribution for his crimes against her.” The king then extended a hand down the table, nodding at Veron. “Which brings me to introduce you all to my newly appointed Master or Ships, Lord Veron Greyjoy. Tell me of our current standing regarding the blockade, my lord.” 

“I am happy to inform his grace that the Iron Fleet will set sail at noon, along with the fortifications of the triarchy. Together, we hope to annihilate the Sea Snake’s barrier with swiftness, allowing trade to pass through from Essos once more.”  

While talk circled the table over the finer logistics of Veron Greyjoy’s attack, Otto sat and ruminated silently, a small slither of foreboding coiling through his insides. Much like his daughter, he had always seen Aemella in the light of the harnesser of Aemond’s reckless side. To learn that it had been her idea to burn the Red Kraken to ashes did not sit well within him. 

For the new king to have ousted his mother from the small council only to bring his wife in, too, seemed very much a play of fortification. Concerningly, it appeared that both twins were a little too comfortable with the notion of trial by fire. Otto could only wonder just how many more ashes in their wake would sit in charred smoulder for all to see before they found their composure. 

“Together, they could be mighty, yet incredibly poised rulers,” he began, visiting with Alicent in her quarters a time later. “Equally though, if they forge together and exclude the word of all others, then we have an even greater challenge than Aegon on our hands.”  

Alicent had been toying with it in the back of her mind, not truly wanting to give light to the whispers. Whispers both in her mind and circulating the Red Keep, courtesy of a recently departed Lord Larys.  

“Do you believe it was her, father? The agent to Aegon’s demise?”  

Otto looked troubled by her statement. He would never wish to believe it of his gentle, wise granddaughter, yet when she was threatened... when Aemond was threatened... 

His thoughts swirled in a tempest of uncertainty, not unlike the storms that had beset their shores of late. He could not shake the grim realisation that Aemella’s protection of her husband, thus leading to an ambition to steer his seat to the Iron Throne might be a far more formidable force than he had ever anticipated.  

Seating himself, his fingers dug into the arm of the couch. “I beseech even myself not to believe such of her,” he began, sighing wearily. “Beneath Aemella’s calm poise always did lie something quite unnerving, though. Especially where Aemond is concerned.” 

The king and queen’s unification seemed an unbreakable bond, yet within it lay the potential for unchecked power, a wildfire in its own right, threatening to consume all that opposed its path.  

The flickering candlelight in Alicent’s quarters cast eerie shadows, shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of vengeance and betrayals. As father and daughter exchanged wary glances, the air grew heavy with unspoken truths, for they both knew that the line between justice and retribution was perilously thin. 

“Perhaps impending motherhood may gentle her,” Otto spoke finally, the heavy atmosphere cut through with the slither of hope.  

Alicent scoffed quietly, resting her chin upon her curled hand. “Or make her ten times more ferocious in her drive to protect what is hers.”  

Only time would tell. 

A/N - Now, did you enjoy what you just read? Please remember, this is not Instagram. Clicking that heart does little, but a comment? Your author will be rewarded. A comment and reblog? Your author is throwing roses at your feet! It takes less time to do this than it did for you to read the chapter, too. Please, be kind and help support the fandom! :) 

Next Chapter

[imagineinside]

Eternal Claws (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader) Chapter 2

Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/imagineinside/760089693618618368/eternal-claws-logan-howlett-x-femreader-chapter?source=share

A/N: First of all, thank you guys for all the love on the first chapter! I was very worried about if people would actually enjoy the story I have planned for you and Logan ;). This next chapter focuses now on the grown reader, who is more mature and confident in herself. Please let me know if you want to see any specific tropes or moments in the future chapters, I am keeping the storyline rather broad as I continue building this world. :D

Summary: At a young age of 16, you find yourself saved from a group of hunters by no other mutant than The Wolverine, who reluctantly becomes your protector during your first heat. As weeks pass and you recover, a complex bond forms between yourself and the powerful mutant who had saved you.

Seven years later, now a confident young woman with refined mutant abilities, you encounter Wolverine again. Despite your growth and newfound strength, old feelings resurface as Wolverine returns from a secretive mission. As you navigate the challenges of your powers and your unspoken connection with him, you must come to terms with your past and the burgeoning feelings that might redefine your future.

Current Applicable Warnings: 18+ (semi-explicit story), canon-typical violence, age gap (like 200+ with a 25 yr old), Alpha!Logan, Omega!Reader, a/o/b universe, sexual tension cause I live for that sh*t, pining, past (complicated) relationships, angst, fluff, more to come.

Word Count: 3,102 the hair flick makes me feral

Seven Years Later

Jumping out of bed, you completed your daily routine: rinsed off in the shower, brushed your teeth, and took your inhibitors before going to meet Cyclops and Jean in the cafeteria. You had met the two other mutants pretty early into your career at the school, and trained with them since then. They were rather taken aback by your mutation at first, with stealing life to provide it to something else and all, but they had grown to see the benefits.

You don’t see the Wolverine very much anymore, though he did teach your History courses up until you turned 18. Once that point hit, after your 18th birthday, you two developed a rather… complex friendship. If anyone had asked you if you were friends, both of you would have denied it. 

But those late night sparring sessions, where Logan would push you to the point of burnout, where he would inevitably carry you back to your room once your legs gave out… those moments told a different story. Or the morning after where he would wake you up with a knock on your door and hand you a stack of pancakes with chocolate chips, just the way you liked it. And you would ask him to stay to keep you company while you read. And even though he would never admit it to you or anyone else, he loved the calming sound of your voice reading to him in the early morning.

And perhaps he was there for entirely selfish reasons.

You lived in that blissful existence until Professor X sent Logan overseas for a confidential mission. He had been gone for nearly three years without a word to you or anyone else. Though who was counting, right?

You had noticed a while back, before he left the school, that Logan liked to hang around Jean a lot… but you didn’t let it bother you at all. 

Not at all.

Not.

At.

All. 

Your dear friend, Jean, had grown breathtaking over the years, her powers right alongside her. Any Alpha would be attracted to such a powerful Omega, it just makes sense. Still, you can’t help but feel a tad sorry for Scott. The Beta has done everything to keep up with Jean and Logan.

Of course, you have grown into yourself as well over time. The past three years especially. Your face lost its childish features, your curves becoming more defined every year. The rigorous training you had put your body through over the last seven years had filled you out nicely, though that was only a positive side effect. You just never wanted to be as weak as you were before. Ever again.

Walking into the cafeteria, you surveyed the crowd of fellow students and teachers alike, but you were surprised to see a second set of shoulders sitting beside your redheaded friend. Clad in a leather jacket with spiked hair. Logan wasn’t supposed to be back for another couple of months, at least according to the Professor.

“Logan,” His name left your mouth in a puff of air. It felt as if you were seeing a ghost after such a long time. Part of you thought he may have just up and vanished when he had left for that mission. Seeing him again felt… surreal.

The Wolverine turned in his chair, brow raised in that way it always was, though it fell when his piercing gaze landed on you from across the room. For a moment that lasted no longer than a heartbeat, you were afraid he would somehow not recognize you. But it was like the Professor had frozen everyone around you for an instant, everything else simply fell away. You could feel that stupid childhood crush come creeping back to the surface. 

He spent your first heat protecting you, so what? That was his job. You were too immature for him then, he probably still thinks about you the same damn way.

“Vitalia,” Logan called out your codename in a way of greeting, that look in his eyes making you feel invincible for a brief moment. Then the powerful mutant was rising from his chair and moving through the busy cafeteria to get to you. His shoulders moved in that same powerful way they always had, with a confidence that made your knees feel weak. When he finally stopped before you, you were toe-to-toe with each other. Jeez you had forgotten how tall this man was. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” he whispered before reaching down and wrapping his large arms around you in a bear hug you had forgotten always felt so good.

You didn’t fight as your eyes fluttered closed and you took a long, deep breath of his pinewood and leather scent. A scent that reminded you of comfort and home. A scent that you haven’t smelled since the day he left.

The Professor had locked Logan’s room upon him leaving the campus. At the time, it felt like just another nail in the coffin to you that the Wolverine was gone. But over time, you just wanted to smell him again, and cursed the fact that you couldn’t walk into his room to see and smell all he had left behind.

It was rare for you two to hug, though not unheard of. Despite your childish hope of having Logan as an–ahem–intimate partner, in your mind hugging was a line you rarely crossed with each other.

For the Wolverine, though, he just needed to make sure you were kept safe. You meant too much to him to let you go. But you didn’t know that… yet.

“Where did they send you?” You gently asked him as you rubbed at his back. 

It was a common occurrence for him to come back from missions, or–hell–even come to your room after a night terror looking for comfort. The first time it had happened, you think you were almost 20 at the time, he had just returned from a failed rescue mission for a young mutant boy. You were just getting ready for bed when a hard knock sounded at your door. Thinking that it was Jean returning your Math textbook, you opened the door, only to find a towering, battered looking Wolverine on the other side.

“Can I come in?” He had asked, his voice dark and hoarse.

You nodded for him to enter, closing the door behind him.

“What’s the matter?” You asked him as you pulled out your desk chair, not sure if it was the right time to take a seat next to him on the bed.

Logan swallowed, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “He didn’t make it.”

“The boy you were sent to find?”

All he could do was nod his head.

“Lo, I am so sorry,” you replied, tears pricking at your eyes. “Whatever happened it wasn’t your fault.”

Logan gritted his teeth together, his forearm flexing as he clenched and unclenched his hand over and over. Though you weren’t afraid of him, you never could be. “The townspeople… Not only was he a mutant but he presented as Omega.” A sob ripped from his throat, a sound you had never heard him produce before. “He never stood a chance.”

“Oh God,” you couldn’t say anything else… do anything else. You didn’t want to know what– “Do you need to stay here? I can sleep on the floor.”

He gave a solemn nod and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Thank you,” came his response. You gave him a sad smile before rising to gather a blanket and pillow for the floor. Before you could get very far, Logan’s large hand was holding your cheek and his thumb rubbed away a tear streaking down your face. His hazel eyes felt like they were piercing through you, as if they were trying to capture you a million times over. Like he was afraid you would be gone the second he blinked. “I’m so glad that it wasn’t you… It wasn’t you.” He repeated, as if needing to prove it to himself.

You laid awake that night, listening to his heavy breathing as he cradled one of your shirts that he had asked for close to his face. By the time you fell asleep, you woke again to your door being shut closed, the shadow of Logan disappearing down the hallway.

You tried to ignore the fact that after leaving your room at night, he would move down the hall and knock on Jean’s door. You never told him or Jean that you knew what they were doing. It wasn’t worth the heartache for you. You just wanted to be there for a close companion, a friend… of sorts.

“They sent me to Russia,” he grumbled into your shoulder before straightening up and untangling his arms from around you, “I went in to infiltrate an illegal mutant testing program. And to free Professor X’s old friend…” As his voice trailed off, you got the hint he wasn’t in the mood to discuss it further. 

Instead, you gave him a watery smile and, before you could truly think about what you were doing, you rose onto your toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Welcome back, old man,” you whispered, only pausing enough to watch his nose twitch and his pupils expand to the rim, an animalistic look hidden in his eyes. You quickly turned away to try to hide the fact that your cheeks were quickly turning a shade of red.

But he caught it, he always did. And he would keep that look of yours ingrained in his mind, somewhere deep inside for him to peek at when he needed it the most.

You cleared your throat and strode towards the table, “It must be nice to catch up with everyone.”

“I came here to find you first,” his response had your steps faltering and mind reeling. You would have thought he wanted to see Jean or Professor X first, not… you.

You had to come to a complete stop when you saw the plate that was waiting for you at your normal eating spot. A stack of… warm chocolate chip pancakes.

You never stood a chance against the current of waterworks that came pouring out of you. Turning and sobbing into Logan’s chest, your heart so full of joy and relief that he was here.

* * *

“God I wish you never came back,” you spat at Logan from across the ring, spitting blood from your mouth onto the gray floor. The tooth he had knocked free hurt like a bitch as it regrew into place.

Over the years, especially these last three, you’ve been growing more and more with your mutant abilities. And apparently, with the ability to control life and all that, you can heal yourself at speeds that rival the Wolverine.

“Since Professor X told me you can heal now, I don’t have to hold back.” Logan laughed as he lunged forward, this time with two claws out on either fist. You made a mistake to block your upper body as he jammed both sharp ass knives into your legs, making you yell out in pain.

You solidified your place on the ground behind swinging you right arm upwards, hitting him in the jaw hard enough to knock him backwards and to get those damn, stupid fucking adamantium cat claws out of you. 

“Hey, sweetheart, you’re talking out loud again.” Logan called as he rose from the ground, both his claws retracting into his arms.

“Good, I hope you know how much I hate those things.” You seethed back at him as you walked from the ring to grab a drink of water. “Those fuckers have pierced holes in my mattress and sheets far too many times.”

Logan’s hearty laugh followed you to the bench, making it impossible to hide your own smile spreading across your face. “Hey, at least you’re strong enough to walk out of here on your own two feet now.”

Your smile falls faster than it started. “Yeah,” you sighed, “at least that.”

“You have gotten a lot stronger since the last time I was here.” Logan said, his voice coming from close behind you. For a brief moment, you thought you felt the ghost of a touch around your waist, but when you turned around there was nothing there. “Listen, um…” he let out a harsh laugh, almost like a scoff,  “I’m not very good at this kind of stuff which you know, but… I am sorry I left for so long.”

Maybe two years ago you would have relished those words. An apology coming from the big, angry Wolverine. But now, it just made you feel like a child. It made you feel like you were just a kid he felt like he was in charge of still. “I can take care of myself, Logan.”

“I know that,” he rushed to say, “I didn’t mean to imply you–”

“Scott, Jean and I are being sent on a mission.” You let the words tumble out of your mouth into the space between you. It felt like acid pouring out of you, leaving steaming piles on the floor that you could no longer cross.

“What?” Logan asked, shaking his head.

“Professor X wants us to go on our first mission.”

“No, I heard that. It’s just… you’re too young still.” Logan growled, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I’m going to talk to the Profess–”

“Please, don’t!” You begged as you grabbed onto his arm when he turned to leave. Thankfully, it stopped him in his tracks. You looked down at where your hand was clasped around his wrist and released with a hiss, as if the touch had burned you. “I need this, Logan. Jean and Scott do too. I mean, it’s not their first mission but they need more experience out there.”

“When’s your next heat due?”

You felt yourself bristle at him, a growl crawling up your throat, “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you go out there on a mission if your heat is coming soon.” He growled and snapped his teeth at you. The look in his eyes made you recoil back into yourself, you hated when your secondary gender bowed to his. You weren’t any less powerful than him, so why did you feel like you had to listen to him? You didn’t even feel this way with the Professor.

“You don’t get to decide that for me!” You yelled back, despite your Omega reeling back from yelling at an Alpha. God, you hated those words. “You let Jean go out there even though she’s an Omega.” You hated throwing your friend's name out there just to prove a point.

Logan scoffed and tossed his head back, “That’s completely different, Vitalia.”

“What, because you’re just sleeping with her?”

A deadly silence fell over the otherwise empty training room.

Logan breathed heavily and took a step towards you, making your knees bend against the bench behind you and you fell to the wooden surface. “You don’t know shit about that,” he said, his voice eerily calm.

“And you don’t know shit about what I’m capable of.” You said, your voice losing its vigor as tears pricked your eyes. “You were gone for three years, Logan. Do you have any idea how much I needed you?”

“I know,” he replied, his voice retreating back to its calm, bassy tone.

“But I’m not the same little girl anymore, alright?” You begged to be recognized, your voice becoming watery with the tears in your eyes. “I need this mission.”

You watched Logan’s Adam's apple bob in his throat as he stepped back from you. “I know.” He reached forward and offered a hand to help pull you up. Hesitantly, you laced your hands together and tugged upwards, rising from the seat. “Just make sure to be safe. And come back to m–to us.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved at his shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I will, dad.”

“Hey,” he snapped at you as a smile played on his lips, “we talked about that.”

“I know, I know… it reminds you how old you are, old man.”

“Wow, you’re really asking for it aren’t you?”

You giggled to yourself and swayed your hips as you walked towards the exit (completely missing the way Logan watched every sway of your hips like his life depended on it). “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said with a wink.

A quick growl behind you was the only warning you received before you were tackled to the ground, an assault of tickles roaming across your ribs and under your armpits. Your laughter was contagious as it bounced around the room, Logan’s own baritone laughter mixing with yours. He hadn’t felt joy like this in so long. “I yield, I yield!” You yelled out.

His fingers stopped roaming as your laughter died out, and you realized how compromising of a position you were in during your attempt to escape. Logan was nestled between your legs, his torso keeping you spread open beneath him. And it just became inappropriate for your friend to have his shirt off, a heat forming in the bottom of your stomach as your eyes grazed along his happy trail that disappeared beneath his gray sweatpants. The need to peel down the band on his pants to see what that trail led to was overwhelming. You watched his pecs twitch as he leaned backwards, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. You wished he would reach around you and pull you closer to him, let you grind against him until you found a release that would have you screaming his name…

Fuck, you forgot he can sense your arousal and heartbeat.

You watched his pupils dilate for the second time that day, his eyes darkening as his grip tightened on your hips…

Clearing your throat you pushed away from him, and he let you go with little resistance as you slipped through his hands. “I’m gonna take a shower and meet Jean and Scott to go over mission details.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to tell him that, but watching as he sat there looking wrecked because of you made your heart do something very strange.

Giving him one quick nod, you walked out of the room, running away from the man who had the power to destroy your heart.

Taglist (omg I can't believe I have one of these, love y'all): @kingdomhate , @sadslasher13 , @bontensbabygirl , @ferkillia , @coocoocachoogotscrewed , @craftycaptain.

[lemonlover1110]

Baby Steps

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 29] Growing Family

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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*this is really the last chapter, thanks for sticking with me in this cute adventure🥹

Seven years after Seiji is born, you constantly find yourself thinking about destiny and your first discussion with Satoru about it. Neither of you are sure, but you’re happy that this is how your life turned out. You love waking up next to him as his wife and proceeding to start off your day with him and your kids. With your seven-year-old Seiji and your five-year-old Saori. 

You both have teaching jobs– Of course, they’re very different. Satoru teaches three teenagers, one of them being Megumi, while you teach a classroom full of at least twenty second graders. Satoru always tells you that you’re one of the reasons he decided he wanted to become a teacher, apart from the part that he’s the strongest (you still have no idea what he means) and that’s his duty. You have a much bigger home than before; yet neither Megumi nor Tsumiki live with you anymore so many rooms are empty, however, considering the fact that you have two young children, the house is still very lively.

Satoru still had a great idea to fill up the empty rooms, and that’s how you find yourself expecting your third child with him. You swear to Satoru this is the last baby you’ll have, but that’s what you said when you gave birth to Saori. It’s easy to forget how bad pregnancy and childbirth are when you watch Satoru being the best possible father to your kids.

“Daddy, can you help with my homework?” Seiji asks, even though you’re the one that teaches his grade level and knows what his teacher is teaching. Apparently you’re great at explaining things but daddy just does it better, and you feel your eyes roll to the back of your head as you watch Seiji approach his father with the notebook. 

“Sure thing, buddy. Wait till Saori finishes with my nails.” Satoru answers, watching as his daughter paints his pinky nail a blue color. She was going for pink since it’s her favorite color but then she decided that blue would match his eyes (in reality she couldn’t find the pink nail polish and didn’t want to admit that she lost it). It’s fine though, her father will just buy her another one. “Wow, look at you. You’re doing such a great job.”

“I know.” Saori answers, so focused on not making a mess and painting her father’s whole finger. Satoru manipulates his infinity every time that she’s clearly about to paint his whole finger. 

“Saori, will you hurry up?” Seiji asks, clearly annoyed. He wants to get finished with his homework so he can watch TV, since you told him he could watch his show after he was finished with homework. You offered to help, but he turned you down.

“Don’t rush your sister, Seiji.” Satoru says, and he watches how Saori sticks her tongue out at her brother, causing Satoru to sigh. “Don’t stick your tongue out at your brother, Saori.”

“I can help you, Seiji.” You pop into the living room, where your husband and kids are. You find yourself bored for once in your life because Satoru took care of everything.

“It’s okay.” Seiji responds, making you pout. He does usually accept your help, but during your third pregnancy you’ve been a victim of pregnancy brain. You don’t think you’ve ever felt dumber, so stupid that even your seven-year-old notices.

“Saori, honey, will you paint my nails next.” You say and she perks up. For the first time Satoru fails, not turning his infinity on and getting nail polish all over his finger. She smiles brightly and nods her head.

“I’m done with you, daddy.” Saori tells her father, and he laughs as he looks at the unfinished hand. He stands up and walks over to Seiji to help him with his homework. You take Satoru’s seat and extend your hand to your daughter. “Do you want blue as well, mommy?”

“What other colors do you have?” You ask.

“I used to have pink.” She replies, which makes you laugh. She doesn’t have it anymore so you don’t see the point in bringing it up. She begins to paint your nails, and she’s awfully concentrated until she finally speaks up, “When’s my baby brother or sister getting here?”

“Around two more months.” You answer. You’re due in December, a little while after Satoru’s birthday. A month after her birthday. “Are you excited to be a big sister, honey?”

“Yeah.” She answers. She’s focused, therefore, she can’t talk. You stare at her, watch how concentrated she is. She has to push her white hair out of her face since it covers her vision. The more you stare at her, the more you realize how neither of your kids look like you and you hope that the third time around you give birth to your twin. “When’s my birthday?”

“In a month.” You respond since you won’t count down the weeks until her sixth birthday. You can’t believe just how fast she’s growing up, it feels just like yesterday when you found out that you were pregnant with your baby girl. You smile, watching as she paints your whole finger. Satoru has shown you his infinity, yet you still find yourself surprised how she never messes up Satoru’s nails. “Woah, you completely missed the nail there.”

“Sorry.” She apologizes yet she continues to make the same mistake. You aren’t paying too much attention to it, you just listen to Satoru explain to your son how to do his homework. You’re sure that you could explain it better, but you still smile. You never really thought you’d be here seven years later, but here you are.

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

-

Satoru isn’t the type of man that goes to bed early– Well, he wasn’t. Up until he had two babies under two and ever since he had to handle a very energetic Seiji and a crybaby Saori, he’s been going to bed since eight at night. When you put both of your kids to bed, you both go to bed as well. His head barely touches the pillow and he’s passed out.

This specific night though, when his head touches the pillow, a scream comes from his daughter’s room and he sprints out of bed and to her room. He literally just put her to bed, there’s no way that she already had a nightmare. Seiji isn’t much of a prankster either so he’s ready to kill just about anyone.

Satoru finds his little girl with her knees to her chest. She buries her head in her knees, and she covers her ears. Satoru looks around, turning on the light. He’s about to ask what’s wrong since his eyes don’t see anything, but he feels the energy. His eyes land on the half open closet and he begins to walk towards it.

“Is everything okay, Saori–” Seiji comes running into the room after hearing his sister scream. He’s much slower than his father, but regardless he’s here.

“Go to your room, Seiji. Take your sister.” Satoru orders and Seiji does as instructed, even though it takes some effort to get Saori out of the room but he succeeds. Satoru fully opens the closet and a sigh leaves his body seeing the small curse. Nothing scary to him, but surely scary for his baby girl. 

He exorcizes the curse with no issue before walking out of the room and going to Seiji’s room. Seiji comforts his little sister, who’s trying to hide under the blue blanket that Seiji let her borrow. There’s a frown on Satoru’s face as he walks over to his babies and sits on the edge of the twin bed. He engulfs his kids in a hug.

“I’m sorry you saw that, Saori.” Satoru mutters. He feels guilty that the curse that he holds is passed down to his children. He’s known they can see them, but he tries to protect them as much as he can. Sometimes he can’t though. Satoru’s parents want him to start training his son as well, after all, Seiji is a descendent of the Gojo clan but Satoru doesn’t want to do that. He wants his kids to be free of this all. 

That’s not his decision to make though.

“Everything’s gonna be okay while daddy is here.” Satoru reassures them. He kisses the top of their heads, and just holds them while he can.

“What happened?” You show up a little too late. Getting up from your bed is the hardest exercise that you face lately. Satoru chuckles, it’s not like you’re really going to understand anyway. He doesn’t want you to.

“The kids are sleeping with us tonight, honey.” Satoru says, picking both Seiji and Saori from the bed and carrying them to your bedroom. You slowly follow behind, already out of breath by simply getting up from bed and going to Seiji’s bedroom.

When you stand in the doorway, you watch how Satoru tucks them in the middle of the bed, filling their faces up with kisses. Maybe it wasn’t exactly planned, but you’re glad you’re with him and the fact that he’s the father of your kids. Now, as his wife, you can’t imagine spending the rest of your days with someone else and you can’t imagine a father more perfect than him– Of course he has his flaws but they hardly poke through.

He often asks if you think he’s doing well as a parent, worried that he’s messing everything up. You can’t even begin to say how proud you are of him, and how you think he’s a far better parent than you are. He loves to remind them that their father is always there to help them, protect them, and love them. Maybe that’s why you agreed to have a third child with him, plus the process is always fun.

“I love you two so much.” Satoru says, and while he should lay down with them, he’s no longer tired, and when he looks back at you it seems like you aren’t tired anymore either. “We’ll be right back, do you want to watch some TV for a bit?”

They nod their heads and Satoru turns the television on. They’re too agitated to go to sleep as well. Letting them stay up for half an hour isn’t the end of the world. He then walks over to you, and throws his arm over your shoulder. You walk out of the room and go downstairs to the living to sit down for a moment and talk. It’s rare that you find yourself alone to just talk.

When you take a seat, a moan leaves your lips, and he furrows his brow. You grab his hand and put it over your belly, and your baby doesn’t waste time kicking. No matter how many times he’s felt it, it always amazes him. He always looks so in awe, and he doesn’t remove his hand until his baby kicks a couple more times. He then pecks your lips, muttering, “Thank you so much for this.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts because this is the last time we’ll have a kid.” You tell him, and he sweetly smiles at you, pecking your lips again. You rest your head on his shoulder for a minute, and he enjoys the moment. You appreciate the unusual silence. You’ve gotten used to so much noise, and you’ll grow to miss it if you sit in silence for too long. You still appreciate it.

“How’s Kaya?” He asks, interrupting the silence.

“She’s planning the baby shower. She’s going crazy.” You respond, and you hear him chuckle.

“Isn’t she due soon? She shouldn’t be stressing over a baby shower.” He says and you hum in response. You wouldn’t know either way, you opted out for a baby shower the second time around since you were already stressed enough planning a wedding and handling Seiji. Every time you’re reminded, you laugh due to the fact that your father was right about the fact that Satoru would knock you up months after Seiji’s birth.

“She’s due around Halloween– Maybe two weeks before Saori’s birthday.” You answer. That’s so soon, Satoru only prays that her water doesn’t break during the baby shower and that he has to handle all the chaos. Satoru knows Daisuke is absolutely freaking out about it all; Satoru knows that feeling all too well, he’s still freaking out even though this is his third baby.

“Our baby will finally have a little cousin this time around.” Satoru comments and you chuckle. Seiji didn’t need a cousin, he had his younger sister. This new baby doesn’t though, and you’re adamant on not having more kids which he understands since he’s not the one that carries them for nine months.

“What ended up happening in the kid’s room?” You ask, and Satoru takes a long minute to answer. There’s no point in lying. He lied so much to you when you first met, he can’t do that anymore while you’re his wife. You swore you’d leave him if you ever caught him in a lie again, and now he tells you the truth even when you can’t see it. He doesn’t see the point in telling you a problem that you can’t solve.

“Well… Uhm… A curse.” He answers, and you remove your head from his shoulder. You slowly nod your head in response, and you aren’t really sure how to answer that other than,

“Oh yeah…” There’s some things that you’ll never understand about them nor about your husband. You don’t like to think about the fact that there are some issues that you’ll never be able to help them out with, only Satoru can help them.

You sit in absolute silence for a minute as you get lost in your thoughts. Satoru watches you, wondering what goes on in your mind.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you sigh. You can’t try to play it off as if you’re okay because you expect him to remain honest with you, it’s hypocritical to lie to him.

“Yeah, it’s just… What if you aren’t around and a similar issue comes up. How would I handle that?” You ask, and he wraps his arm around you, bringing you in for a hug. He kisses the top of your head, his hand going down to rest on your belly. “I just feel useless for some stuff, Satoru.”

“You aren’t useless, baby.” He responds. He doesn’t want for you to think about this– He doesn’t want to think that you’re useless in any way. It makes him recall an incident from five years ago, and he hid the truth to not worry you. “Can I confess a lie I told you?”

“Better be from before we got married.” There’s a frown on your face, and Satoru chuckles.

“You remember when Seiji was three and Saori two, how they went running to you crying about a bug that you could not find?” Satoru asks, and you remember the incident clear as day. You were scared shitless but you still went after the bug to kill it; when you couldn’t find it and they kept crying about it, you just comforted them while Satoru dealt with the problem. “There wasn’t a bug, it was a curse. But you still managed to deal with the problem, even when you didn’t know what it was.”

“That does make me feel better.” You smile at him before kissing his lips. “I love you. You always know the right thing to say.”

“I love you too, baby.”

-

“Seiji, stop!” Saori yells at her brother who keeps messing around with her tiara. You’ve already struggled getting into a kangaroo onesie to go out with them, you’re already far too tired to stop their bickering. You have no idea why you agreed to go trick-or-treating with them, you doubt you can walk too much. In your defense, you promised you’d do it two months ago, and your circumstances now are much different than before. You should’ve known that by Halloween you’d be in a much different mood. You only glance at Satoru, who lays down on the bed and stares at the phone, and he stands up to deal with it. “Seiji!”

“Seiji, what are you doing?” Satoru yells, walking out of the bedroom to go to where his kids are at. Satoru crosses his arm as he looks down at the seven-year-old who wears a superhero costume, ready to go trick-or-treating. Seiji tries to play it off as if he’s doing nothing, but he’s holding his sister’s tiara in his hands. Satoru sternly says, “Give it back and apologize.”

Seiji drags his feet, walking over to his sister to give her back her tiara. When Saori gets her tiara back, she runs to her father’s side and hugs him. He picks his little princess up from the floor and kisses her forehead. She sticks her tongue out at Seiji, making Satoru sigh and say, “Don’t do that.”

“Mommy! Saori is being mean to me!” He yells, hoping to have a parent by his side. You’re forced to leave your room to deal with it, even after your efforts of not dealing with it.

“What’s happening?” You ask. You look at Satoru and Saori before looking down at Seiji. Before Seiji responds, Satoru says,

“I got it handled, honey.” He puts Saori down on the floor again, “Apologize to your brother, Saori.”

“What for?” She responds, giving her father doe-eyes, which always work. He looks away, at his son.

“Apologize to Seiji for sticking your tongue out at him.” Saori crosses her arms before dramatically turning to her brother. She mutters an apology which is good enough for the minor offense. When you’re no longer needed, you begin to walk away, but you don’t get too far before your name is called again.

“Is Megumi still going with us?” Seiji asks, and you nod your head in response. You then look at your husband.

“Change. We have to get going soon so we get home early.” You order, and Satoru has no option but to do as you say. That’s what he signed up for when he chose to marry you. 

When you’re back in your room, you lay down on your bed, grabbing a picture frame that’s beside your bed and looking over it because every time Megumi is brought up you’re reminded of the little family you had six years ago. It’s an old photo of baby Seiji, Megumi, and Tsumiki. Looking at Tsumiki’s precious smile almost always makes you cry, and when the tears well up, they spill as you laugh at Megumi’s awful smile.

Maybe you should’ve appreciated those times more, but you had a lot on your plate. It’s not like you can stop time or stop awful things from happening. You’re still happy with your life right now.

The picture frame is snatched from your hands, and you glare at your husband. He looks at the picture before he puts it down on the nightstand. He leans down, and kisses you, “Don’t start getting sentimental now, it’ll ruin your night.”

“I’ll try not to.” You respond. He takes a seat on your side of the bed, his hands resting on your belly.

“I got a call.” He announces, and it makes your brows raise. He clears his throat, “We’ll have to go trick or treating without me. It’s an emergency.”

“Oh?” You reply. You want to be upset about it, but you know he doesn’t do it on purpose. Satoru is the first one to be bummed out about missing time with his kids. “I can take the kids out.”

“No! I want you to stay here till I get home.” He sounds defensive, and you know better. It’s rare when Satoru says no, so you’ll listen. He pecks your lips, telling you, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His head goes down and he presses a couple of kisses on your belly before he promises,

“I promise, I’ll be back as soon as possible. We gotta take these kids trick-or-treating together.”