#she was off in the morning and ever since i let her out to do her business she's been increasingly shaking

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening The Deal. (part 4.)

Summary: you learn more about the mysterious fiery redhead and things start to change..

Tags: @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @greencurlyhair @schmentisgf @dopenightmaretyphoon @pitstopsapphic

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Settling into the passenger seat of Melissa’s sleek car, you tried to calm the flutter in your chest. The entire morning felt surreal—first being invited to stay in her luxurious penthouse, then getting a full tour of her space, and now… a personal shopping trip with Melissa Schemmenti herself deciding everything for your upcoming change of pace on life. You cast a shy glance her way as she adjusted her orange sunglasses, already focused on the road with that steady, unruffled confidence that always seemed to surround her.

Seconds later, the engine hummed to life as she pulled out onto the streets of Center City Philadelphia. The redhead woman had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console, close enough that you could almost—almost—reach out and take it.

But you didn’t. The fear was too strong.

The drive was smooth, and for a moment, the silence between you felt almost too comfortable. You stole another glance at her as she focused on the traffic, her olive eyes hidden behind those pairs of designer sunglasses. She looked so effortless, so polished. Every detail about her—her crisp, tailored blazer, the way her auburn hair caught the sunlight—seemed intimidatingly perfect. You fidgeted with your hands, unsure of how to break the silence.

You hadn’t expected to feel so nervous. After all, you were just on your way to the mall to pick up a few things. It wasn’t a big deal. But the truth was, ever since that dream—that pornographic dream—you hadn’t been able to look at her the same way. You wouldn’t. You’d never told her about it. It was too embarrassing, too raw. She didn’t need to know, not when things between you two had been just fine as it should be. Right?

The images were still too vivid in your mind. The way her grunts sounded in your ear, the soft pressure of her lips against your skin while her hands had gripped you, steady and strong, the feel of her clit sliding against yours. And then, somehow, that moment had shifted—becoming more intense, more dangerous. The vivid image of Melissa in her bedroom, her pale body stretched out in front of you, her ass glowing under the dim lighting of the room. You tried to suppress the memory, but it lingered like an unwanted guest, haunting you every time you tried to look at her.

The silence stretched on, and finally, you cleared your throat, gathering the nerve to ask her something, anything at all, that might distract you from the thoughts that haunted and terrorized you.

“So… what do you do for living?” you asked, your voice soft but hopeful. “When you were on your way to my apartment complex, you said something about meetings?”

Her fingers curled slightly around the wheel as she gave you a quick glance, just a flicker behind those sunglasses, before returning her attention to the road. “You’re looking at it,” she said, her voice clipped and cold, as if the answer should have been obvious. “When I’m not being some bratty kid’s sugar mama, I work in real estate. I manage a few properties. Very high-end stuff.”

“Oh, that’s—” you trailed off, unsure if you’d be bothering her by asking more and honestly, you felt a bit annoyed by the way she referred to you as a brat. Her responses were so curt, almost as if she was reluctant to share even the basics, and still here she was, driving you around, letting you stay in her penthouse, arranging this shopping trip. “Cool..”

“If you say so... I guess that’s one way to put it,” she sighed quietly.

You took another deep breath, hoping to calm your nerves, and tried again. “What about… hobbies? Do you have any of ‘em?”

Melissa snorted, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I got hobbies.” She paused, glancing your way briefly before continuing in a tone that seemed half-reluctant. “I like to smoke. Cigars, mostly. Relaxing as hell after dealing with some motherfuckers at business meetings. And, uh, I watch Real Housewives sometimes. It’s a guilty pleasure, alright?” She smirked, but you could tell there was no real embarrassment there. She wore her quirks with confidence, her own unique brand of unapologetic pride.

“We all have guilty pleasures, Schemmenti,” you pointed out, feeling more comfortable. “What else?”

“I go to church sometimes,” the redhead added, softening a bit, turning distant. “Not every week, but, y’know… enough.” Her words seemed to falter, like there was something there she wasn’t quite saying. She swallowed, adjusting her sunglasses as she spoke, her tone strangely vulnerable. “Goin’ there, it helps me… forgive. Or try to, anyway.” She let out a small, humorless laugh, as if forgiveness wasn’t exactly something she found easy to come by.

The shift in her tone made your chest tighten. You wanted to ask what Melissa Schemmenti needed to forgive—or whom—but something in the features stopped you. Instead, you just nodded, letting her know you were listening, taking in each layer of herself she offered, even if she didn’t realize it.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, she fell silent. Her words ceased, and the hum of the road filled the gap. It was as if the conversation had taken a sudden detour, one that left you both in the moment of reflection. You could see her green eyes flicker to the rearview mirror, not really looking at anything but maybe thinking about everything.

She shifted in her seat, straightening her posture a little, but there was something new in her body language—a subtle withdrawal, almost like she was pulling back from herself. It was an instinct you knew too well, the way people guarded themselves after they’d shared something too raw. Melissa was never one to open up lightly. But now she seemed to be processing something else, something she hadn’t said yet. You wanted to reach out, to break the silence, but you hesitated. Something in the stillness of the moment felt important.

You couldn’t help but notice the way her hands tightened around the wheel, the tension in her shoulders, and the soft furrow between her brows. Her reflection in the mirror showed someone more guarded than she’d been a moment ago, as if the vulnerability she’d offered just a moment ago had been too much to bear. It wasn’t just her words she’d closed off—it was her entire presence.

Melissa didn’t speak again, but you felt it—the shift. And you couldn’t help but wonder what had caused it, what hidden part of her she was wrestling with now.

You glanced out the window, trying to steady your thoughts as the car moved through the city streets. As you sat there, trying to distract yourself from the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your mind, another thought crept in—one you hadn’t dared to voice. You hadn't really thought about it until now, but the more you focused on the silence between you, the more you realized that you'd never seen much of the Schemmentis around.

Her penthouse was immaculate—every surface polished, every corner filled with the sharp edges of modern luxury—but there were hardly any family pictures, no casual snapshots of her childhood or moments with relatives. Sure, there were photos of friends, some from vacations or casual nights out, but when it came to her family, it was almost like a void. That lack of familial presence was... strange, especially considering how many photos of her with some of the Schemmentis were across the internet.

You found yourself wanting to ask, but hesitation gnawed at you. Was it inappropriate to ask about her family? Did it make her uncomfortable? You tried to imagine how she’d respond—whether she’d offer an easy, casual answer or if it would send her retreating into that unapproachable shell she sometimes slipped into. Maybe she didn't want to talk about them, and maybe you shouldn't pry.

But you couldn’t help it. Curiosity gnawed at you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. You wanted to know more about the redhead—the parts of her life she hadn’t yet shared, the side of her that wasn’t just the successful, confident woman you’d come to know.

The absence of family mementos seemed deliberate, almost as if she were keeping her history behind some invisible line you weren’t allowed to cross. You’d heard her mention her family here and there during one of your meetings to arrange your sugar mommy deal—her Italian heritage—but nothing in detail. And the one time she had let something slip, she’d quickly clammed up, her face shifting to that same, unreadable mask she wore now.

But why?

Did she have siblings? Were her parents close? Had she grown up in a family like the one she’d created for herself—one that seemed full of strength, but also a quiet kind of distance?

You turned your gaze out the window again, pretending to focus on the passing scenery, but your mind raced through all the questions you couldn’t ask. The truth was, there was something deeply personal about the idea of her family—or lack of it—that had piqued your interest more than you were comfortable admitting.

What kind of upbringing had made her the way she was? And why had she chosen to leave so little of that behind in her penthouse? Your thoughts spiraled, pulling you deeper into that place of uncertainty and wonder, your chest tightening as you realized just how much you wanted to know.

You felt guilty for even thinking about asking. It wasn't like you had any right to her history, and maybe it wasn’t fair to put her on the spot like that. So you kept quiet, watching her as she drove, her face set and unreadable.

Still, the curiosity lingered.

“Melissa,” you started again, your voice softer than you intended. “You mentioned Pearl earlier. I didn’t realize she’d been around that long.”

“Yeah, she’s been a part of the family for years. Practically helped raise us—me and my siblings. Eight siblings, yeah. Big Italian family—South Philly’s finest.”

You nodded, glancing down to your lap to avoid her gaze. “Eight siblings… that’s a lot. Must’ve been a full house.”

Melissa let out a soft scoff. “You could say that. It was chaos, pure and simple. We weren’t exactly living in luxury back then. Half of us had to share a room.”

The idea surprised you, though you supposed it shouldn’t have. The woman beside you was successful now, living in a penthouse and offering you a fresh start, but she hadn’t always been here. You couldn’t imagine her any other way, though—fierce, determined, always in control. It was… comforting. Attractive, even.

You bit your lip, realizing you were staring, and quickly turned your gaze back to the road ahead. “I guess it taught you to be tough?”

She chuckled, though there wasn’t much warmth in it. “You don’t survive in a house like that without learning a thing or two.” She paused, then cast you a quick look, her expression softening just a fraction. “I don’t talk about my family much, you know. Or my fuckin’ past.”

Her honesty caught you off guard, and you felt a strange sense of privilege knowing she was sharing even this much with you. “Thank you for sharing,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Melissa waved it off as if it were nothing, but the way she looked at you made your heart skip. “Enough about me,” she scoffed, her tone firm but not unkind. “Today’s about you. We’re going to get you set up properly—starting with a wardrobe overhaul.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that, though your cheeks felt warm. “I don’t think I need that much—”

Green eyes shot you a look, one brow raised. “I’m not taking no for an answer, brat. You’re with me now, so we’re doing this my way.” She glanced at you again, her lips quirking into a smirk. “Besides, I like spoiling you, you little shit.”

Ignoring the last words, your heart fluttered at the way she said it, so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And then, before you could think too much about it, she leaned over at a red light and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You froze, heat flooding your face as her lips lingered for just a second longer than necessary. When she pulled back, her gaze was steady, almost challenging, as if daring you to react. But words seemed to stick in your throat, and all you could do was stare at her, wide-eyed and flustered.

“Cat got your tongue?” Melissa teased pressing a hand on your thighs, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement.

“N-No, I just… wasn’t expecting that,” you stammered, cursing yourself for sounding so awkward.

“Get used to it, honey. Mama’s got a habit of getting what she wants.”

The rest of the drive passed in a haze, each kiss she placed on your cheek or forehead leaving you breathless and aching to feel her plump lips on yours. You wondered if she could tell, if she noticed the way your hands fidgeted in your lap or the way your gaze kept flickering to her lips when you thought she wasn’t looking. But if she did, she didn’t say a word.

When you finally arrived at the mall, Melissa led you inside with a hand on the small of your back, her presence steady and grounding. You were still a little dazed, still reeling from every soft touch and lingering look she’d given you in the car.

The mall was bustling, but with Melissa by your side, you felt a strange sense of calm. Or maybe it was just that her confidence had a way of rubbing off on you, making you feel like you belonged, like you deserved to be here with her. She guided you through the maze of stores, her hand warm and reassuring on your back, and you tried not to think about how natural it felt, how right.

As you walked, she glanced at you, a thoughtful look in her green eyes. “We’re going to find something that suits you. Something… fitting.” She stopped in front of a high-end boutique, her tongue clicking as she turned to you. “Because from now on, you’re mine. And I want you to look like it.”

Your mouth went dry, and you felt your heart skip a beat at her words. Hers. The idea made your stomach flutter in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

“Y-Yours?” you stammered.

Melissa smirked, looking at you with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction. “That’s right. My property, my rules.” There was an unmistakable edge of possessiveness in her voice, one that left you feeling both nervous and exhilarated.

You swallowed, your cheeks burning as you nodded, unable to find the words to respond. But She didn’t seem to mind. She simply took your hand and led you inside, guiding you through racks of designer clothes with an expert eye.

“What about this?” the redhead prompted, holding up a sleek black dress, her gaze assessing as she looked you over.

You fidgeted, feeling self-conscious under her scrutiny. “It’s… nice.”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Nice isn’t good enough. You’re going to try it on. And a few other things, too.”

Before you could protest, she had already gathered a small pile of clothes and was steering you toward the fitting rooms. Her hand was warm on your back, her presence reassuring even as she pushed you a little out of your comfort zone.

Inside the fitting room, you tried on each piece she’d picked out, feeling more and more like a different person with each outfit. The clothes were sleek, sophisticated, a far cry from the simple, practical pieces you usually wore. But when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t help but feel… good. Confident, even.

Melissa seemed to sense it, too. Each time you stepped out to show her an outfit, she looked you up and down with a smile that was equal parts approval and pride. “Now this,” she said, adjusting the collar of a suit you were wearing, her fingers brushing against your collarbone. “This is what I’m talking about.”

Her hand lingered for a moment, her touch sending a thrill through you that left you breathless. And then, without warning, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to your nose, soft and warm against your skin. The act was quick but enough to make you widen your eyes.

“Perfect,” she murmured. “You look perfect.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you ducked your head, trying to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. But the Schemmenti woman wasn’t having it. She tipped your chin up with a gentle finger, her gaze intense as she looked at you.

“Don’t hide,” she spoke softly. “I want to see that smile.”

You couldn’t help it; you smiled, a soft, shy smile that felt a little too vulnerable, a little too real. But Melissa just smiled back, her gaze warm and unwavering.

“Good girl,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, let’s go pick out some accessories. Can’t have you looking half-done, can we?”

“No, ma'am,”

You followed her out of the fitting room, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness. Each touch, each lingering look left you feeling more and more like you were on the edge of something—something you couldn’t quite name, but something you wanted more than anything. And as you walked by her side, her hand resting on your lower back, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you were already hers in more ways than you could admit.

As you followed Melissa through the boutique, your mind was still buzzing with the strange excitement and nervousness from her words. You had tried on a few outfits by now, each one more elegant and polished than the last. But something about the idea of being hers lingered in the back of your mind, making your pulse race and your hands tremble ever so slightly.

“Let’s check out the lingerie section,” the green eyed woman suggest, smooth and confident as she steered you toward a secluded corner of the store. The racks here were lined with delicate lace, silk, and satin, all in a rainbow of colors. But it was the deep purple set that caught your eye first.

It was beautiful—luxurious and eye-catching, a perfect shade of rich purple with intricate lace detailing, the kind of lingerie that made you feel like you were stepping into a world of indulgence. You reached out for it, running your fingers over the smooth fabric. The soft, luxurious material felt like a secret, something that belonged to you alone.

The older woman noticed your interest right away. Her gaze flickered to the set, then to you, and the corner of her mouth curled into a knowing smirk.

“Like what you see?”

You felt your heart race as you nodded, a small, awkward laugh escaping your lips. “It’s... it’s gorgeous.”

“Good,” she murmured, taking the set from your hands with ease. “I think you’d look perfect in it. And, if I’m being honest, I’m not just buying you clothes... I’m making sure you're well taken care of in every way.”

You swallowed, the intensity in her voice making your stomach flip. You tried to compose yourself, but it wasn’t easy. The idea of her buying you something so intimate felt overwhelming in the best possible way.

Without waiting for you to respond, Melissa walked to the register, the purple lingerie in her hands like it was already meant for you. She turned over her shoulder as she moved, her expression softening. “Don’t worry,” she added, “you’ll wear it for me soon enough.”

“What?”

You couldn’t help but shiver at her words, a heat flooding your body at the thought of her seeing you in it, touching you in it.

At the register, Melissa didn’t hesitate. She handed over the lingerie set along with a few other items, her face unreadable but her eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place.

When she came back to you, the shopping bag in hand, she gave you a little wink. “You’re gonna love it. And so will I.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Your mind was still reeling from the intensity of the moment, from the way she made you feel like you were hers in ways you hadn’t even fully understood. The thought of wearing it for her, of being the person she chose to spoil and take care of, sent a jolt through you, and you weren’t sure if it was nervousness, excitement, or something else entirely.

But as Melissa led you back toward the exit of the boutique, her hand once again gently resting on your lower back, you couldn’t help but feel grateful, in awe of her confidence, her ability to make you feel seen and wanted in ways you’d never experienced before.

As you both made your way to the door, the weight of the shopping bags in your hands seemed to make the moment feel heavier, more real. Your nerves, still buzzing, didn't help the heat in your cheeks from all the attention Melissa had been showering on you. You could feel the weight of the purple lingerie in your bag like a secret, a promise, and it made your heart thud in your chest.

But then, as you approached the car, you hesitated. Your fingers clenched around the strap of the bag, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell if you were excited or terrified. You glanced up at her, who was busy unlocking the car, her back to you.

The way she’d spoken earlier, the way she took control, was almost too much to process. And then, as if sensing the shift in your mood, she turned to face you, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in your lost expression.

Her face softened as she noticed the hesitation in your steps, but her voice dropped into something more serious. “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet since we left the store, sweetheart.”

“I-”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You felt as though something was building inside you, a storm of emotions that you couldn’t quite name. The purple lingerie, her touch, the overwhelming sense of being wanted in ways you didn’t know you could be—it was all too much to process.

But before you could speak, Melissa raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing but commanding smirk. Suddenly, she stopped walking. Her hand shot out, gripping your wrist with an unexpected firmness, pulling you gently but decisively toward her.

“Tell me. What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, you stood there, caught between the pull of her touch and the weight of her gaze, knowing that this moment was more than you could handle and yet somehow not wanting it to end.

And just like that, you were left hanging—unsure of what would happen next.

[slytherinboysvip]

soooo like idk if u write angst. But from ur page i feel like u would be good at it. Maybe like a theo x slytherin!reader who like gets bullied by them and it’s kinda unrequited love and one day she gets entirely done with them and doesn’t leave her room for a while because something happened. Then classic theodore nott goes for a smoke seeing her alone in the courtyard or something and feels a little bad and they talk and he realizes how much of a dick him and his friends are because reader “is so done with all the shit” and plans to try and leave

bully theo nott x slytherin reader

angst

not exactly sure what to title this one but i hope it’s enjoyable, i don’t do angst much but it’s so much funnn

𓆙

while going to hogwarts seemed to have been most young wizards escape, you unfortunately didn’t have the luxury of seeing it that way. ever since you’ve started at hogwarts and were sorted into slytherin you haven’t had such an easy time. granted now that you’re a 6th year you have a few friends, however one thing stayed the same since you’ve started; you were constantly bullied by the most popular of the slytherins.

you genuinely didn’t understand what made them dislike you so much, you didn’t agree with their pureblood praises though you were a pureblood yourself. maybe it could’ve been the fact that you weren’t necessarily the richest, coming from a lower class wizarding bloodline nobody knew of your family and simply getting the money together for your school supplies was often a challenge.

you tried everything you could to drown out any bullying, trying your best not to let any of it effect you or your studies. unfortunately due to you also being a slytherin not even your common room was an escape for you.

walking out your dorm as quietly as possible you held a book tight to your chest tiptoeing down the stairs making your way to a secluded chair, you sat down in front of the low fire and read to yourself silently for a few minutes before hearing laughter echoing from down the hall muffled voices becoming clearer and clearer.

trying to ignore the voices you regrettably recognized you kept your head down and in your book, not even reading the words simply trying to keep your breath at an even pace. “mate is that y/n” said a muffled voice. not looking up you closed your eyes tightly really hoping to be left alone. you had hoped coming down at one in the morning would give your freedom, not anxiety.

before you could process it there were footsteps heading towards you and a flick on your forehead “are you that dumb that you can’t even read a book, i mean don’t know your eyes have to be open for that” mattheo laughed at his own joke elbowing theo who was egging him on chuckling himself. “don’t touch me.” you gritted through your teeth still sitting looking at both of the mocking boys.

you attempted to get up and rush off to your dorm but mattheo grabbed your arm “you didn’t answer my question, that’s soo rude” he mocked still gripping your left wrist. “let me go” you protested struggling to get your arm free as theodore watched snickering. “alright let her go i’m trying to smoke” theo huffed snatching the back of mattheos jacket and dragging him along.

a large breath you had no idea you were holding onto fell out of your mouth the second they were gone. you plopped right back down into the cold leather chair and silently sobbed. so many thoughts ran through your head about how differently you should’ve handled the situation, how you should’ve shoved him harder, maybe you should’ve screamed, maybe if you just knew how to stand up for yourself. maybe you were stupid?

everything these boys did effected you so much to the point you became a shell of the person you were. your grades weren’t the worst, but the more the boys would mock, the more they’d tell you how dumb you were that you were a lost cause, you unfortunately began to believe it even if you didn’t admit it to them directly. never giving them the satisfaction of seeing you break down, never letting them know how it effects you.

“i think you might need a jumpscare warning, next time don’t come to class if you wake up like that” draco mocked giving you a disgusted look the second you sat down on the end of the slytherin table. a small eruption of laughter fell from all of the boys and their little follower pansy parkinson. “you guys have no clue i swear this morning her eyes were so swollen she looked like she got stung by a bee” she snickered trying to gain the boys attention.

not wanting to deal with this today you got up and walked out of the great hall not looking back. you didn’t feel like you had the mental capacity to deal with them and so you made your way to the only place you knew you could breathe.

you made sure to watch out for any oncoming professors and for filtch, knowing you’re not supposed to be out on the astronomy tower at this time of day or year. the walk was as long as ever and luckily most of the halls were empty besides a few students making their way to the great hall.

finally reaching the million stairs you made your way up to the tower slowly walking up taking your time. you began to think about everything these people put you through, thinking about how much everything they do makes you hate yourself and this school more and more everyday.

not a day went by that you weren’t picked on at least once by one of them, this realization and sad reality made a stream of tears fall down your face as your legs walked up the stairs starring down onto the wooden steps.

just as you were beginning to reach the top of the steps you quietly sniffed smelling an odd odor. you couldn’t quite put your finger on what you were smelling but you continued till you were at the ledge of the astronomy tower sitting down. you sat looking out towards the clouds covering the sun and tried to control your breathing and stream of tears.

once your tears began to dry up you noticed a thick trail of smoke coming from the right of you. you looked behind you and there stood theodore nott. he walked over cautiously, and here you were coming face to face with someone you definitely did not want to see. “ah, y/n what brings you here” he spoke taking a drag of what appeared to be a cigarette. you didn’t know wether to answer or just leave but you spoke out cautiously “attempting to get away from you and your goons” you huffed turning back around to face the clouds.

“come on, you know i don’t bite” he chuckled and you just shook your head in annoyance looking back up at him, “you don’t bite yet you’ve bullied me for over six years makes perfect sense theodore” you rolled your eyes standing up to face him. “seriously.-“ he scoffed “you know i’m like the least brutal of them i don’t even touch you” he added taking another drag. it was almost as if he was mocking you even more without even realizing it.

“i don’t care if you think that just because you don’t fucking touch me that it makes it okay?? you watch your friends bully, touch, and harass me nearly everyday what about that makes you any less of an awful person than them.” you let it all out with more emotion that intended yet the small tears coming out were nothing but anger induced.

“listen y/n i didn’t think it affected you that bad we make fun of so many people” he shrugged scratching the back of his head not sure how to react to your outburst of emotions. “that’s your problem, you don’t ever realize that you’re bullying your own housemate. you and those fuckers haven’t left me alone since year one and for what? all because i stood up to a fucking bleach blonde bitch? like seriously you take orders from a daddy’s boy and a guy who’s practically an orphan.” your voice was getting louder and louder, soon enough you were face to face with him just yelling.

“look y/n im sorry okay i swear, i don’t like doing it alright why do you think i never touch you i try to get these fucking assholes to leave you alone you’re just an easy target to them” he tried pleading with you but you weren’t having any of it. “what makes you think i’ll believe you?” you scoffed “you’re trying to excuse yourself all because i stood up for myself?? and what exactly do you do to get them to leave me alone because that obviously isn’t working” your tears dried back up and now just pure anger was holding you together.

“you see when i tell them just to come on, and most times they just say something to you and don’t even touch you.” he was searching your face but your expression stayed the same “have you ever heard of telling them to just stop? and what about me seems like an easy fucking target” you didn’t know what to even ask of him anymore not even understanding yourself why you were still standing here.

“y/n come on.” he looked at you but you didn’t budge just awaiting his response. “you said it yourself you stood up to malfoy, he didn’t like that so it started it. listen overtime it got more than that i guess matt went at you cause your grades are- were better than his . and well pansy goes after you because you’re hotter than her, blaise just goes along, and enzo does whatever enzo does.” he shrugged attempting to explain this twisted reasoning.

“well why do you go after me? because all of this shit seems so unserious for all of you to make me want to leave hogwarts and even this world all together.” you scoffed still heated at these other absurd reasons. he looked at you for a moment contemplating before he sighed “look i really am sorry i didn’t know it was that bad” he pleaded ignoring your question.

“i don’t care if you’re sorry or not that doesn’t take back all of these years theodore. and besides you don’t even have the fucking balls to tell me why you bully me so obviously you don’t feel sorry” you began walking away from him and he reached out grabbing your arm “y/n i just told you so many times i tried getting them to stop, look i don’t know why and i don’t expect you to feel the same but i just over the years ive wanted you more and more and look i just knew i couldn’t ever have you.” he loooked away yet still held onto your arm.

you stood there almost in shock. here you were complaining about everything your bullies put you through to one of those said bullies, and he confessed his crush on you. you didn’t respond just staring at him. “what.” you managed to let out. “i know it’s insane.” he sighed “look i don’t expect you to forgive me but i’ll try and get them to back off.” he spoke up letting go of your arm and walking off.

you didn’t follow or speak up to him, just allowing him to make his way back wherever he came from. sitting back down at the railing you took a deep breath trying to piece together what exactly just happened.

i’m not sure if this is good enough to match what was asked but i hope so😭

[willowsnook]

Your funeral (pt. 1)

hi!! can i pls order bacon with onion in a bowl mikes way, thank you <333

max verstappen x riccardo!sister

My heart is only yours to break

A/N: this will be two parts, I get carried away writing for Max, lmao. So the bolded line and smut will be in pt. 2, sorry not sorry 😘

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Australia 2024

Max last saw you in the paddock in the summer of 2018 following your high school graduation. He had known you for two years, being Daniel’s teammate, and found you shy compared to your older brother. He was 21 then, so the two of you didn’t really talk that much, and he just thought of you as “Danny Ric’s sweet little sister.” 

Six years later, he barely recognized you. You’d let your hair grow out, your muscles were more toned and defined, and it seemed like you’d become the queen of yapping. He had spent 10 minutes creepily watching you from the garage as you talked with Yuki, trying to figure out who you were. It all made sense when he watched Daniel appear, pulling you into a hug. Max blushed when he realized it, trying to shove down all the thoughts he was just having about the mysterious hot girl in the RedBull garage. 

Daniel waved him over after spotting him, and Max made his way over to the group. Your eyes were shining as he approached, excited to see an old friend, and you pulled him into a hug to greet him. He was caught off guard at first but wrapped his arms around you in return, breathing in your ocean-scented perfume. 

“It’s good to see you, Max; it’s been so long!” you cheerfully said to the Dutch man. 

“I know. What has it been, six years?” He asked, even though he already knew the answer. He needed to pull himself together. 

“Yeah, I think so,” you replied. Yuki and Daniel were called off to RB, leaving you alone with Max, who seemed a little nervous. 

“So what brings you back?” He asked. 

“Finally have the time off work,” you said. “I stopped coming while I was in school so I could focus on my studies, and then every summer, I had an internship so I couldn’t come to any of those races. Then I got a job right after graduation in St. Tropez, and it’s been so busy but so good. I get to do what I love and the town is so beautiful. I’m a marine biologist, so I always knew I’d get to call some coastal town home.” 

You finished talking breathlessly, and Max looked at you with wide eyes. 

“I think that’s more words I’ve ever heard from you than in those two years when Daniel and I were teammates,” he teased, and you blushed. 

“I was like 16, Max,” you huffed, and he laughed. 

“Are you coming to more races this season?”

“I hope so. Since I’ve been with this company for two years, I have a little more allowed time off,” you told him. 

“It’ll be good for Daniel to have you around,” he said, your heart squeezed, thinking about how rough it’s been for your brother the past couple of years. 

“You’ve been a good friend to him,” you replied softly, bringing your hand to squeeze his. His face flushed and you were amused by the power you seemed to have over “Mad Max.” 

Later, Max walked towards his driver's room after debriefs when Daniel caught up with him. 

“So my sister is back,” Daniel said, and Max continued, not looking at his friend. 

“So she is,” he replied simply. 

“I saw how you were looking at her,” Daniel said firmly. “Don’t make me say it.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Max said, turning to Daniel with his signature smile. “Off-limits.”

Daniel nodded, still eyeing him but letting him go into the room. 

Miami 2024

Since Australia, Max had followed you on Instagram and you had quickly followed him back, which led you down a rabbit hole of what he had been up to in the past couple of years. You weren’t the only one that had glowed up. 

Your company had an office in Miami, so you flew out the week of the race to tour the facility and watch your brother in action. On Friday morning, you were walking through the hotel lobby on your way to the beach when you ran into Max. 

“Hey!” You said brightly as you caught up with him. 

“Y/n,” he said, greeting you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dragged down to your chest, where your bikini was visible under your see-through coverup. “Headed to the beach?”

“Yeah, I figure a day laying out in the sun will do me good,” you replied. 

“I’m sure it will.”

“Too bad you can’t come with me.” You said, subtly testing the waters, trying to determine if your interest was even slightly mutual. Max’s gaze was intense in your eyes, and you could tell he was fighting an internal battle. 

“Don’t flirt with me, y/n. It’s not allowed,” he said sternly, which made you smile wider. 

“Who said I’m flirting with you?” You replied, and he rolled his eyes. 

“I see how you look at me like I’m a piece of meat,” he teased, and you laughed out loud. 

“You’re the one who was literally staring at my tits five minutes ago,” you replied, and he slapped his hand over your mouth, looking around. 

“Don’t say that schatje; your brother has eyes everywhere,” he said seriously, and your eyes crinkled in amusement. “I’ll see you later.” 

Daniel's race did not go well, finishing in P15. You could feel the disappointment radiating off him when he got out of the car and your heart sank. You knew he would try to mask his pain with happiness for Lando getting his first win, but you saw right through it. 

Don’t get me wrong. You were ecstatic for Lando, having met him when Daniel was at McLaren. The two of you were the same age, so you got along easily. Admittingly, you did shed a few tears when he crossed the finish line, but your heart ached for your brother. 

He was silent when he met you after the debrief, and you launched into a very long story about a shark you were tracking off the coast to try and distract him. You hit the 7-minute mark, and things were finally starting to get interesting when Daniel laughed loudly out loud, looking over at you. 

“I love you,” he said, and you smiled, moving into his arms. 

“I love you too Danny,” you told him. 

“No more sadness today, let’s celebrate Lando,” he said, determined, and you grinned. 

Lando was already fucked up when you guys made it to the club that night. You hadn’t seen him after the race yet, so he picked you up and twirled you around when he saw you. 

“I’m so proud of you buddy,” you told him and he smiled. 

“Okay, then buy me a shot,” he replied and you giggled. 

“You make so much more money than I do,” you complained teasingly. He pulled out his wallet, handing you his card. 

“Just use my card for the night.”

You were at the bar waiting on the shots when you felt a presence behind you, a hand casually settling on your lower back. 

“I’m surprised Daniel let you leave the hotel wearing that,” Max said in your ear, causing chills to flare up all over your body. Your red dress was tight on your body, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t thinking about catching someone’s attention. 

“Hmm, so that means you like it,” you smirked, turning to step into him. 

“You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured, and you shot him a wicked grin. 

“Then get your affairs in order,” you replied before grabbing the tray of shots and moving back to the group. Max followed close behind you, congratulating Lando when you both reached him. You watched your brother narrow his eyes as he looked from you to Max, and you gave him an innocent smile. 

Many drinks later, you danced in the crowd a respectable distance away from Max. That didn’t stop him from openly watching you the whole time, though. 

“What’s up with you and Max?” Lando asked as you took a break from dancing. 

“Nothing,” you said quickly and he gave you a look. “Nothing can happen.”

He nodded understanding, “You think Danny will kill him?”

“Most likely,” you said, sighing and looking back over to Max, who was talking to your brother funny enough. “His funeral, though.”

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and when you came back into the hallway, an arm shot out, grabbing you. 

Max pulled you along to a darker area of the club with a tad more privacy. He stopped in the corner, moving you against the wall and leaving you no time to say anything before his lips were on yours. 

It was a bruising kiss that had you feeling delirious, reaching up to tug his hair, which made him press up against you harder. 

“Wearing that dress just for me hmm,” he said, pulling back before attaching his mouth on your neck, trying to leave a mark. You half tried to push him off but found yourself whimpering instead. 

“Max, we can’t,” you said breathlessly. He finally let up, his lips puffy, as he looked at you with fire behind his eyes. 

“I know, I just wanted to claim what was mine,” he said and you squeezed your legs together at his words. “Now, when all those guys keep looking at you in there, they’ll see my mark on your neck.” 

“You are insane,” you said, amused but then panicked, thinking about your brother. “He’s going to kill me.”

“Maybe,” Max said. “That’s what you get for wearing that dress schatje, and he won’t know I did it. Your funeral.”

You knew drunk Lando probably blabbed immediately after you left him, and those words made that apparent. 

Sure enough, when you made it back to the dance floor, your brother took one look at your neck and yanked you outside, lecturing you about kissing random men. If only he knew. 

[sequinsmile-x]

Weary

Guilt rolls in his gut when he gets the door open and he is met with the sight of his frazzled wife, her hair in a haphazard bun on top of her head, dressed in the clothes he’s fairly sure she was wearing three days ago with milk stains on the shoulder of a shirt that used to be his.

AKA - the one where Aaron comes home from a case to find his wife and their newborn baby girl worn out from a lack of sleep.

-x-

Hi besties,

I am exhausted after being back at work for the first time since my surgery. I've only been working in the mornings but I am worn out...I'm not entirely sure my brain was even switched on when I wrote this. I just opened my laptop, opened a Google Doc and started to type.

I really hope you enjoy this. It's just some soft hotchniss (softniss hehe) that I think we all deserve <3

As always, let me know what you think!

-x-

Warnings: None

Words: 2.2k

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron hears Alice crying through the front door, the baby’s wails piercing through the thick solid wood as if it were made of nothing more than plasterboard. The guilt he’d been battling the last few days, which had simmered low in his gut whenever he thought about his wife at home alone with their newborn and Jack, comes back with a vengeance. A spark of it catching fire in his veins as he digs through his pockets to find his keys, desperate to get into the house and help in a way he hadn’t been able to do from two states away. 

He’d hesitated in the first place, not sure he wanted to leave Emily and the kids at home only a month after Alice had been born, but Strauss had given him no choice. He had taken the first two weeks of his daughter’s life off of work, and had allowed himself to sink into the happy, exhausting, bubble he and Emily’s home had turned into. Going back to work at all had been hard, his heart in a vice as he walked out of the house for the first time for longer than simply going to the store to get milk or bread, but going away on his first case three days ago had been harder. He’d called every night, smiled at every picture Emily sent him of the kids together, and missed them all more than he could put into words. 

The guilt rolls in his gut when he gets the door open and he is met with the sight of his frazzled wife, her hair in a haphazard bun on top of her head, dressed in the clothes he’s fairly sure she was wearing three days ago with milk stains on the shoulder of a shirt that used to be his. She has Alice in her arms, her body tense as she tries to soothe the newborn, her posture getting visibly tighter with their daughter’s continued cries. Emily had sounded tired whenever they spoke. A croak to her voice that had once meant hangovers and late nights with the girls, her head in his lap as she lamented that last shot of tequila as he offered to go buy fast food for her, or the end of a long case when they’d slink into bed together, her face pressed against his neck, already half asleep before he tugged the covers over them. 

He wonders if she’s slept at all whilst he’s been gone, if he should have pushed more whenever she insisted she was fine, but he couldn’t change that now. All he could do was help her, to look after both of his girls in whatever way they needed him. 

“Hi sweetheart,” he says, smiling as he steps towards her, his heart aching when she looks at him with tired eyes, never stopping the way she’s rocking side to side in an attempt to soothe Alice. One hand on the tiny baby’s back and the other cupping her head, her thumb tracing back and forth over her temple in a way they’d learnt calmed her down when she was just hours old. 

“Hi,” she chokes out, her eyes shining as her voice cracks. She’s as on edge as he’s ever known her to be, barely holding herself together, and he drops his go-bag to the floor, all of his focus on her, “You’re home.” 

She sounds so relieved it breaks his heart, makes the pieces she’d put back together herself facture, guilt and regret slipping into the gaps as he wonders why he didn’t just tell Strauss no when she told him he needed to return to full duties. 

He shakes it off, pushes away however he’s feeling right now because whatever she’s feeling is infinitely more important. Her usual emotional control was long gone, left somewhere in her first trimester when she started to cry at anything. It frustrated her to no end, made her angry at herself whenever she’d get emotional over something she deemed ridiculous, and he knew he had to tread carefully. 

He didn’t want to upset her any more than she already was. 

“Yeah,” he says, stepping towards them, “I’m home,” he leans in and kisses her forehead and then kisses the top of Alice’s head, catching Emily’s thumb at the same time. He places his hand on Emily’s back and rubs a circle on it. He feels more than hears her sharp intake of breath and he knows he’s only seconds away from both of them being in tears, “Do you want me to take her, sweetheart?” 

She sucks in a breath and then blows it out, her cheeks puffing with it as she looks up at the ceiling, a failed attempt to stop tears pushing past her lashline, “I’ve been trying to get her down for hours,” she says, her lips pressed together as her chin trembles, “It’s been like this since you left. She won’t sleep. Jess came to get Jack a few hours ago, he’s sleeping over at hers tonight so at least he can get some sleep,” she sucks in a breath again and it catches on her ribs, the ache of it something that rattles in her chest, “I’m so tired, Aaron.” 

He kisses her forehead again, “Let me take her, okay?” He says gently, still rubbing circles on Emily’s back as she finally stops swaying side to side. She nods, too tired to fight him on the request, to insist that she could do it because she wasn’t sure she could. She kisses Alice’s head, whispering an apology against her dark hair before she hands her over, “She’ll be due a feed soon, right?” 

She nods, her arms tight across her chest, her arms aching both from now being empty and from what felt like holding Alice nonstop for days, “Yeah. I kept trying to nurse her to see if that was why she wouldn’t settle but she just wouldn’t latch.” 

“Is there milk in the fridge?” He asks, shifting from side to side like she had been, and Emily wraps her arms around herself even tighter when it works almost immediately, Alice’s cries quietening down to a whimper as if all she’d wanted all along was her father. 

“Some. I pumped this morning,” she answers and he looks up at her, his smile so kind and soft she almost bursts into tears. She struggles to suck in a breath, her lungs stuffed full of sadness and every bad thing she’d been thinking about herself the last few days, “Haven’t really had a chance since.” 

“Why don’t you go and have some time to yourself?” He suggests, “I’ll try and settle Little Miss Hotchner.” 

She wants to argue again but can’t, all of her energy focused on holding herself together, on the way Alice was practically silent now, her fist in her mouth as she self soothes for the first time in hours. 

“I…I might go shower,” she says, pointing over her shoulder to the stairs, “I don’t remember the last time I did.” 

Aaron nods, “I’ll meet you up there, okay?”

“Okay,” she replies, looking at them once more, her gaze lingering before she turns around and disappears up the stairs, the drag of her tired feet against the floor echoing throughout the hallway. 

He sighs when he can no longer see her, and he looks down at Alice, her dark wide eyes meeting his, “You really put Mommy through it the last few days, huh?” He says, kissing the top of her head as he heads to the kitchen, “We’re going to make sure you have something to eat and then get some sleep,” he kisses her again, “And then I’ll make sure Mommy does the same.” 

___

He settles Alice into her bassinet with the same level of care and anxiety he’d have if moving an active bomb. He holds his breath as he lays her down, sighing happily when she stays asleep. He steps away, making sure he grabs the baby monitor as he goes even though he knows he won’t be far enough away to truly need it. He pauses when he makes it to the door of the ensuite and knocks before he walks in. 

He hadn’t heard running water at any point even though he knew Emily was in there, so he half expects to find her sat on the floor, asleep and propped up against the wall. Instead, he finds her sitting on the closed toilet seat, her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands, her sigh audible as he gently closes the door behind him. 

“Is she asleep?” 

He nods, even though she doesn’t look up, and then kneels in front of her, ignoring the crack in his knees as they hit the tiled floor, “She’s asleep,” he says, reaching for her hand and linking their fingers together, running his finger back and forth over the pulse point on her wrist, “I thought you were going to shower.” 

She laughs humourlessly, “I was going to but…I don’t have the energy. The thought of washing my hair made me cry…” She shakes her head at herself, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, “So I sat down for a minute and lost track of time I guess.” She sniffs and shakes her head, her lips pressed together as she tries and fails to hold back a sob, “I don’t think I’m any good at this.” 

He squeezes her hand, “You don’t think you’re any good at what, sweetheart?” 

“Being her mom.”

He barely has time to register what she’s said, the insecurity he’d seen thrumming beneath her skin since he’d got home lingering in the air between them, because she bursts into tears. A sob catching in her throat as she leans forward into the embrace she knows he’ll have waiting. He wraps his arms around her, holding her close as he rubs his hand up and down her arm. 

“You’re an amazing mom,” he says, kissing her temple, “Alice and Jack are both so lucky to have you.” 

She scoffs and shakes her head as she pulls back to look at him, “I can’t even get my baby to sleep,” she furiously wipes tears from her cheeks, “I tried for hours and she just settled immediately for you.” 

“Sweetheart,” he says, cupping her cheek to encourage her to look at him, “You’re exhausted. She was too. And you were both overwhelmed and making each other more unsettled. It happens and it doesn’t make you anything less than an incredible mom,” he rests his forehead against hers, “Alice loves you. So much,” he smiles as he squeezes her hand, “We all do.” 

She blows out a stuttering breath, not entirely sure if she believes him, and she shakes her head, “I’m just…I’m so tired Aaron.” 

“I know you are,” he says, kissing her before he stands up, “Which is why I’m going to help you shower, hair washing entirely optional,” he smiles when she does, her lips pressed together as she tries to capture it, “Then whilst you get ready for bed, I’ll go downstairs and get you something to eat,” he wipes a stray tear from her cheek, “And then after you’ve eaten you can sleep. I’ll keep an eye on Alice until she next needs to be fed,” he tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, “That’s when you’ll have to step in I’m afraid. I used the last of the milk in the fridge earlier, and I lack the equipment to feed her myself.” 

Emily chuckles dryly and reaches out for him, stroking her thumb over his jawline as she cups his face, “What did I do to deserve you?” She says, her lips shaking as she desperately tries to stop crying, “I didn’t even ask how you are, or how the case was. You just walked straight into chaos.” 

He smiles and kisses her forehead before he stands, “The most beautiful kind of chaos,” he says, offering her his hand to help her up, “The real question is, what did I do to deserve you?” 

She rolls her eyes at him, the tightness in her chest easing for the first time in days, “Why don’t we just agree that we’re both lucky to have each other?”  

He stamps his lips against hers, “I can agree to that,” he says, “Now,” he says, “Hair wash, or no hair wash?” 

She scrunches her nose up, “No hair wash tonight,” she yawns, too tired to even try to hide it as she nods towards the shower, “I’m worried I’ll fall asleep in there even with your help,” she smiles at him, “So, just a shower tonight. Maybe you could help me wash my hair tomorrow though?” 

He kisses her, his smile pressed against hers, and then he pulls back, taking a moment to revel in her beauty. Stained t-shirt and tired eyes and all. “Tomorrow it is.”

[climbthemountain2020]

Your Eyes Whisper Have We Met - Chapter 23

Ch. 23 | Ao3

Thank you, as always, to the best friends and betas ever, @popjunkie42 and @witch-and-her-witcher

NSFW today :)

Early the next morning, Feyre woke to the gentle brushing of Rhys’s knuckles against her cheek. She had been dreaming of early mornings in her old manor, waking up to the sharp but comforting smells of new spices. It always meant her father had returned from a trip, bringing new things for the kitchen staff, who were always enthusiastic about getting started. 

“Darling, wake up.” 

“What? What’s happened?” Her heart was in her throat as consciousness surged inside her, whipping her back into existence, the memories of the previous night raining back down over her. She could still smell the spices in her nose, as though the dream hadn’t entirely faded away. But she was torn fully into the present, panic guiding her back.

“Nothing, Feyre. It’s okay, shhh.” His hands firmly pressed her back into the mattress, grounding her and settling her until she could breathe again. “It’s okay, I’m here.” He turned his face into her hair, laying back down beside her and pulling her body close. She relaxed as much as her mind would allow. 

“What time is it?”

“Before dawn. I wanted to wake you and see if you wished to go to Calla’s cell. It may be the only chance we have to do it.” She nodded, pressing her eyes tightly closed, the tears already  burning there again. He was right. If she wanted to see it, collect any of what Calla had left in the world, it had to be now. 

She nodded grimly, gripping harder to Rhys’s arm where it wrapped across her chest. He was dressed, as though he’d already been awake and out. 

“I love you, Feyre. I will be with you every step of the way.” 

“I love you, too.” The words flowed freely between them now, settling warmly as they always did around her heart and fluttering across her ribcage. It had changed nothing, despite her bargain with Vilja, the inky stars still pressed into her shoulder. 

It didn’t stop her from wanting to hear it as often as she could. 

She rose from the bed, feet hitting the cold stone floor as she went to the wardrobe to find clothes. She paused as she passed the table, her bloodied, leather wristband still lying on it. The blade had been drawn back in, but the blood would stain, just like the guilt on Feyre’s soul. 

“I can get rid of it, if you’d like. I just didn’t want to assume since it was a gift.” He was behind her, arms wrapping around her middle as he rested his chin on her shoulder. She eased back into him, letting some of the unsteadiness in her be settled by his body holding hers.

She closed her eyes, breathing through the cataclysmic ache in her chest. “No, don’t throw it out. I just–I don’t know yet.” He pressed a kiss to her temple then went to wash up, leaving her to turn away from the table and find her clothes. This would be her new reality, and she had to find a way to cope with it. She would start by making amends, salvaging anything that she could find in Calla’s cell and give her the send off that she deserved once they left this place. 

If they left.

When Rhys winnowed to the dungeons, it was pitch black, the candles no longer lit in Calla’s absence. They’d landed in Calla’s cell instead of Feyre’s this time, the door on it still open. Feyre tossed a small flame into the single candle near the top of the wrought iron doors, the light hitting the room around them and casting it in low light and deep shadows. The walls of dirt and stone were jagged with crags, throwing shapes that deepened the darkness. The pallet was just as rucked as it had been the last time she’d been down here. It was like Calla was still alive, as though she hadn’t left only to never return. Feyre could almost pretend that Calla was just doing chores somewhere down the hall. 

Feyre felt Rhys’s shock before she registered what she was looking at, the wall in front of her swimming in and out of clarity as her eyes focused. As her vision adjusted, she recoiled, stumbling back a step and taking in the wall with the hole that she and Calla had spoken through. It was covered in scrapes–in markings. From ceiling to floor, no part of the stone had been left untouched. She couldn’t see it before when they spoke, the other walls free from any changes, but this wall…there were tally marks to count the days, framed by strange markings and pictures. Spirals reached from top to bottom, raining down and trapping figures below, crushing them beneath the heavy gashes in the stone. 

There were stars at the top, framed by what appeared to be the tops of trees, as though one was looking up at the night sky from the forest floor. Feyre traced her fingers over a crude image of the Spring manor burning, flying creatures like the attor flying around it in the air. Farther left there were creatures with pointed ears crouching over the bodies of what looked like humans, their stomachs ripped open. The fae were covered in blood and holding what looked like human hearts.

Feyre stepped closer to the wall, taking it all in as she ran her fingers over the carvings. If these tally marks were correct, she’d at least been doing them since the day they’d arrived. She took tentative steps along the walls as she brushed her hands across the shallow cuts in the stone, her chest twisting with the realization of how long this might have been going on. 

Gods, when did she even have the time to do this?

She didn’t look like she’d been sleeping.

He was right–she hadn’t. Had she slept at all since they’d come here? Had she–

She paused when she heard a crunch beneath her feet. Stepping back, her shoe lifting from the floor ahead of her, she bent to examine the ground. The light wasn’t enough to work out what she’d been looking at, so she called the flame into her hands, holding it down low. There were sharp rocks, scattered as though tossed down haphazardly for use. They were covered in what looked like rust– perhaps Calla had dug them from the dripping wall. 

She moved farther towards the back of the chamber, wrapping back around until she neared the pallet where Calla had slept. It was messed up still, the straw rumpled on top of the small platform as though they’d torn her from the bed when they came to get her. Feyre leaned down to pull some of the straw that had fallen back to the top. As she did, something caught her eye. There, on the side of the platform not visible from the doors of the cell, the straw had been pushed up as though to hide something. No one would have seen it when they came to get her, but Feyre had noticed it coming from the other side. 

There’s something here.

She felt Rhys’s hand on her shoulder. 

What is it? 

She brushed the remaining straw back to display a massive hole in the wall, only a body’s width across, but it stretched the entirety of the way behind her bed. Just enough room for a person and nothing else. There were gouges, both deep and shallow, covered in that same strange rust as the rocks at the bottom of the carvings. The heavily packed dirt of the mountain side had been chipped away by hand…or by stone. 

A vision of Calla’s bloodied, dirtied hands flashed across her mind, and she understood.

As Feyre’s comprehension caught up to her, her breath caught in her throat. The rocks hadn’t been covered in rust. They’d been covered in blood. Calla had injured herself digging into the wall, recording the last of her thoughts in this world and frantically making what appeared to be the beginnings of a hopeless tunnel. Or a place to hide. She had slowly and methodically cracked that massive rock open, painstakingly pulling the jagged edges out one by one, and used them to start digging.

Rhys backed up. 

It’s not very deep.

Deep enough to hide. 

She held her fire up to the wall; it only went about seven inches in. But Calla was thin. With the hay there, she could have hidden, could have bought herself time, maybe. Had that been her goal? Or had she simply lost touch with reality entirely?

Feyre had stood in the other cell and spoken to her, had looked her in the eyes and thought that they would make it out of here. All the while, Calla had been over on her side carving and losing her mind. She may as well have been a world away. All those times that they’d been down here to look for her and found her cell empty…had she been gone, or had she been here, hiding in the walls? Feyre shuddered as she remembered the few times she’d had to wait to see Calla pop into view. Had she been steadily carving, hiding from Feyre just out of sight? Feyre felt sick. She had had no idea what she’d been going through, what she’d been doing– she’d known it was bad, but she hadn’t seen how bad. 

She hadn’t wanted to see. 

Feyre hadn’t been enough. She was only human, too. Call had needed more, a whole unit of support behind her. And she hadn’t gotten it.

The sob broke through her right as Rhys felt it coming and held his hand over her mouth to quiet the strangled wail emerging from her. She’d thought that she had cried all the tears she had the night before, but looking at these walls, at this desperate attempt at an escape–the actions of a frantic animal as it threw its last efforts out to save its own life. Calla’s last thoughts in this world existed now only on these walls, and Feyre felt like her soul was twisting its way out of her body. 

Rhys held her, his arms banding around her and his fingers firmly across her mouth as her chest heaved. He seemed to understand, and let go just as she turned and vomited into the straw on the floor. Her body retched, refusing to hold the horror of everything she’d discovered, everything she’d seen and endured here. 

The guilt and the trauma and the desperation all culminated here, in Calla’s last days and death. How long had she been falling apart? What had finally broken her? Or had she been broken long before they came here? Long before she’d even come to Spring?

They had brought her here. They had sacrificed her.

Rhys patiently cradled her as she cried, the well of tears withering once again as shame and regret took their place. It would be a long road to recovery, if a recovery over something like this was even possible. 

Would it make you feel better to know that you held out much longer than I would have in your shoes?

She sniffed in his arms. What do you mean?

I mean that you are a much better person than I am, and with a much better heart. 

Feyre scoffed, rubbing her sleeve along her nose. 

I watched you in there with her. You did everything you could to stop this. You begged her. You easily could have killed her at any time, and still you let her bring you to the edge of death before you acted, Feyre. 

She had. She had given everything, waited as long as she could. She’d almost died waiting. It hadn’t changed the outcome. 

You will carry this forever, love. But you will also find ways to cope. And if it helps to hear it, I would have done the same for you. 

It did help to hear it. The guilt would weigh her down, perhaps forever, but she knew the truth beneath it all. It hadn’t just been her life on the line as she and Calla fought. She had to push forward, had to remember what she was still here fighting for. 

If they succeeded here, she would have millennia to make herself suffer for what she’d sacrificed. But if she wanted that time, she needed to earn it– to focus on what she’d come here to do. She was the only thing left standing in Amarantha’s way, and she would not break. She would let the bright light in the promise of their future together help her keep it together, keep her strong. 

Calla had no personal effects, no items that were worth taking with them. Feyre wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse. She took one of the stained rocks in hand and found an empty portion of the wall. On it, she carved simply the name Calla . She didn’t want to say any words, didn’t want to drag this out. There would be time to grieve and time to mourn if she succeeded. Instead, she bowed her head, placing her hand on the name on the wall, covering all that was left of her once-friend except memories. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She allowed a final tear to fall, then let Rhys take her hand as they left the cells behind. 

+++ 

As Feyre and Rhys landed back in their room, they froze in time with each other. An envelope had been shoved under their door in their absence, and the terror Feyre felt was echoed in Rhys’s tightening grip on her hand. He tensed beside her as they stepped forward to greet whatever was waiting for them inside it. 

Feyre noticed first that the envelope was different–not the thick folded parchment with scarlet wax and lettering of Amarantha. This letter had been sent in an envelope, and off-white, almost yellow coloring to it. It seemed to glow in the dour darkness of the entryway, and the only identifying item on it was a simple wax seal with the shape of a sun pressed into it. 

“It’s from Helion.” Rhys’s tone was still tense, but more suspicious than worried. Helion was the High Lord that watched Feyre as she moved through court, those amber eyes tracking her movements from the first night she’d come here. The one who was familiar, and yet a stranger. 

Rhys cracked the seal and began to read. “He requests a meeting with me, and says it’s urgent.” 

“Do you think this is a trap?” Feyre wondered if that knee jerk instinct would ever leave now, or if she would be destined for a life of looking over her shoulder at every step. 

“Stay here.” He crossed back to her in two steps, pressing a kiss into her temple. “I’ll be back soon.” She nodded, leaning it and savoring it, then leaning back again to let him go. She could find things to do here, could work some of the tension out of her body while he was away by moving. She continued to ignore the band on the table, tossing a shirt over it so that she didn’t have to see it anymore. 

Feyre had hardly begun picking up around the room when she heard the whooshing of Rhys returning. 

“Well, that certainly didn’t take–” Her voice cut off as she turned, the male on the other side of the room not Rhys at all. “How did you get in here?” 

Feyre was aware of the wards and enchantments Rhys had woven around this room. He’d gone over them with her to reassure her that no one could get in except for the two of them. They were made with their blood, keyed to only them. And yet, here stood Helion, his dark skin and bright eyes glowing in the shadows by the door. 

“I have my ways, Feyre Archeron.” She should have been terrified, alarms firing and telling her to run or call for help. But something about Helion calmed her, an ease to his words and posture that made him think that he was not a threat. That made him seem more of a comfort here under the mountain than a danger.

“You sent him away so you could come here.” It wasn’t a question, and yet, he raised his brows. 

“One might think that a prisoner would relish a break. And yet, you don’t seem happy.” He circled the outskirts of the room, picking up a cup on the table, sniffing it and putting it back down. Eventually, he pulled the chair out and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and surveying Feyre in that way of his that made her want to draw back, to hide. She felt as though he could see every bit of her, even the bits she fought to keep hidden. Something in his gaze told her that there were no secrets in Helion’s eyes. 

They held each other’s gaze, and she itched to fill the silence, to lie. She could tell him any number of things, but he’d heard her speak so casually when she’d thought he was Rhys. She had a feeling he wouldn’t have believed her even if she’d lied. 

“What do you want from me?” 

The smile on his face was charming and broad, spreading slowly as white teeth flanked by the sharp canines went on display. It seemed a genuine show of mirth, as though there truly were no ill intent behind it. It was a smile that she distantly felt she should know, the appearance of it like finding an old friend in a crowd.

“I heard you like bargains, Feyre.” She was instantly on edge. The calm of his presence might all be some cruel trick, a gift of a High Lord like the powers of Rhys’s mind. She wasn’t privy to all the secrets– there could easily be magic he possessed that she knew nothing about.

“What could I possibly give you that you do not possess? I am already fighting for your freedom– ” 

“I would like to offer you a chance to run.”

Feyre pulled up short. “What?”

“I have it on good authority that a window of opportunity for you to escape will open for a short period of time tonight. I want you to take it.” Her heart was in her throat. 

A way out. 

Her tongue dried in her mouth, the feeling causing her to clear her throat. But what was his catch? What were his terms? She’d been in Prythian long enough to know that everything came with a hefty price, and that sometimes bargains were tricky things. “What could you possibly gain from me leaving here?”

“There is someone I would like you to take with you.” 

“While I appreciate your vote of confidence in me, I can’t leave, High Lord, I–”

“Helion. Please call me Helion.” 

“Helion, fine. I can’t accept.” 

“Is it because of Rhysand? Take him, too. There is room for you all to flee.” The words swam in her mind. They could run. 

“You know?”

He smiled again, that grin stretching wide. “I can see through glamours, dear. I’ve known since you arrived. Plus, Rhysand is a friend.”

A friend. 

If they could run, if they could leave…But then Tamlin and Lucien and everyone else would remain. Her bargain would go unfulfilled. 

“The bargain.”

“I can break it.” Her jaw dropped. 

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. How do you think I broke your lover’s wards to get in here?” She remembered. She’d practiced with that very magic over and over in Spring, winding and unwinding wards. She just hadn’t imagined how far his powers might extend.

“She’ll track us forever. We’ll never know peace.”

“There is a place he could take you, a legend of old. An island that people believe to be myth where you might never be found.” 

And Rhys would never see his family again. His home. That vision of yearning, of Velaris, his family, flashed before her eyes. All of that would be gone to him forever. And the people beneath the mountain, both those she knew and those she didn’t, would never have the chance for peace or home again. 

She couldn’t even consider it. The moment she let the doubt creep in, admitted to herself that it was more likely than not she wouldn’t be leaving here, she knew it was going to consume her wholly. She had to hold on to the hope, needed to keep the dream alive. She demanded that beautiful possibility of a future in her mind, and it would keep her going. There could be no room for uncertainty.

“I appreciate your offer. More than you could possibly know. But I cannot go.” Helion seemed surprised, not bothering to hide his shock. 

“Why would you stay?” 

There was the briefest flash in her mind at the satisfaction she would feel at ripping Amarantha’s eyes out with her bare hands for the atrocities she’d committed. She chose to voice the more noble reasons, instead. 

“I made a promise that I would try. I took on the bargain for more reasons than one. If I leave now, you will all be bound here forever. I would be an oath breaker, and all of you would be the ones to pay that price.” The softening around Helion’s eyes was evident, the words striking some chord within him. “I won’t leave Lucien or Tamlin or anyone else here to deal with this. Not after I promised.”

“You care deeply for those you love.”

“They are my family.” 

He closed his eyes and turned his head, as though he were living momentarily in another place, remembering another time. When he turned back to her, his expression had changed. 

“I have seen everything you’ve done under this mountain, Feyre. I will never forget any of it. No one will.”

She nodded, and he rose to go, the glow illuminating his skin in the shadows. 

“I cannot thank you enough for your offer. I am sorry I could not take it.” He paused, but then turned to take her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. His lips were soft and warm, and he smiled wickedly again. It did not meet his eyes. 

“Who were you trying to save?” 

But the second she asked, the air was whirring around them, filling with a swirling and potent darkness as Rhys winnowed back into the room with a clap of thunder so loud Feyre almost covered her ears on instinct. 

He appeared, the very image of night incarnate in front of her, back tense and eyes filled with rage as the shadows banked around him in fury. This was the High Lord of Night, the King of Nightmares that the books detailed. 

“Helion?” His shoulders relaxed a bit as he took in what was happening. Helion hadn’t even flinched at the display, just continued to smile. 

“Hello, Rhysand.” 

“You sent me the letter to get me out.” Helion smiled as Rhys echoed the same deadpan statement as Feyre had only moments before. He sent Rhys a quick, nearly mocking, bow. 

“Protect her at all costs, my friend.” And with a whirl of light, he was gone. 

Rhys was still breathing heavily, despite clearly not being all too concerned Helion had broken into his private rooms. He crossed the room silently and quickly, pulling Feyre tightly to his chest. “When I got there and he was gone, I worried it had been a trap. I worried–” He couldn’t finish the sentence, and Feyre fisted her hands in his shirt. She understood. 

Everything seemed so fragile and precious, as though they were dangling right off the edge of a precipice, and only the slightest movement could tip them right over the edge. 

“I’m here.” 

“What did he want?” Rhys didn’t draw back from her as he asked.

“To offer us an escape, provided we smuggle someone out with us for him.”

Rhys hummed. “And you said no, because you made a promise to save everyone at great personal cost. Am I close?”

“Hush.” The topic was miserable, but it was hard to not feel her heart seize at how effortlessly he knew her. The vulnerability of being known so thoroughly by him would never cease to fill that space in her chest with burning, aching love.

They held each other for a few moments, their bodies naturally beginning to sway with the need for comfort. 

“You must remember, I am an excellent dancer.” She smiled up at him as she said it. 

He pulled back, looking down at her with nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Feyre, Feyre. Cracking jokes at a time like this?” She pretended to be offended, slapping at his chest, but he grabbed her wrist gently, plucking it from the air and pressing the lightest kiss to her palm. He entwined their fingers and held both their hands between them.

“When we return home, you can buy me fancy dancing lessons with your High Lord riches. Then I won’t have to step on your toes all night.” He kissed each of her cheeks, eyes searching her face as though looking for some sort of answer or plan or strategy he might have missed there before. 

“When we return home, Feyre. I will make you High Lady, and you can use our riches on whatever your heart desires.” His fingers strayed to the ring on her finger, out of sight with her glamours covering it. She dropped the magic from her hand, the ring on her finger shining and catching the light. He twisted it so the stars faced upwards, the brilliant shine of it somehow even more magnificent. 

And when he leaned in to kiss her again, their lips meeting softly, he paused between each touch. 

“Feyre. My friend through many dangers. My lover who healed my broken and weary soul. My wife. My eternity.” 

She sighed with the admission, letting the words wash over her. Husband and wife felt like such small terms for what she felt they had, not coming close to the depth of emotions and love she held for him or him for her. If they were to make it out of here, return to Velaris, and marry, would it feel like it came closer to touching that deep well of passion and intimacy, that vulnerability and possession she felt? 

He was hers. And she was his. She had never felt so possessive, so territorial, about anything in her life. Perhaps the titles did not matter so much. 

“You’re mine, Rhysand. Forever.” 

“And you’re sure that you want me? My titles, my past, and everything that comes with it?” The vulnerability shone within his eyes. She knew how he felt– knew that he was certain being with him would put a target on her back forever. “My actions here have damned me. They see me as a monster, and they’ll see it even more now with how I’ve had to treat you.” 

“They watched me put a knife through my friend’s throat.” 

“And they’ve watched me do worse for five decades.” 

She placed two fingers on his lips, quieting him and his worry. She could hear the words floating in his mind, the self deprecation. 

Emotionless. Barbaric. Cruel. Selfish.

“Rhys, I love you. It doesn’t matter to me what anyone thinks of you. I know your heart.” His breathing was deep, the catch of it telling her of the emotion he was holding in. “I would endure it all for you. If you go on holding that mask up for them to see, then I will be whatever and whoever you need me to be. So long as you never wear that mask with me, none of it matters.”

“I would never.” 

“I know. And if we never leave Velaris again after we finish this, then so be it.” 

His arms tightened around her, the tension in his shoulders melting a bit with her admissions, her love. 

“I love you, Feyre Archeron.” She wasn’t checking her ears or her tattoo anymore, the warmth of his words the balm to her soul that she desperately needed, craved with both mind and body like nothing she’d ever felt before. They wrapped her heart in gold and let it shine like the summer sun on her skin, lighting her up from within. 

She was still human, and maybe even if she won the trials, that would remain the case. But Rhys was hers in every way for as long as they might have. Whether it was days from now, or years, or millenia, her soul was his. It had been his since the moment their eyes had met across that room. 

For now, there was no mountain, no Amarantha, no mortality. There was just them, and it was more than enough. 

+++

Court felt more tense than normal as they walked in that night. Feyre and Rhysand had decided that the best possible course of action was to pretend he’d taken Amarantha’s words to heart. The glamour he’d cast over her was horrifying to the naked eye, her arms covered in gruesome bruises in various states of healing. As he’d added to it, she’d kept insisting on more, the visual they presented tonight able to make or break this last ditch effort to make it to the finish line. If Amarantha believed that Feyre was starting to crack as Calla had, she had no reason to interfere before whatever horrible task she was planning came to light. 

Sporting a black eye, split brow, and an unhealed cut at the edge of her hairline, Feyre put on her best show of limping behind Rhysand into the court, the whorls of dark paint strategically placed to display the bruised flesh of her body. There were no more diamond collars or posturing. She simply followed him, her expression sullen and angry, but submissive for fear of the consequences.

Amarantha offered them a wicked smile as they passed, Feyre fighting her sigh of relief as they passed the test. She continued to limp up their own small dais, falling exhausted at Rhys’s feet to survey the crowd. The fae were all busy, focused on themselves, but unlike typical nights, their eyes kept coming back to her. Every so often, she would catch one out of her periphery, but as soon as she felt their eyes on her, they were already looking away. 

Was it because of the last task? Was it because of the task to come? Or was it her oath? That she was willing to die for their freedom might surely draw interest. Or perhaps they hated her for refusing to lay down and die, taking something that could have already been theirs from them before they could even properly enjoy it. 

She chose to ignore it, her eyes instead sweeping over the crowd to find those she always kept track of. Tamlin, strangely, was nowhere to be found, the seat beside Amarantha empty again. Feyre tried not to wonder what kept him on the nights that he wasn’t in court. She hated to think of the things he’d endured here, surely not so different from Rhys. She wondered what would happen if they made it out. Would Tamlin and Rhys ever be able to reconcile, or would her relationships with each need to be kept as separate as water and oil. Could they ever reach an impasse where the pain and trauma they’d suffered might bond them in some way? Or would the past always be there to keep the two of them apart?

On the outskirts of the crowd, Feyre saw Lucien, his hair impossible to miss as he leaned against the wall of the room and spoke to another high fae. His face was set, serious, and she hated the way it looked on him. Lucien was meant to be smiling and cracking jokes, typically at her expense. He was lively and charming and fun, not this angry shell of a male that he was here. She hated the mask he wore, the masks they all wore here. She much preferred his smile, even if it was in mocking her, as it stretched from ear to ear–

She jolted. 

Of course. 

Feyre?

Rhys had felt her jump, or otherwise felt her emotions across that bridge between them. 

I think I just figured something out. 

Oh? Do share. 

I don’t think that Lucien is Beron’s son. 

Go on. His voice was far too calm. 

You knew??

I had my suspicions. 

The glamours, the glowing, his smile. That’s Helion’s smile. 

His jaw, too. 

Does he know?

He’s never said a word to me about it. 

Her eyes tracked over to Autumn, the angry face of Beron staring out over the crowd. Next to him, his sweet looking, glamoured wife. She shot the image to Rhys. 

That’s who he wanted us to save. 

Suddenly, she felt bad about turning him down. Not just an affair then. He loves her. 

There were plenty of rumors, but I didn’t start putting pieces together until you woke up from the whippings glowing. Lucien has no idea. 

No, he does not. 

It hurt to imagine that there was another world, another possibility, where Lucien had grown up loved and cared for. He hadn’t been run out of his home, his father hadn’t killed the love of his life. Even the few brief moments she’d spent with Helion had told her enough about him as a person. 

Oh, Lucien. 

Feyre felt a soft brushing of Rhys’s mind against hers, the comfort he could not provide with physical touch. 

You have a kind heart, Feyre. 

Unfortunately, a kind heart only gets you so far. 

Still, I hope you never lose it.

The night wore on, but it was all very standard. Near midnight, Feyre excused herself to go to the bathroom. She wasn’t drinking the wine, but they’d worked up a thirst earlier in the day, and she’d drunk enough water to drown a fish. Since she still couldn’t winnow, it meant a walk back to their rooms, but it was a nice break for Feyre to breathe, dropping the show if only for a moment. 

As she made her way back down the quiet halls, she tried to prevent her mind from wandering. If she lost, she might be living her last hours here. She hated this train of thought, shoved it violently away every time it reared its ugly head. 

Her thoughts were stopped in their tracks as a hand sprung out from the stone wall and yanked her inside, the yelp in her throat stifled by the hand over her mouth. She fought and screamed against it, thrashing in the arms that held her until she heard the voice at her ear. 

“Feyre, it’s me. It’s only me.” 

Tamlin.

She turned in his arms, the tears already spilling from her eyes. Every single emotion she’d been holding back when she refused to look at him at the third task springing immediately to the surface. 

“Feyre.” 

She flung herself into his arms before she’d thought twice about it. 

“I’m so sorry. I killed her. I’m so sorry.” The words rushed out of her as he held her, awkward at first, but his arms eventually folded around her back. 

“Shh, Feyre. Don’t.”

“But I did it. I took the gift you gave me and I killed her. I didn’t–she was going to tell Amarantha everything, and I killed her before she could.” Her tears soaked his shirt, but he stood still, understanding that she’d needed this. 

He wasn’t one for affection, had never been tender or loving outwardly in the time she’d known him, but still, he held her as the tears dried. Feyre understood now what Calla must have seen when she looked at them all. They were a family, a true family, and despite her efforts, Calla had remained outside of that.

“That gift was for you to protect yourself, and that’s what you did,” he said the words quietly, but firmly, as though he wanted no room for arguments

“I killed her,” she whispered again, the enormity of it too loud for the small alcove hidden by a tapestry that they were in. 

“I would never blame you for what happened.” Finally she pulled back, sniffling, her arms crossing as she took him in. He looked beaten down, smaller somehow than she’d ever seen him. This mountain, this hell, was tearing them all apart. 

“How can I save everyone? How can I possibly make this all not for nothing?” 

“You can, Feyre. That's why I came to find you.” 

“You know what the next task is, don’t you?” He nodded, but his lips thinned into a pressed line. “She cursed you. You can’t tell me.” The tiny flare of hope in her chest fizzled to nothing. Feyre opened her mind in case Rhys came looking.

“I just needed to see you. I needed you to hear me say that you must do what she asks. At all costs, you must.”

She didn’t like the way it sounded, and she liked even less the desperation in his eyes. “Is that all you can tell me?” A curt nod was the only response she got. “She’s going to make it painful, isn’t she?” He could barely eke out a nod. 

Feyre’s chest felt hollow, the hopelessness of it all clanging around her. They stood here, two entirely different people from the ones who bantered and drank in the twilight of Spring. 

“I’m sorry, Feyre…about Calla. I should have done more.” 

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Me too. But she’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“Nothing we can do but win, Feyre.” She met his eyes then, pleading and open and desperate. “Do what you have to do to save us. Remember what I told you in Spring when you and Lucien asked me about love, and do what she asks.” 

She nodded. “We can talk about the rest when we get out of here.” His eyes shuttered, something in them telling her how badly he wanted that and how improbable he felt it was. 

She opened her mouth to answer, but the tapestry guarding the alcove was pushed aside, Rhys’s silhouette calming Feyre’s defenses immediately. 

Tamlin met his eyes and immediately moved to leave. “Don’t forget what I said, Feyre, a long time ago in Spring.” As he passed Rhys, the two locked eyes, an uneasy nod of peace between them, and then Tamlin was gone. 

It felt like goodbye. 

“I was worried when you didn’t come back.”

“I left my mind open for you.” 

“I know, I could feel it.” 

“Did you hear everything?” 

“I did, but I can’t make any more sense of it than you will.”

“I’m scared, Rhys. It sounds bad.” 

“All we can do is greet it when it comes, and use the time we’re given.” She sighed, her forehead pressed against his. 

“Thank you, for everything you’ve done here.”

“I would do it all again for you, Feyre. I would move this mountain, and all the rest.” Their breath mingled between them, the words stoking to life that magic of hers that loved him so, her chest alight with it. Every word they said to each other was a vow, a promise. 

Perhaps she had mistaken the bargain all along, her quest for his love being the true prize. She’d won it, whether she’d fulfilled the bargain or not. The pulling on her heart told her that he was hers, and she was his, utterly and irrevocably for whatever time they had been gifted. 

When their lips touched, Feyre swore sparks flew, the flames flitting around her fingers but not catching as she ran them through his soft hair. He pressed his hips into hers, her back arching against the wall as he leaned down to kiss her more hungrily.

“What about court?” she got out between kisses. 

“Fuck the court.” And they were falling into their bed, the winnow barely registering as Rhys moved his mouth to her neck. The sigh fell out of her without reservations, her head leaning back to give him more access as he groaned his appreciation and licked a broad stroke up the side of her throat, ending with a kiss pressed behind her ear. Her whole body shuddered, responding beneath him. She was lost to the feel of it, the feel of him. She ached for more. 

She’d barely had time to think the word before she felt his hot skin against hers, sizzling like a brand on her very soul. Their clothes were gone, a halfhearted thought from him all it had taken, and her body seemed to sigh in relief to feel his with nothing left to separate them. 

Rhys returned his mouth to the front of Feyre’s throat, the feel of his plush lips against her skin rendering her breathless as he descended down, down, over her collarbones and past her sternum. She came alive with the touch, his breath sending goosebumps scattering across her freckled skin as he moved his mouth to the side, taking her breast into his mouth and moving his fingers to caress the other. The strokes were gentle and teasing, and as Feyre arched into the sensations, he laughed darkly against her. 

“So responsive, my girl.” The words sent her mind spinning. He’d hardly touched her yet and she could already feel her climax roaring inside of her, coiling tightly around her spine and pulling there, coming fully to life as he pressed kisses along her skin. She could lose herself entirely in him, these feelings, these sensations. She could do this forever. 

She felt the bed move, felt his weight shift, felt his warm breath against her inner thigh. Her body jerked at the reaction, tightening with anticipation, and Rhys wrapped his broad hands around her thighs and pulled. 

“Don’t hide from me, Feyre. Never from me.”  He didn’t give her time to reply before his mouth was on her, his teasing tongue swiping over her, spreading her wide until the pleasure of it overcame all else, and she let her legs fall to the sides, relaxing in his hands. 

She knew him. She was safe with him. 

And gods , but he made her feel. 

She let herself relax into the bed, one hand wrapping in the sheets that smelled so like him, the other with fingers twining through his soft, messy hair. She could get lost in the sensation, forget all meaning of time and presence, just to keep feeling his touch, his warmth, his heartbeat in time with hers. 

When she came, her voice was strangled. A cry that sounded part prayer, part his name while the universe exploded behind her eyelids, back bowing entirely off the bed in response. He continued softly through it, easing her through each wave of her orgasm as she slowly spiraled back down, melting into a boneless heap upon the bed. She was in a haze, the calming feel of joy and satisfaction running lazily through her veins. Here, it felt impossible they could ever be parted, even by the wrath of Amarantha’s intentions. Here, none of it mattered except the eternity laid out for the taking in front of them. Here, she had everything. But still, that fire raged within her, that searing heat demanding more, more, more . 

And Rhys could feel it too. His eyes were focused only on her as he climbed the bed, an animal cornering their prey. But Feyre didn’t want to run– had never run from Rhys, not in any of his many forms– and she never would. Even if she did, Rhys would find her. She knew it to be true. And she’d always want to be caught by him. 

“I need you, Rhysand. Please.” His cocky smile faltered at the declaration, the overwhelm of lust and need sweeping him away in the same rushing torrent of obsession that Feyre found herself in as he settled his weight above her. His forearms fell to each side of her head as his hips rested between hers and he let his mouth fall back to her neck. He breathed her in before he latched on, his mouth finding her pulse point where her neck met her shoulder and sucking it into his mouth. Feyre’s whole body was tingling, the vibrations etched into her skin from her scalp to her toes. 

Feyre , he whispered, and she couldn’t tell if it was in her mind or aloud, the lines all blurring with his mouth hot against her skin. She reached down to touch, to play, her fingertips sliding over his skin and down to the trail of dark hair while he sighed longingly. Then his mouth was on hers, nothing slow about it. His lips moved skillfully, demanding, dominating, needing as she took him in her hands. She could feel his control slipping, the wanting overwhelming all else, and when she pulled away to ask him “Do you want me, Rhys?” His response was immediate. 

“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.” The words lit her up as she placed him against her, and he closed his eyes as he pushed inside. His hand wound beneath her, grabbing her ass with enough pressure to make her gasp against his lips as he began to rock into her. 

“You feel incredible, Feyre. You feel like…everything.” The breathless words sent her higher, her hands in his hair, scraping at his scalp, the nape of his neck. He was in her, around her, consuming her, and she wanted no part in making it stop. She pulled him as close as she could until there was nothing left between them, and finding that urge to bury herself beneath his skin still wanting, she pulled herself into his mind. 

The adamant walls fell around her with the tiniest brush against them, welcoming her in with a sharp inhale of his breath. They accepted her, he accepted her, and nestled within his own mind, she was home. Every thought, every feeling, every emotion circled around her, and she was the object of them all. He thought about how lovely she smelled– lilac and pears–the same way that she yearned and ached for his spiced citrus scent. He thought about how it felt like heaven to be inside her, sharing body and mind as one. He thought about how much he loved her, every single fiber of his being singing a song meant for his love, his life, his –

Feyre crashed back into her own mind, the orgasm overtaking her brutally this time as her legs shook around his waist. 

“Oh, gods. Don’t stop. Please don’t–” His mouth was on hers, the kiss near violent in its passion, and she lived for every second. Despite the tender love and gentle things his heart felt for her, this was a claiming, and she wanted him engraved on every part of her as deeply as he could go. 

She had barely caught her breath as he flipped her, hardly pulling out as he put her on her knees. He yanked her hips up and sank back into her, not missing pace as she cried out. Her body buzzed with a feeling of warmth, and it spread until every inch of her was humming with it. She could feel it spread as he sped up, the pace becoming enough that she saw spots in her vision, the pleasure owning every piece of her. She felt him lean over, the heat of his stomach draping across her back. She heard a thought– his thought– as it flitted through his head. He wanted this claiming as much as she did, his lips dancing across her shoulder while he moved inside her. 

Do it. 

Please. 

She sent the thought in a flurry of begging, her voice sounding like a plea even in her mind. He didn’t hesitate, his sharp teeth pressing against the skin of her shoulder as she felt her body tighten, the next wave unrelenting as it crested and crashed upon the last. She cried out as his pace faltered, her body squeezing around his the final push he needed before he gasped out her name, the grip on her hips tightening. She hoped it bruised, his marks on her body delighting her as she collapsed to the mattress below, letting Rhys catch himself on his arm as he fell behind. 

Their sweat-slicked bodies still sought out the other, hands grasping blindly and breath sinking as they came down together. The lights dimmed, and Feyre felt the sheet slide over them, cool and crisp against their flushed skin. 

“You are everything to me, Feyre. Absolutely everything.” The words felt deeper than love, deeper than a promise. 

She twined her fingers in his, pulling his hand up to her chest and pressing her lips to his knuckles. “Mine. Always.” And she meant it.

Long after she had left this world, she’d still mean it. Her heart belonged entirely to him, and as she felt it beat in time with his, she knew that he belonged to her, too. 

Taglist: Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@cauldronblssd @buttercupcookies-blog @witch-and-her-witcher @yeonalie

[cosmicalily]

'come to me, slowly' a hyunjin oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: short but very, very sweet. the whole ‘charm’ album is such a work of art in my eyes; it's so beautiful and reminds me of the dreamiest spring with my girls. i feel like hyunjin would really fw clairo so i decided to make a little something for him! i’m normally insanely protective over my precious wlw songs, but i think this song can be interpreted in a multitude of ways. can be read as a standalone fic, but works better as a sequel to 'episodic memory', which is part of a mini series!

warnings: pregnancy

It had been six months since you’d first told him. Six chaotic months of taking care of a new house and yourself in your new fragile state, days spent painting your bedroom deep emerald green, of Hyunjin washing your hair for you when you bathed, even though you insisted you were capable of doing it yourself. 

In the end, despite your love for your studio, the two of you decided to move everything into the cosy sunroom at the back of the small house. So when your lease ended, the two of you spent the day unpacking and repacking tubes of paint, jars of ceramic glaze, kilos of clay and, with the assistance of your old roommates, Felix and his now fiance’s minivan, moving the kiln to your home. When the floors were clean and windows washed and everything was unorganised but exactly where you needed it to be, Hyunjin spent long minutes kissing you in your new makeshift studio. Hundreds of kisses on your forehead, nose, cheeks and collarbone, and thousands on your lips, soft yet hard, slow yet feverish.

He still couldn’t believe you were having his baby.

Hyunjin didn’t think he could fall in love with you anymore, but seeing you in your home, the one you two had finally bought together, skin shiny in the summer humidity and dressed in only a pale yellow lace bralette and loose-fitting overalls, he found himself sinking even deeper. You fanned your face, mumbling something under your breath about the heat, and unclasped the two straps of your overalls, letting your belly show. Hyunjin walked over behind you, wrapping his arms around your lower waist, kissing your shoulder. “Get off, baby, it’s so hot,” you grumbled, but let yourself melt into his touch. “I can’t tell if it's the hot flushes or the summer weather. Why isn’t your face all red and sweaty?”

Hyunjin chuckled. “Your pink cheeks are cute. You’re cute. I don’t think I’ll ever get how adorable your belly looks; I’m so excited for her to arrive, but I also kind of want to soak up this feeling.”

“Mm,” you replied, turning to face him and resting your cheek against his chest. “Me too.”

“My angels,” Hyunjin pulled you in tighter, kissing you then leaning down to press a kiss to your tummy. “My girls.”

“And we’re the luckiest girls in all the world,” you smiled, eyes glossy. “I love you so much, baby.”

His thumb moved to wipe your tears and kiss your cheeks. “I love you even more, pretty girl.”

Summer had long gone, and now Winter was rapidly approaching, orange leaves disappearing from the trees as the weather gradually cooled. You pulled a butter yellow mohair sweater over your shoulders and buttoned your jeans, walking out of your bedroom with a yawn.

Hyunjin had never been an early bird, but ever since Juna had been born, he’d grown to adore it. Regardless of whether it was four or five in the morning, he would be out of bed and with his baby, comforting her until she fell asleep again or, if she didn’t, strapping her in a baby wrap and taking her on a walk, the breeze cool on his face and the sun rising as he strolled. His heart would feel full to bursting with love for the being you had somehow created together, the baby you’d carried with such strength for nine long months. 

“Good morning, my darlings,” your eyes sparkled with joy when Hyunjin walked through the front door, a wide awake and giggly Juna cosied up against his chest. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” Hyunjin smiled, unwrapping Juna and passing her to you for a cuddle. He left the wrap on the kitchen bench and kissed you softly. His body and soul belonged to you. For you and Juna, he would tear down every star from the sky, rehang the moon if it fell in the night, chase away the clouds until the sky was clear again.

You were his world.

As he looked at the hundreds of paintings and photographs that lined the walls of your home, his entire body warmed, and he held the two of you closer.

“We’re yours, Hyun.” you whispered, and his heart erupted like a supernova, his eyes blinded with colour.

[carlzy-berryz]

Neo 3 ^^

Ref sheet done, lol. This took forever ahhh!! Ik it's not the neatest, but it gets the job done XD.

I'll go into more detail under the cut.. (lore)

Everleigh used to live in Inkpolis Plaza but her family had to move to the Splatlands a couple years back, to take care of her grandma. Her life kinda changed from then XD. The treatment for her grandma was expensive and turf war just wasn't cutting it anymore... so her parents suggested Salmon Run (Everleigh had no idea what this was at the time) but she agreed, nonetheless, after all if it pays well it can't be that bad, right?

Well this is where she developed weird "attachment issues" to the salmonids, she thought they were cute (especially smallfry), and wondered why so many people wanted to take their eggs, they didn't deserve that... So she started slacking off, not getting quota on purpose, giving eggs to snatchers, not reviving teammates ect... nobody ever suspected her though..

How she met Waffle..

One day at the end of a shift, Everleigh noticed an injured Smallfry near the shore, struggling to move, she went to help him but she could hear the helicopter about to leave, so she put him in her bag and scrambled back. She looked after him for weeks and weeks, feeding him, giving him a place to sleep, going on morning runs all to get his strength back! It wasnt easy though, as she had to hide him from everbody, she even took him to work (while bribing him with food as a reward, lol) he just stayed in her bag the whole time!

Eventually he was back to his bubbly self and fully recovered which meant Everleigh had to return him to the sea... She had always intended this, but she had grown far too attached to him, she couldn't stomach the thought of a co-worker killing him.. so she decided to keep him and named him Waffle!

The day she became an agent...

As usual she was on her way to work with Waffle, she was about to walk up the stairs when she heard a voice, it was coming from a manhole, she looked over and a strange old man was signaling her to walk over, he disappeared down the manhole and they follow him...

*I'll spare you the whole story mode Alterna plot you already know what happens XD*

After defeating Mr Grizz she knew for a fact she couldn't work for him anymore. She told her parents that she wanted to quit but they wouldn't let her, they said it was too much money to give up, then they started guilt tripping her saying things like "you really don't want to help your grandma..?" This made her feel terrible and she reluctantly continued working for a few more weeks... until she just couldn't take it anymore, she stomped into grizzco, slammed her things on the desk and shouted "I quit!" and she never set foot in there again. She traded the gold scales she'd earned over the years to a random octoling for money, (she sure wouldn't need those anymore) and managed to pay for her grandma's treatments! She now lives with her grandma and Waffle in a small apartment and works full time as an agent, getting paid now by the captain! She rarely speaks to her parents and will leave the apartment when they visit.

Side effects of becoming an agent..

.She doesn't have much time to do things anymore as she's always busy doing missions

.Her hair now looks a little fluffy, this is due to all the fuzzy ooze she fell in..

.She kinda developed ptsd from fighting her way through the missions.

.Feels like she can't meet Waffle's needs and doesn't want to overwork him.

These are just a few things, but she can't say she regrets anything, after all, it was her release from everything. She made new friends, defeated Grizz, participates in turf and anarchy again (with the other agents) and best of all she's happier now, that's what really matters!

That's about it really, sorry for the long story, 😭 I just wanted to get it out there since she didn't have much character development before, so if you made it here,thank you so much for reading the whole thing, I appreciate you!! ^^ I apologise if it didn't really make sense...

Here's a close up of Waffle as a reward XP

🫶

[aphroditeinthesea]

thanksgiving (part 1/3)

jason grace x fem!reader ⚡️

this is gonna be a three part series of jason and y/n celebrating thanksgiving bc tis the season!!

⚠️ none

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨🍁୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“You’ve never celebrated Thanksgiving?”

Jason shook his head, “I didn't really know it was a thing.”

“Baby,” she sat up, “there's no way.”

Her boyfriend laughed, shifting in the bed, “it’s true.” He tilted his head, “maybe when I was baby, I just don't remember.”

She raised her eyebrows, “we’ve been dating two years, how could I not know this?” She recounted how they never really had celebrated the holiday season together. Not until this year since they had recently moved into an apartment in New Rome.

“It’s not a big deal,” he mentioned, “what’s so great about it?”

She let out an offended breath, “hello? The Macy’s Parade, the food, the dog show? It’s one of the best holidays!”

“Dog show?”

“Oh my gods.”

It was that moment that she decided he was going to have the greatest Thankgiving there had ever been. With invites sent out to all their friends and hours spent at multiple grocery stores, she was determined to make this a day to remember.

So, when it was finally the last Thursday of the month, she snuck out of bed at six in the morning, an hour before her boyfriend usually awoke. She got to the kitchen and took out the turkey. Not considering the fact that it was frozen. She rolled her eyes and went ot preheat the oven.

“450 degrees,” she muttered, glancing at the cookbook in front of her, “gods, that’s hot.” She set the temperature on the oven before returning her focus back to teh book.

“Love,” she turned around to the sound of the deep voice. Jason stood in the doorway of their kitchen, his hair slightly messy and glasses off.

“Jase,” she smiled. She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, “I was trying to surprise you!”

“What are you doing?” He asked as his hands found their way to her hips, lightly brushing the clothed skin with his thumbs.

“Making Thanksgiving dinner,” she answered, “then later I was gonna turn on the parade on the TV,” she added, “and I invited a few of our friends for dinner, too.”

He just looked at her face, a grin at the corners of his lips.

“Is that okay?”

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “you are the greatest girlfriend I could've asked for.”

She blushed, standing on her tiptoes to return a kiss to his lips, “it’s just because I love you. You deserve a traditional holiday season.”

He looked at the oven, “I didn't know you could cook turkey.”

She giggled, “a girl can learn.”

“450 degrees? That’s hot,” he commented.

“That’s what I thought!”

[dragonpaint]

auggghhhhhh dog just sharted on me when i lifted her djhfjsjfjsjdjddhdjfhjdhdjd;; day is going greatttttttttttt

[risaonda]

"while hashimoto's thyroiditis may increase the risk of chronic hives, not everyone who has hashimoto's will get hives" fuck you. why couldn't that be me

[bi-writes]

I think first make out session of Simon and his mail order bride happened because she wore sundress all day ~~ i'm a bit addicted to the way you writing Simon

mail-order bride

reader described as curvier/plus-sized 18+

simon has gotten away with a lot of things ever since he married you. he's kept a respectful distance; gentle touches, affectionate ones, sure, but it's been easy to brush off the itch in the back of his head ever since he scratched it just enough when he kissed you for the first time.

when the itch becomes too severe, he's been able to hide away for a little while; running it out of his system working out, shaking it off in the field, drinking so it quiets when he makes his way to the pub.

but it's gotten a lot harder lately to pretend he doesn't see you for what you are.

a pretty girl.

he tells you that you're pretty all the time. in the mornings when you're still waking up. sitting at the counter as you watch him make sandwiches for lunch. pushing the cart in the aisle at the market, picking out the right cuts of meat or seeing which crisps you both can enjoy for movie night. and you are pretty all those times, all the time, in fact, and you were pretty when he kissed you, too.

but fuck. you're also...you're also so fucking pretty.

simon kicks off his boots at the front door, holding a few paper bags in his hands from his trip to the store. the weather has been getting warmer, summer creeping by (his most dreaded season since it forces him to take off layers he'd rather keep), and you had been begging simon for some sweet icy treats and a water fountain for the cat (it'll keep her from drinking out of your water glasses, simon).

when he steps into the kitchen, you're coming in from the backyard, flowers in your hands that the neighbor must have given you.

and you're wearing the cutest little white and red sundress (and suddenly he doesn't hate summer so much anymore).

it's got a cherry pattern on it and puffy sleeves. the bodice hugs you until the middle, where it fans out in a pillowy skirt, stopping just above your knees. there's a soft bow tied around the back, but simon really can't help himself from his eyes that narrow in on your figure and how incredible you look with the sunlight behind you.

"hi, simon," you coo, and simon glares, fucking tease. he has an inkling you don't even know what you're doing to him, you can't, not with that sweet little smile and the way you rock onto your toes. you even tied your hair up with a bow, and simon can't help but feel like you're his little gift, all wrapped up just for him.

one he wants to pluck, unravel until you reveal whatever you've been hiding underneath it all--

"oh! look it! oh, simon!" you giggle, grabbing the bag from him when you see the box that pokes out of it. you pull out a sweet, red ice lolly, cherry-flavored, and you lean up on your toes to give simon a big, wet kiss on his cheek before sucking it into your mouth. "mmm...thank you...just what i needed, it's so warm today."

bloody fuckin' christ.

your tongue is so pink. it's sliding up the edge of it until you suck it back into your mouth, and simon lets out the shakiest breath. it's unlike him, and you turn to face him fully when you notice the way he's staring at you. he looks good today, dark denim jeans and a wrinkled white t-shirt that stretches around his big arms, and your eyes dart to his tattoo sleeve for just a moment before you smile back up at him.

"what?" you ask him gently. "you want some?"

instead of offering him his own lolly, you simply tilt yours in his direction. he huffs, letting out an irritated laugh before he leans forward a licks a fat stripe up the side of the cherry ice.

you smile a little as he does, and you don't even realize your gaze has dropped. you're eyeing the way his mouth moves, taking in the hinge of his jaw and the light stubble along it and the scar that stretches across his whole face that you kiss sometimes when he falls asleep before you.

he groans a little as he takes a bite of the lolly, and you seize at the sound, dropping the lolly into the sink on accident as you scramble to look up at him. you stare at each other, lidded brown eyes just piercing into your own. you're quiet for only a few more moments before you're throwing yourself at him.

he nearly slams you against the closest wall. your back hits it firmly, rattling the pictures that hang there, and you throw your arms around his neck as he kisses you feverishly. his hands slide down your waist to your lower back, and you stand on your toes, his palms cupping your ass before he picks you up with ease, guiding your plush thighs to wrap around his waist as he holds you there.

you don't know how long you kiss against the wall, but you're breathless when he pulls away. you chase him, kissing along his nose, his cheek, any of the skin that you can get, and simon grunts lowly, cradling the back of your neck.

"we shouldn't," he mutters.

"why not?" you whine, and he hisses, looking into your eyes, hungry, big man, struggling to keep himself away from you. but it isn't what you want, you want him to kiss you, you want more, more, more--

you stand back on your toes, pushing him backwards. simon follows you, his hands bunched around the skirt of your dress as you walk him further into the living room until the couch hits the back of his knees, and he sits with a heavy breath. you bend to go sit in his lap, and simon curses under his breath, leaning his head back against the couch as your cleavage crowds his line of sight.

"fuckin' christ, baby," simon says lowly, running a rough hand over his face. he grunts when you take a seat in his lap, stretching your knees to straddle him, and you cage him in with your arms as you guide his chin back down so you can kiss him. you slot your mouth over his, kissing him lazily, and when you press your chest against his, he breathes out heavily when he feels your pebbled nipples through your dress. "fuck--fuck, fuck--"

"not yet," you giggle between kisses, and simon groans audibly as he slips two big hands under your dress and grabs both sides of your ass, his fingertips slipping under the lace of your panties so he can get a warm feel of you. you sit yourself down deeper in his lap, and you pull away slowly when you feel him underneath you.

he blinks his eyes open slowly, and you tentatively sit a little more in his lap, your eyes widening a little when you feel him between your thighs.

holy fucking shit--

"jesus," you stutter, and he looks away from you, ears reddening, and you're quick to cup his cheeks to bring his eyes back to you. you smile a little, leaning in again, and you press your forehead to his before giving him the gentlest grind of your hips. "oh--simon--" you kiss him again, soft, whispering against his lips, "s-so...you're so--"

"mhm," he nods, and you move so your lips are against his ear, giving him a light kiss where his jaw and neck meet.

"i'd say you're too big for me," you sigh, closing your eyes, "but i'm a riley now." you giggle. "'n we can handle anything..can't we, simon?"

"shit--"

you squeak a little when he wraps a hand in your hair and tugs, pressing your pelvis to his as he ruts his hips up against yours. you kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and he chokes on his moans, big arms keeping you pressed to him as he pants into your mouth.

he stills, face a little scrunched up as he sits there with you. you keep kissing him lazily, exploring the way he tastes, licking over his teeth and bottom lip, up until he pushes you just that much away and groans in frustration.

your eyes open, and you giggle, and simon smooths his hands up the bodice of your dress, his eyes blown wide as he takes in how pretty you look in it. pretty little angel in his lap, a nice weight to ground him as he tries not to think about the mess he's made of himself.

"i assume you like the dress?" you ask, and when you laugh, simon can see the red on your tongue from the lolly. he knows if he kisses you again and sucks on your pretty tongue, you'll taste like that awful cherry, taste as sugar-sweet as you really are. simon leans back a little, propping you up on his thighs, shaking his head as he runs a big hand down his solid middle.

"well," simon mutters. "'aven't cum in my fuckin' pants since i was a bloody kid, so i'd say so."

"w-wha--! simon!"

you cover your eyes, overcome with shyness, with warmth, not believing really that anyone could you want that much. that anyone could really want you at all.

but when you laugh, he does, too.

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, ��I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[aquaticmercy]

Almost Kisses

Summary : Bucky's kisses have become a daily part of your life together, but it wasn’t always that way.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (she/her) 

Warnings : very slight mention of food and mild cursing

Requested by : @buckys-wintersoldier

Word count : 1.8k

Note : This one was very fun! I was listening to Work Song By Hozier while writing this, so it's safe to say the song served as a bit of inspiration, too. I did say it would be >1k word blurb but I have once again got over the limit.

Requests are open!

Kissing you had become second nature to Bucky. Every morning when he woke up, every night before bed. It was part of his routine, it felt as natural as breathing. He kissed you when he passed you in the kitchen, when you laughed at something ridiculous, when you weren’t paying attention. He kissed you just because he could.

It was hard for him to remember a time before that, but once, kissing you had seemed impossible.

The first time the thought even crossed his mind, you were standing outside his apartment door, trying to get his attention. Sam had called you, worried about him after days of radio silence, days of ignoring texts and phone calls from both him and his therapist. 

Sam could get through to Bucky on most days, but on the really hard ones, when the weight of his past pulled him under the covers and refused to let him go, there was only one person who could reach him. You. 

Somehow, Bucky had imprinted on you in a way he never had with anyone else. Sam wasn’t stupid— he knew that Bucky was down hard for you. Hell, everyone who ever saw the two of you interact knew that Bucky was in love with you. Everyone except you.

Because love had to keep you blind like that, at least for a while.

"Bucky?" Your voice was soft that day, muffled by the door separating you from him. You knocked again, gentler this time. "I brought you pizza. Just cheese, no toppings—your favorite." You paused, like you were waiting for signs of life, anything, but the silence was deafening. You lowered your voice, a whisper now. "I cut off the burnt bits, the way you like it."

The door creaked open, just a sliver of light pouring in from the apartment. Bucky's figure stood in the shadow, his frame filling the doorway, but his voice was small and frail. "Extra cheese?"

"Of course, Buck." Your lips curved up knowing you’ve essentially made it in. You slipped inside the moment he stepped back. 

That night, you didn’t leave his side. You pulled him out of the dark waters he had drowned himself in. He told you about his nightmares, the memories that wouldn’t let him breathe. You listened, laughed when he cracked the odd dark joke, and cried while exchanging stories. Minutes blurred into hours, and eventually, you fell asleep beside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. 

That was the night he realized what you did to him. You didn’t just pull him out of his pit of despair— you made him feel alive. Electric.

The next morning, you took a shower, borrowing one of his shirts since yours were dirty. Seeing you in his oversized clothes twisted something inside him, drove him insane with wild thoughts— he almost said something, but bit his tongue to stop the flow of words that would have been unstoppable. When you hugged him goodbye, he held on just a second too long, his arms tightened around you, hesitating to let go and wishing he could stay in the safety of your embrace forever. And for just a heartbeat, he stared at your lips. He almost gave in, almost kissed you right then and there, but he shoved the thought away at the last second. Why would you ever want to kiss someone like him?

The second time he almost kissed you was at the ice rink in Central Park. It was the holiday season, and this year Bucky realised that he didn’t need to spend it alone anymore. He invited you out, convincing himself it wasn’t a date— just two friends hanging out, doing friend things.  

You were hesitant, admitting you couldn’t skate and that the ice never seemed to agree with you, but he insisted.

"You can hold onto me," he teased, though he left out  telling you how much he wanted you to. Just to feel you close. Just for you to embrace him again.

"Buck!" you squealed when he picked up speed, your hands clutching his jacket tight around your fist in a death grip. "You’re going way too fast!"

He laughed, slowing to a stop in the middle of the rink. The moonlight between trees shrouded the two of you. You stumbled into his chest, your fingers curling into his coat. For a second, you didn’t move. You stayed there, taking in his scent. "What would I do without you?" you murmured into his chest, voice barely above a whisper.

In that moment, he realised that you weren’t just his friend out of pity— You made him feel wanted. Needed.

His hands found your cheeks, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. He could almost taste how your lips would feel— soft, warm, perfect. His breath hitched, his body taking control. But then, just as quickly, he put his logical mind back in the pilot seat. He pulled away. Why would you want to kiss someone who’d been broken as many times as him?

The third time he thought about kissing you, he could’ve sworn you wanted it, too. You were on one of your usual runs and morning coffee— your ritual together. It happened once or twice a week when he wasn’t whisked away to some strange land for a mission. 

Bucky always slowed his pace to match yours. He didn’t mind since he could spend those extra moments near you. 

After the runs, you’d get coffee together. He talked about everything—his life in the 40s, his family, Steve, his friends from school. 

You gave him pieces of his humanity back with every conversation. With you, he felt more than a soldier— you made him feel more organic. Human.

He felt that, for once, he was more interesting than the winter soldier.

He then talked about wanting a small pet, maybe a dog, or a white cat. 

"What, am I not companion enough?" you had teased.

His ears burned, and the super soldier found himself stammering. "That’s not what I meant."

You laughed as you brushed coffee foam off his facial hair. The briefest touch and his heart started racing out of control.

He could've sworn you leaned in just slightly, almost instinctively. He wanted to kiss you. He needed to. But again, he pushed it down, convincing himself that the two of you were just friends. 

The day after, he found himself lying on the couch, thoughts spiraling. He couldn’t stop thinking about you— your lips, your laugh, your touch. He didn’t know what to make of it. The feelings ate away at his sanity, and they wouldn’t go away. For the first time, he asked himself the question he was too afraid to ask: was this how it felt to be truly, deeply, and desperately in love?

Then came the knock.

He opened the door, and there you were, looking as tired as he felt. Your hair was a mess, your clothes crumpled, and you looked like you haven’t slept since he saw you yesterday, but you were still so goddamn beautiful. You had this infectious wild energy, like you were on the edge of discovering the secret to world peace.

"I’ve been thinking all night," you said, stepping inside the gap he had open. That was how welcome you felt in his space, how comfortable he was with you. "If I’m wrong, this is going to be so embarrassing, but— three times. You almost kissed me three times."

Bucky blinked, caught off-guard.

"That night with the pizza, when I said goodbye," you continued, pacing around the room in deep thought. "The ice rink. And yesterday at the coffee shop." You held up three fingers at his face, your hands trembling slightly. "Three times is too much to be a coincidence. Three times is too much to just accidentally lean in. Please, tell me you’ve thought about it. Tell me you’ve wanted to kiss me because—" You stopped, looking into his beautiful eyes. "Because I’ve thought about it too."

Your voice was shaky. Bucky had never seen you so vulnerable, so uncertain. So hopeful.

"This is so embarrassing," you muttered, your voice now barely a whisper. But before you could say anything else, Bucky closed the distance between you. He grabbed you by the waist and kissed you, his lips capturing yours in a desperate rush. All the hesitations melted away from the tension in his muscles, and it was better than he’d imagined a thousand times. He didn’t know how it was possible, but you tasted even sweeter than he had dreamed. His hands tangled in your hair as you stood on tiptoes, clutching him as if he might slip away.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you whispered in disbelief, "So I was right."

Bucky smiled, finger running along your skin, in a sensory attempt to remind him the was all real and not just one of his fantasies. "Only took you half a year to notice."

You laughed softly, melting into his touch. "I could say the same for you."

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again. "Shush," he whispered between kisses. He was addicted now. He needed his fix. He needed your touch, your warmth, your lips on his. Again, and again, and again.

And that was more than a year ago. Now, Bucky still couldn’t stop kissing you. If anything, it had only gotten worse, not that you were complaining.

He kissed you every chance he got. When you rolled over in bed, still half asleep, he kissed your forehead. When you stretched in the kitchen, reaching for a mug for your afternoon tea, he kissed the back of your neck. When you came home late from work, tired but smiling, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you breathless, as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Buck," you laughed, stopping his train of thought, playfully trying to squirm away as he pulled you onto his lap. "We’re supposed to be watching a movie."

His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear. "But I’d rather kiss you."

You were powerless against him, as you always are. Laughing softly, you said, "You know, you kiss me every day. Aren’t you tired of me yet?"

He pulled back just enough to look at you, reminding himself of how lucky he was that he had you here. That if it wasn’t for you storming into his apartment in a frenzy with a theory, you wouldn’t be here in his arms. "Never." His voice was so soft, making your breath hitch.

You were about to say something smart, but Bucky stopped you with another kiss, his lips gentle and loving, yet there was such a fiery passion beneath. You curled into him, his warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, the movie long forgotten.

He stared at you, thumb brushing the side of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I’m never gonna stop kissing you," he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours. His voice was a little rough, his throat dry from the taste of you. "I don’t think I could, even if I tried."

And you believed him.

-end

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

dinner prep engagement ♡

a/n : aaaand its finally here, the final part of the ring pop proposal miniseries after decades !!!! im sorry it took me so long to write this final part yall, i just finally felt enough inspo to write it and im super happy w how it came out ! i hope yall do too ! lemme know if you wanna be added to the taglist ! much luv xx

fem reader, literally pure fluff between mama n son, katsuki gets emotional very quickly bc i believe he does and you cannot make me think otherwise, a lil emotional but pure sweetness, mentions of making dinner, lmk if i missed sum else !!

this time, mitsuki has no idea what her son is planning. sure she’s had her hopes for years now, and her suspicions, but nothing truly concrete.

that is, until she gets a call in the middle of the night.

"katsuki..hello ?" she answers groggily, heaving a sigh and rubbing at her eyes. she checks next to her to make sure she hasn't woken her husband up, her eyes dart over to her digital clock " 'ts one in the morning."

"uh..hey." her son's gruff voice sounds over the phone, she raises a brow at his hesitant tone of voice, but she let's him continue "yeah, i know. sorry.." he mumbles out.

the older woman shakes her head affectionately "it's fine..is there something you wanted to talk about ?"

it's silent on the other end for a while until katsuki mumbles something. "katsuki, you know i can't hear you if you don't speak up." she scolds lightly, causing him to growl under his breath.

"not..not right now, no--just..can i come over tomorrow ?"

taking in her silence for hesitance he continues " it's nothin' bad..i just--feel like it's something i needa say face to face, i guess.."

"okay..yeah, of course. you know you can come over whenever you want." she urges "is yn comin' along ?"

"no, she isn't." she can practically hear his eye roll and it makes her smirk "she'll be busy tomorrow anyway so, not this time. i'll tell her you said hello though, since you're always tellin' me to."

she's about to retort when katsuki speaks again, only not to her. she hears what she knows is your voice quietly chatting with him as he reassures you that he'll be right there with you and for you to go back to bed. the soft tone in his voice makes her eyes soften.

never could she ever have imagined her katsuki ever speaking so softly to anyone, because her katsuki is, despite having calmed down over the years, still quite the brat. (she's pretty sure she knows where he gets it from now..) he's still temperamental when interviewers and journalists get on his nerves. he's still awfully moody , but he's different now. he's just a little bit gentler with the way he handles kids or older women who's cats have gotten stuck in trees. complaining that this isn't his damn job but still doing it anyway with utmost care as the kitties sink their sharp claws into his skin or cling to him for warmth.

he's a still a little rough around the edges but it's the thought that counts. he's different than when he was younger, but he still is the most different with you. his rough and gruff voice that he uses to bark out orders and complain, complain, complain, he uses so softly around you, keeping you as calm and sleepy as possible. it's not perfect, but he manages to usher you back to your room to sleep, and that makes the thought count so much more.

"m'gonna go now." he warns, his mother hums in agreement, telling him she'll see him tomorrow and he reciprocates the goodbye.

"night, ma."

"night, kiddo." she grins, a happy sigh leaving her when she hangs up the call and lays back down. cozying herself up next to her husband.

she's had her suspicions and her hopes for a while now, but she can't be too sure what her son could possibly want from her tomorrow.

katsuki comes back home like he's never left.

the day goes like any other day would've went a few years ago when he was still living in the family home. mitsuki almost expects her son to run off upstairs to do his homework.

he greets his dad with a half hug, and is forced into a tight embrace by his mother, which he grumbles about. grumbles turning into a growl when she grips his cheek, scolding him for not greeting his mother properly.

it's a lot of catching up from the few months he's been busy with hero work. talking about his latests achievements and his quick climbing of the hero ranks, accompanied with barely suppressed smiles and softened eyes when you're brought up. mitsuki remembers how nervous he'd been when he'd told her he was planning on asking you to move in with him, so she's happy to hear from the both of you, since she has your number and you like to catch up every now and then, that everything was going well. though she already knew it would.

katsuki volunteered to help with dinner, his mother happily agreeing saying she could use some help. it makes her a little bit nostalgic and she wills herself not to get teary eyed at how much her son has grown.

but she sees that the opportunity has presented itself to bring up the topic that's been on the tip of her tongue the entire day now.

"so.." she sings "you wanted to talk about something, right ?"

katsuki stiffens like he'd forgotten, although his expression stays the same besides the slight squint of his eyes. the rhythmic cutting of vegetables has stopped and it takes him a moment before he speaks quietly like he's revealing a secret.

"i wanna ask yn to marry me."

oh.

so that was it.

"oh." she breathes immediately. a broad smile slowly grows onto her face and she beams "took you long enough, ya brat !" she exclaims, slapping her sons muscular arm. he growls lowly at her, leaning away from her though she remains undeterred. poking at his sides while he tries to smack her hands away.

finally, she relents "when are you gonna ask ?" she asks excitedly. katsuki huffs, eyebrows still heavily furrowed from her earlier attack. he turns back to the cutting board "soon. i arranged my schedule and we'll both be free, so in two weeks from now."

"you already have a ring ?"

he grunts in agreement. and mitsuki besides being proud of the fact her hunch was right, feels her heart warms at the burst of nostalgia of her little boy. her katsuki, kicking his feet in the backseat of her car. tightly gripping his bag of ring pop candies he'd give to you the next day. her little katsuki, who'd proudly claimed he was going to marry you when he grew up in that very same car, exclaiming that he'd proposed to you with those very same candies he'd almost had a tantrum over her not getting.

her little boy, who'd gotten oh so big, and so, so much more enamoured with you.

"good." she utters sweetly, voice just a bit wobbly "good. that's great, katsuki."

he nods to himself " i've thought about it for a while now..long while." he scoffs to himself, eyes focused on the cutting board in front of him. "got the whole day planned out too."

"yeah ?" he nods. her eyes soften as he speaks mostly to himself, he's had this little self hype up habit ever since he was a boy. trying to calm himself down and reassure himself. it's a smart move, but as strong and mature as he is, katsuki is nothing more than human. and anxieties can creep up on the best of us.

she's seen it before, and she sees it again when he bites his bottom lip in thought, and she smiles softly.

and again, she coaxes him into it " that sounds nice, looks like you got it all planned out, huh?"

and he nods again. but it doesn't take him, long before he breaks.

"..what if she says no ?"

and mitsuki wants to laugh. she really does, because the thought of you ever saying no to him sounds absolutely ridiculous to her. she snorts. shaking her head while her son looks at her incredulously.

"katsuki.." she tuts, chuckling to herself before she looks up at him. "you've got absolutely nothing to worry about. you've got it."

his eyes widen, then her son's expression drops as he raises a brow "how do you know that ?" his words make her smile widen this much more and she really wants to laugh.

how does she know. she scoffs

she knows because she knows him. she knows her katsuki better than anyone else, he's her son. she knows he's rude, rowdy, quipy, temperamental and everything else. he's all of that and so much more.

and yet you still love him. you're still so incredibly patient with him, you still offer him all of your kindness despite him once confessing to her he doesn't understand how you do. despite all of the times he's messed up, the times he's fallen down, you stay by his side you care for him, you care about him.

she knows her katsuki is absolutely infatuated with you, he always has been. from tantrums about being separated in class and knowing your favourite ice cream flavour to him being overly protective over you when you were paired up with your lab partner that ended up not being him and to him wearing the stupid stuffy tux mitsuki tailor made for him to take you to prom.

you've always been his number one best friend, but he's always been yours as well : he loves you, but you love him just as much.

and so mitsuki smiles "call it mother's intuition. and, not to brag, but i think most of my hunches have been right by now" and it widens when katsuki scoffs and rolls his eyes at her boasting, another bratty little habit he has that he's practically mastered over the years. she sighs, spreading her arms out towards him "well come over here. you've gone and gotten so damn tall, i can't reach you myself !" her son rolls his eyes again, but he scoffs softly to himself and with a shake of his head, he closes the distance and hunches over to hug his mother. she wraps her arms around him tightly and he grumbles when she squeezes but he doesn't try to get away.

"there's nothing for you to worry about, katsuki. absolutely nothing." she repeats, rubbing his back. "you love each other, and that's more than enough. just be yourself, it's been working out for you this far..somehow." she jests. katsuki scoffs indignantly but they both end up chuckling about it. after a few more seconds they pull away and mitsuki pats her son's chest with a sniffle. right on top of his heart that she knows, she's seen, has gone through oh so much.

but still remained entirely yours throughout all the years and still so so so enamoured with you.

gripping onto his shoulders, she whispers "you got this." the glossiness in his eyes is impossible to miss, he's always cried very easily. but she guesses she mirrors his expression exactly. her son is the spitting image of her after all. she places a hand on his cheek and he leans into it.

"thanks, ma" he whispers sincerely. and mitsuki feels her heart soar.

"any time."

during dinner, katsuki announces the news to his father. who after getting over his shock immediately wraps his son into a hug. congratulating him and encouraging him with teary eyes, she knows where katsuki gets that from, before they all settle down to have dinner before katsuki leaves a few hours later. waving off his mother's insistence to pass you a greeting with a grumbled acknowledgement.

she shakes her head as her and her husband watch him drive off but her heart is full of pride.

"we raised a killer son didn't we ?" she giggles looking back at masaru, who agrees with a smile as they share a laugh.

and the next time you both come over, you're giddy. unable to keep your excitement in check as you keep excitedly looking back at katsuki, who finally relents with an affectionate sigh and you happily show off you're ringed finger with a squeal.

mitsuki squeals right back, wrapping you up in the tightest bear hug she could. masaru takes his turn hugging you, sweetly congratulating you both. of course, they'll tell you they both new in advance, but that was all for later.

sure, she didn't know what her son was planning in advance, but she had her hunches and her funny feeling from all those years ago that you'd be sticking around. she guesses it's good enough that she was the first to be told.

she sends her son a proud and teasing smile when they make eye contact. he rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face doesn't fade as he watches you talk with his father. she doesn't have to say a single word for him to know what she's saying.

i told you so.

taglist *if your name is pink i unfortunately couldn’t tag you :(( : @73isthebestnumber @gold24fish @m-inluv @katsuisbaby @teddiiursulas-ink @moonbabysstuff @brandydel @queenpiranhadon @chuugarettes @starieq @aishio14 @andysdrafts @hyunorue @touyasprettydoll @itsfiive @annoying-bitxh @h0nestly-though @atinytiredpanromantic @mikalame @itzjustj-1000 @deepressed @evam23 @erenstitanweave @m-0ona @chaoticgay13 @lotusstarr @koreluvsspring @giannitaa @waterstarz @nayeonsdoormat @the-crazy-star-12 @kovu-bunnbunn @kvk6433gkcigv @coolgirl458 @beekeepingageissome

[angelltheninth]

Arcane Characters Make Food for You

Pairing: Jinx, Vi, Caitlyn, Maddie, Ekko, Vander, Silco, Sevika, Viktor, Jayce, Mel x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, established relationship, domestic fluff, kissing, making food, teasing

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: I already wrote this on my old blog but now is a good time to re-write it.

Jinx knows how to cook pretty well, surprisingly enough. Or maybe not so surprisingly given how she's always the one making things and experimenting. However that also means she might make some really weird meals.

It's something you'll have to deal with if you're with her and might have to develop a strong stomach. She already has it because she grew up in Zaun and ate a lot of different things. For you she wouldn't recommend some of them yet and she will try her best to make something that you'll like. And she won't get too offended if you don't eat her cooking right away.

"I made ya some breakfast, ta-da! It's a little sticky but don't worry, eat your fill and I'll clean up the mess later. Don't look at it like that, it might not look pretty but I promise ya it's so good. I could eat this every day. I hope I'll get to eat it together it with ya every day, sugar."

Vi doesn't know how to cook because she never had the opportunity to learn. The first few dishes are bad, like really bad, almost burn the toast and eggs type of bad but Vi she isn't the kind of person to give up. She'll keep trying until she gets it right.

There have been times where she did burn things and she won't let you eat it since it's not right. She wants you to have the best of the best, even if she didn't. Might get a little distracted when you're in the kitchen with her so she prefers to cook by herself even if you're there with her. Regardless of how many times she gets it wrong she at least wants to learn to cook your favorite.

"Yes, this is burned toast but this time it's not my fault, it's yours. Well you're the one who walked in here looking all cute and distracted me. One kiss is all it takes if it's from you, sweet stuff. Sit down and let me do this right and if you do you'll get something sweeter than this."

Caitlyn knows how to cook really well. She did grow up with people doing the cooking for her however she was curious and wanted to learn how to do it on her own. She's a very hand-on learner, now she can use some of her skills to make you happy.

She gets up really early anyways so she might as well make breakfast for the both of you. The first time she brings you breakfast in bed she thinks your reaction is cute, the way you stare at her, eyes wide and drooling over the food. For her it's not odd to have breakfast in bed. And if you stick with her you'll get used to her pampering you. Be sure to tell her how the food tastes.

"Good morning, darling, I brought you something. See, I didn't just brag about my cooking skills, this is me showing you I can cook. Showing off? Suppose I am a little bit, it's not my fault you didn't really think I would bring you breakfast in bed."

Maddie can cook some dishes but she can cook them well. Her skills aren't anything impressive but they don't need to be because she can get take out too. But she is more than happy to share what ever she makes with you.

She falls back on take out more often than she would like to admit. However not when she invites you over to her place, then she will put her best foot forward. A lot of that is because she wants to impress you hard, but it also gets her to work on her skills either way she wins. She keeps looking at you very intently while you take that first bite. Thankfully she doesn't seem to do a bad job if your smile is anything to go by.

"I'm not weird for watching you eat, it's called being smitten, gorgeous. Anything you do is interesting to me, you know that by now. This isn't empty flattery. I already got you to eat my cooking, I don't need to butter you up at this point."

Ekko isn't the best cook out there, he will be completely honest with you. While he does know the basic things you can't really expect anything fancy. If anything he focuses more on the dish being filling than tasty.

The thing about him cooking for the two of you is that he can only do it on his free time, which isn't a lot. Therefore he wants to make it a bonding activity. A cute date of sorts, mostly in the late evening when the rest of work is done. Sometimes he will try to surprise you but its hard when his living space isn't that big and everyone knows everything in the Firelights. The gesture counts.

"There wasn't much time so it's pretty simple, but at least it's your favorite, Firefly. No, I actually finished the new project, I had extra time to kill. Please, don't thank me! It seemed only right for me to make you something after you cheered me up this morning."

Vander knows how to cook really, really well. He kids to raise, and he was on his own for a very long time, he had to become a good cook. Plus he makes awesome drinks, being a good cook was a bonus skill for him.

He's always the first one to wake up and start the day in the Last Drop and he always makes breakfast for everyone. Not just breakfast but every meal, his kids need to eat a lot, there's always a little left over for later. Even if he feels a little sleepy himself he at least wants to put something on the table. It's the dad instincts in him. And husband instincts, hopefully.

"Don't ya even think about sneaking up on me right now, darlin'. I've got a pan full of sizzling hot oil in my hand, I don't want it all over us. Hugs are fine, I always love ya being close to me, but keep your hands to yourself. We both know ya get handsy in the morning."

Silco didn't know how to cook before he adopted Jinx, since then he's had to learn. It wasn't easy but now he does know a lot and he can impress the woman he's dating. Now when you stay over you can expect good for for your date, and good food when you wake up.

When the dating gets more serious he lets you help him cook, but until then he pretty much does it on his own. Jinx will go nowhere near the kitchen alone, not after that one explosion. He does have a list of recipes that he makes the most. And a few that he made up. Sometimes ingredients are hard to come by so he needs to improvise.

"Pass me the flour would you, love? This time I will follow the recipe, yes, the last time there was a bit too much sugar in there. I know you liked it but it's not the healthiest thing now is it? Fine, call me a worried dad, I know you think it's attractive."

Sevika isn't able too cook that well, she never was, she always liked others cooking for her though. However when you tease her about it she takes it as a challenge. And you know damn well that she doesn't back down from a challenge.

Curses a lot when she messes up, though you can bet that she's not gonna let food be the thing that beats her. When you walk into the kitchen it's a mess which will take a while to clean up. But at least she managed to make the dish this time and it's quite good. For her hard work you give her a very passionate kiss and that just makes her wanna work harder. That's the best reward she can ask for.

"One kiss for at that work, doll? I think I earned myself a little more than that, maybe you on the table instead of all this food. Yeah, I know it's gonna get cold, you're right. Can't let all this hard work go to waste, but when we're done we have to work all that food off."

Viktor doesn't have as much time to cook as he could if he worked a bit less. Not that his skills are award worthy but he can make a few things, at least in his opinion. Give his cooking a chance.

When he was a student in the academy he had to learn how to make quick meals and that is where most of his strength is. Just very simple dishes but he knows how to make them well. There are times when he himself forgets to eat so he makes sure he gets a good meal when he can. If you're part of that that's even better. Having you eat his cooking makes cooking more fun.

"If you think cooking this is so easy then you make it will you, beautiful? Ah so now you like it, I see how it is. I'm just kidding, I love making food for you when I can. But if you want to make it yourself please let me do a taste test first. I promise to be brutally honest, just like you are with me."

Jayce has absolutely no skills in the kitchen unless you need him to fix or build things in there. He knows this too and will admit it right away. Trust him he is much better in science than in cooking food.

That being said he will join you in the kitchen when you cook. He takes an interest in it because the way you cook makes his mouth water. When he learns about what your favorite food is he wants to lean how to cook it. However he does this in secret because he wants to surprise you. Sure enough he's able to get the biggest smile out of you when he presents you with your favorite meal.

"I learned it secretly, all for you, babe. Well I am quite good with my hands and I enjoy working, that was just another excuse to learn. Of course I don't have an ulterior motive for it! But if I did... and if it was kissing... would you kiss me for doing a good job?"

Mel is actually an amazing cook and knows a ton of recipes. Including your favorites of course. Do you really think she'd invite you over and offer you nothing to eat?

It's been a long time since she had to cook for anyone but herself but she's not bad at it at all. She has high standards when it comes to good food specifically because she holds herself to high standards. It doesn't matter how simple or complicated the meal is. When she invites you over and offers to make you food you better believe you're eating good that night. Not strictly food either.

"Beloved, slow down a little, the food isn't going anywhere and neither am I. We have all night. Every time I make food I do so because I want to enjoy a good meal, and you should too. And please be careful, I don't want you to choke, on the food that is."

[fastandcarlos]

"Will You Be My Dad?" : ̗̀➛ Lewis Hamilton

summary: where your daughter wants lewis to take on a new role in her life

“Come on, time for bed,” you smiled, scooping your daughter up off of the ground. 

Amelia let go of a groan as she stood to her feet, looking across at you with a pout. You’d already let her stay up much later than you usually did, treating her seeing as Lewis had come around to visit, knowing how much she loved spending time with him. Lewis couldn’t help but smile as she huffed, calling out to you, begging for a few more minutes with the two of you. 

It still felt like a dream for you sometimes as you glanced at Lewis, watching as he picked up some of Amelia’s toys and placed them back into her toy box. She was never too far away from him, practically glued to his side whenever he spent any time with you both. 

Ever since you and Lewis had started dating, Amelia had relished in it. She was only young when you started dating, she didn’t really know life without Lewis in it, all she knew was that although he loved you, he wasn’t the man that she called dad, despite being the one to raise her. 

As Amelia continued to groan, Lewis quickly stepped in. He scooped her up and carried her into her bedroom, throwing her down onto her bed as she giggled away to himself. 

No matter what the situation, whenever you were struggling Lewis was there to step in. He saw Amelia as his own, he treated her as if she was. She was a part of the deal when it came to dating you, but rather than be an inconvenience, she was the greatest addition which made dating you even sweeter. 

“Are you staying here tonight?” Amelia whispered across to Lewis. 

“I think so,” he smiled, looking back to you to check. “That means I’ll be right here when you wake up in the morning, maybe we could eat breakfast together.” 

Her smile turned up as you nodded in agreement with Lewis. “Will you cook for us? You always cook us the best breakfast Lewis.” 

“I can do that,” he assured her, pressing a kiss against the top of her head. “Although I can’t promise that my cooking will be as good as mummy’s dinner was that she made tonight.” 

You slowly stepped towards the bed, perching down on the end of it. “Lewis can only stay if you promise to get some sleep, we can’t have a tired girl at the breakfast table tomorrow morning.” 

Amelia nodded as she sat herself up and cuddled into Lewis’ side. His arm immediately moved around her frame, pressing several kisses against the top of her head. Your smile was wide as you watched the two of them, wondering once again how you ever got so lucky with the two of them. 

“Maybe soon we can live so that we don’t have to have sleepovers,” Lewis spoke, taking you by surprise. “I’ve got a couple weeks off soon, and I was wondering about asking you and mummy what you thought about maybe coming to live in my house instead.” 

“In your house?” Your daughter, grinned, spinning out of his hold so that she was face to face with Lewis. “Would we stay in your house forever?” She quizzed, bouncing up and down as Lewis’ head nodded, his eyes glancing across at the surprise in your expression. 

It was a conversation that you’d never really had, and never expected to have so soon either, but Lewis’ mind was made up and he knew exactly what he wanted. 

He couldn’t imagine life without the two of you, he hated the feeling of returning home to an empty house. The feeling didn’t compare to the feeling he got when he walked through your front door, immediately showered with love and greeted by his two favourite people, filled with excitement. 

“You’d be able to come up with lots of plans and make your room exactly how you want it.” 

“With a big bed?” She grinned, “and loads of teddies in the room too?” 

Lewis nodded, wanting to give Amelia anything she wanted and more. He spoilt her rotten, one of the perks of not being her parent, even if it did leave him in trouble with you time after time. 

“Are you excited about us coming to live with you Lewis?” She asked him. 

“More so than you could ever imagine,” he whispered, reaching across and taking a hold of your hand. “You two have changed my life, I love being around the two of you, annoying your mummy and tickling you until you’re begging me to stop, that’s my favourite thing to do in the world.” 

Both of you wore wide smiles as Lewis spoke openly, letting you know exactly how big of a role you both had in his life. The sentiment didn’t quite mean as much to Amelia as it did you, your heart was full as he spoke, whilst she still daydreamed about the new, amazing bedroom she’d been promised. 

“If we live together, would we be a proper family? Like mum, dad, and me?” 

Neither you or Lewis knew what to say, looking at each other. Your heart raced, terrified as Lewis stared blankly across at you, not quite believing what he had heard from her either. 

“You do everything that a dad does,” Amelia spoke up, feeling the need to explain herself a little more. “You take care of me, and mummy. You take me to school, help me fix my toys when they break, give me cuddles when I’m having a nightmare.” 

“That’s because I love you sweetheart,” Lewis smiled across at her. 

“I know,” she smiled, “do you think...maybe...will you be my dad?” 

You were nervous for a moment, but luckily the corners of Lewis’ mouth soon turned up. He squeezed Amelia even tighter, scooping her up and sitting her in his lap, scattering a trail of kisses from the top of her head, down and all over her face. 

“I would love to be your dad, if that’s what you want,” he whispered. 

Her head nodded, pressing her palms together. “You’re the best daddy in the world,” she told him, already full of confidence that no one could do a better job than Lewis. 

“Sorry,” you whispered across to Lewis as you met his eyes, Amelia cuddling closer into his chest, “I had no idea she was going to ask you that, I’m sorry if you feel a little put on the spot.” 

“It’s alright, in fact, it’s better than alright,” Lewis quickly assured you, “it would be the biggest honour of my life, it makes us more of a family, doesn’t it?” 

You nodded in agreement as Lewis laid Amelia back down in bed again. “Did you mean what you said about moving in? You really want us to live with you? It’s not something you can just change your mind about.” 

“I’ve never been more confident about anything,” Lewis smiled, “I don’t want to have to sit around and wait to see you guys anymore, I want to see you every day.” 

You stretched across and pressed a kiss against Lewis’ cheek, “thank you for completing our family, I don’t know what we’d do without you.” 

“You’re an amazing mum, with or without me,” Lewis smiled. 

“And you’re an amazing dad too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗