#somehow I wrote much more than I intended to

[eh-whereismycat]

I feel like the fact that Felix is created from the emotion of jealousy explained his behaviour in his first episode to some extent, the way he impersonated Adrien out of jealousy, because Adrien has friends and crush (which he couldn't has neither of those until the death of Colt, stated in Representation, Colt's has the power to control Felix's feelings whenever he is attached to someone)

Yea, at this point of the plot we can all agree that Adrien is abused by Gabriel, but it was not this worse before Gabriel lose his fricking senses, poor parenting and madness asided, he "loved" Adrien when he obeyed him.

In Felix's eyes, even if he's obeying his father, Colt would just beat him up real bad, both mentally and possibly physically. But Adrien could live under a false impression of love and freedom, was able to express his feelings and bonding with his friends occasionally, NOT knowing the fear that his life is bonded with a fucking ring. BUT still, Adrien did not fight for his authority despite he has much more chance than him (Felix clearly doesn't know Adrien is Chat Noir).

Heck, of course he is jealous.

And while he is created from jealousy, Adrien is possibly created from a more loving and positive emotions, talking about identity crisis.

The core ingredient of his soul, the feeling that he is different from all the other humans, and the difference between him and Adrien, the only one kin he has before Kagami, he is filled with jealousy.

Regardless of all of these, he forms a similar understanding with the sweet boi Adrien about parenting and life.

During Pretension, Felix said "your duty is to protect them, love them, help them discover their own meaning to their existence."

During Representation, Adrien/Chat Noir yelled "that have a child is to help them blossom, to grow, to find themselves and to be free!"

As in S5 we see Felix is becoming more soft and sentimental towards his mother, duusu, also Kagami, and how Kagami is helping him to trust and works with Labybugs, this boi is growing up form his past, and I can see he is going to be filled with much more joyful emotions other than the jealousy that created him, I think we are all looking forward for these kids' future. They are breaking their parents' curse.

But still, please get them all into group therapy.

[fireinmoonshot]

death wish love | tyler owens x fem!reader

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader Summary: As members of rival storm chasing groups, you and Tyler Owens have hated each other since the start – well, you were supposed to. Little do you know, Tyler has been head over heels for you for months, and it's only when he nearly loses you that he realises he's done with pretending to hate you. Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood, tornadoes (of course), Tyler is actually painfully obvious with his crush but thinks he's not at all. Word Count: 6.7k (I don't know how that happened) A/N: I had this idea for a fic a few days ago and when I was listening to the Twisters soundtrack as I wrote, I realised that the song Death Wish Love fits it perfectly. I did not intend for this to be so long, but it somehow just happened. It's probably one of the longest things I've written on this blog, so I hope anyone that reads it really enjoys it. I had so much fun writing it and playing around in the Twisters universe! I will definitely be writing more for Tyler.

One of these days, Tyler Owens was going to get his shit together and ask you out. There were, however, several things in the way. The most pressing being the fact that your storm chasing groups were rivals and had been for years.

The fact that you hated his guts would be the second. 

He was unaware that you didn’t hate him quite as much as you made out to, though. It was just that you had a reputation to uphold. Being the unofficial leader of The Thunder Team, your friends and fellow storm chasers all expected you to dislike the Tornado Wranglers just as much as they did.

And you had – in the start. 

You were just beginning your PhD, fairly fresh in the world of storm chasing and the rivalry between your teams had been there from the very beginning. To your team, the Tornado Wranglers were nothing more than a bunch of stupid kids who didn’t even have the correct knowledge to be chasing these tornadoes.

To you, they had slowly become something of a wonder. You didn’t think it was necessary to have a PhD or education under your belt in order to storm chase. As long as you loved it, that was enough. And you never doubted the love that the Tornado Wranglers had for it. 

But still, the rivalry continued. It was always a competition. Who could get to the tornado first? Who could get closer? Who had better instincts when it came to choosing which one to chase? Who could get more attention on social media with their photos and videos?

The Tornado Wranglers had an advantage on that one.

That never stopped your team trying, though. Which is exactly what they’re doing as you walk towards them from where you’ve just parked your car. They’re all crowded around the van in the motel parking lot. Robbie, one of your closest friends, is filming Ally talking about something, probably regarding the EF1 tornado you’d chased today. 

You stop far enough away that you aren’t going to end up in the background of the video, and that’s when Tyler Owens sidles up beside you, arms crossed over his chest.

“Not interested in going viral?”

You glance up at him and notice he’s already looking at you with a cocky grin on his irritatingly handsome face. “No, figured I’d leave that to you and your team. Shoot any fireworks up a tornado today? I didn’t see you out there.”

“I didn’t realise you were looking.” 

There’s something strange in his tone of voice, but when you look at him again, there’s nothing in his face to give away the reason. 

“I wasn’t,” you huff. “It’s just that I see your giant red truck everywhere when I’m trying to get good photos of the tornadoes and it’s quite obvious when you’re not there.” 

Tyler smiles to himself. “Why don’t you come chasing with us one day, then? My truck won’t end up in your photos if you’re taking photos from inside it.”

You laugh. “That is the last thing I would want to do.” A lie. You’ve thought about it several times in the past.

“Sure, sure. You keep telling yourself that and one day you might actually believe it.”

You narrow your eyes at him but make no move to walk away from him. Your team are still filming and you’d rather stay away until they’re finished, even if it means standing with Tyler Owens until they are. 

“You guys gonna stop by the rodeo tomorrow night?” Tyler breaks the silence. 

You shrug your shoulders. “Depends on how tomorrow goes. You?”

He nods. “Yeah, we probably will, even if tomorrow doesn’t go to plan. You know my team. We love a night out.”

The weather tomorrow was predicted to be a good one for storm chasers – thunderstorms with heavy rain and likely a tornado as well, if the conditions were good enough. You were all hoping that they were. 

“My guys are less likely to go if they know your team is going, you know?” You look at Tyler, noticing the way that he’s watching your team, who are now laughing at something that Ally had said for the video. “We are still rivals.” 

“Did you think I needed a reminder?” He chuckles.

“Why? Am I being too nice to you?”

Tyler grins, one of those ones that makes you feel a little funny in your stomach. Like butterflies – but you don’t get butterflies from people you dislike. 

“Oh, darlin', you’re always a delight.”

You roll your eyes. “Want me to get you a shovel so you can start digging yourself a hole?” 

He holds up his hands in mock surrender and laughs. “Sorry, sorry,” he grins. “You wanna grab one for yourself so you can help me? I’d love the company.”

You open your mouth to reply about how much you’d love to help just as you catch Robbie’s eye. He’s quick to call out your name, beckoning you over, and you have no choice but to listen to him and leave Tyler. You’ve already stood here talking to him long enough and the last thing you want is your team thinking that you’re colluding with the Tornado Wranglers. 

“Gotta go,” you nod your head towards your group. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Tyler bids you good luck as well and watches as you head over towards your group, all of them eyeing him as you reach them. He tips his hat at Robbie, who is watching him with judging eyes, and turns on his heel, heading back to his own team to get a well needed beer.

—

When Tyler gets back to his team, he realises that they were all watching him. They all give him questioning looks as he grabs a beer out of the cooler. 

“What? I got something on my face?”

“Yeah, it sure is written all over your face,” Boone says.

Tyler frowns. “What is?”

“Oh, don’t try and lie to us, Ty,” Dani adds.

He shakes his head and takes a seat on one of the fold up chairs beside his truck. He’s smart enough to see what they’re getting at – the way he’d been there talking with you for so long. His friends are smart too. But hopefully not smart enough to see through the facade Tyler puts up to try and convince them that he still dislikes you. 

“Her, Ty? Really? She’s from the Thunder Team.” Boone stares Tyler down.

Tyler has no choice. “Okay, no,” he sighs and takes a long swig of his beer. “We were just talking, and I was just messing around with her.” He was also trying to get the courage to ask you to the rodeo, just the two of you, but he’d chickened out at the last second. “She definitely still hates us, judging by her reaction.”

Truth is, Tyler Owens has been harbouring a secret crush on you for the better part of a year now. It had snuck up on him. He’d hated you at first, thought you were just another stuck up storm chasing student, especially when he found out you were studying for your PhD. But after spending so much time around you, something had changed and all of a sudden, you had a hold over him that you didn’t even realise you had. 

It drives Tyler insane. 

The way he feels when he looks at you is definitely not the way he should be feeling about anyone, letalone the leader of a rival storm chasing team. But here he is. 

The passion he’d seen in your eyes when you’d been chasing storms. The way you talked about them in your captions on social media when you posted photos you’d taken. Even the way you made time to learn more about them through school while being on the road so often.

He was well aware that he was supposed to hate you. And yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to do it anymore.

“You sure that’s all it was?” 

“A hundred percent, Boone.”

He’s thankful when the conversation moves away from you and the Thunder Team. It lets him sit in his own thoughts for a few minutes until he’ll undoubtedly be brought back into the conversation for one reason or another. 

He’s unable to stop his eyes from drifting over to you and your team. You’ve taken a seat on the back of a truck, watching safely from behind the camera as Robbie films Ally again. He tries hard not to smile at the look on your face as you watch your friends, laughing along with the others. The last thing he needs right now is for one of his team to catch him grinning at you like an idiot, especially after convincing them that there’s nothing going on.  

He realises, then, that he’s already in way too deep.

—

The last thing you expect when you wake up the next morning is to find out that your team made a bet with the Tornado Wranglers when you had gone to bed. 

It’d been raining for most of the night, the ground covered in mud and puddles. The sky was dark and you could just feel that the conditions were perfect for a tornado. You had a good feeling that today would be the day.

Until you learnt about the bet.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you guys alone.”

Robbie laughs, nearly choking on the piece of bacon he’d been eating. You’ve all come to a nearby diner to fuel up on both food and gas for your cars before what was supposed to be a long day of storm chasing. You have a feeling that it won’t be now that the bet exists.

“Okay, technically it was their fault,” Ally offers.

“Explain.”

“So, we’d had a few drinks, and they had clearly also been drinking, and Harry and I were heading over to the bathrooms to clean up before going to bed – because dental hygiene is important!” Ally begins, forgetting all about her half eaten plate of food. “We were almost there when they called out to us – I forget their names. The blond guy and the one with the mustache, the cute one. Anyway, they suggested a bet. Whoever could hold their liquor the best gets to choose which direction the other team chases in today.”

You stare at Ally. “And you said yes.”

She winces, and then shovels a fork full of eggs into her mouth, nodding so she doesn’t have to give you a proper answer. 

Your team is usually quite well behaved. But even the best of people could get taken advantage of, and you’ve seen it many times first hand with the Tornado Wranglers.  They can hold their liquor very well and wake up the next day with very little consequences from doing so. You’re honestly surprised Ally is even functioning. Harry, on the other hand, you haven’t seen all morning. Unsurprisingly, your team had obviously lost.

“Which direction are we going, then?”

“That’s the catch,” Robbie interjects. “They choose for us before we go. They get to look at the radar first and decide which way is going to be best. And naturally, they’re going to send us in the direction far away from the best chance.” 

You groan and let your head fall into your hands, beginning to ponder your options. You can either deal with the bet and get sent in the entirely wrong direction, or…

Without a second thought, you’re pushing yourself up from the table and heading towards the door of the diner.

“Where are you going!?” Robbie calls after you.

“I’m going to fix this mess!” 

—

Tyler greets you with a smile that is way too cheerful for both the time of the morning that it is and the situation.

“To what do I owe the pleasure on this fine morning, darlin'?” He asks, leaning up against his truck. He’s holding a coffee in one hand. Good to know he’s human. You’re not surprised that he doesn’t look hungover at all. The man practically resembles a God. 

“Wouldn’t call it a pleasure, honey,” you sigh, deciding to use a nickname just like he always uses for you. You cross your arms over your chest as you stop in front of him. “This bet you made with my team last night. I want it called off.”

Tyler’s breath catches in his throat at the sound of the word honey coming out of your mouth, directed at him. He clears his throat, trying to ignore the way it feels to hear you calling him that. “No can do, I’m afraid. We Tornado Wranglers don’t back down on bets.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “I’m asking nicely.”

“I think you can ask a little nicer. Maybe throw a please in there,” he says. “You know it wouldn’t look good for your team, though, right? Half the other teams know about the bet.”

For a few moments, you simply just stare at him, hoping he’ll budge. He doesn’t. He stands there staring at you, too, leaning against his truck in an effortlessly attractive way, smiling at you in that same way he always does. It’s like he reserves this specific smile just for you. 

You take a step towards him, testing the waters, and notice the way his breath hitches this time at your close proximity. Did he dislike you that much that you getting this close to him set him on edge? Or was it something else?

“Nothing can change your mind?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I already told you. We don’t back down on our bets.”

“Tyler.” It’s a rare occasion where you call him by his first name, but you figure it can’t hurt to try it. You can see his eyes soften a little at the sound of it. “If you do this, you’re going to send us right off the trail and ruin our chase.”

“Who said I’d send you in the wrong direction?” 

“I’m smarter than you give me credit for.”

“I don’t know, darlin'. I give you a fair bit of credit for being a genius,” he took a sip of his coffee. “You’re the one with the PhD. I didn’t study that much.”

Something about hearing those words sets off that feeling inside your stomach again. You push it down. “I don’t have my PhD yet.”

“No,” Tyler shakes his head. “But you’re close, aren’t you? That’s more than most people around here can say regarding their education on these things.” He points a finger towards the sky, which is rapidly darkening. 

You sigh. He’s right about that. You are close to finishing your PhD, and not many of the other storm chasers around you could say the same. 

“Just tell me which direction we’re going in, Owens.”

He looks at you for a moment. “I’ll give you a choice,” he says, and for a moment hope sparks in your chest that you’ll get to choose your direction – until he continues speaking. “I’ll let this bet go if you make another one with me.”

“What sort of bet?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“Not regarding our teams. Just you and me.”

You’re about to respond when you hear the sound of the van, playing music rather loudly – Harry’s choice – pulling into the motel parking lot behind you. You sigh and turn around to look at them, irritated that this is the second time in less than 24 hours that they’ve interrupted you and Tyler. 

“No luck?” Ally calls out from the passenger seat. 

Behind them, Robbie pulls up in his truck. 

You shake your head and turn back around to face Tyler. There’s no time to make another bet with him now that your team is here and they’re all ready to go. 

“East or west, Owens?”

Tyler turns around and looks at the sky around you. You figure he’s already done his research on the conditions in every direction and that he’s just messing with you, pretending to decide on the spot. Any good storm chaser would have been watching the radars all morning – which you had been, before you found out about the bet. 

“East.” He says, turning back around to face you. “There are two possible formations, so let’s see which one develops. Or, you can ditch your team and come join us for the day. My passenger seat practically has your name on it, darlin’.” 

A small part of you finds yourself wanting to say yes to him. To tell him that you’d love nothing more than to get in his truck and see what a day with the Tornado Wranglers is like. But the reasonable part of you wins out. 

“You’re going to regret making this bet with my team, Owens,” you take a step back from him, giving him his space again. 

“I gave you the choice of another option, but you didn’t take it.”

You ignore him and turn around, heading towards the passenger side of Robbie’s truck – your usual spot when storm chasing. Tyler laughs at your reaction and then gets into his own truck before pressing his hand to the horn, making you jump at the sound, obviously using it to call his team from inside. You shoot him a look over your shoulder and in return, he sends a wink your way.

“May the best team win,” Tyler flashes a grin.

“Oh, we will!”

—

As much as Tyler hates to admit it, he had sent you in the wrong direction. There were two possible formations, that was true. But it looked very clear that the one to the east wasn’t actually going to develop into anything, and he was sure you would’ve figured that out once you got on the road and actually checked the conditions yourself.

He hates disappointing you. He saw the look on your face as you tried to convince him to call off the bet, the way you wanted to make sure today was a good one for your team. But it isn’t entirely out of competition that he sent you in the wrong direction.

Subconsciously, he did it to try and keep you safe.

If you’re out of the way of the tornado, then it’s a weight off of Tyler’s chest. He wouldn’t admit that to his team, but it felt good to think about himself. That you’d be safe. Besides, he had tried to get you out of it by making another bet with you, but he knew that you wouldn’t humour him the second he saw your team arrive. 

He presses his foot down on the accelerator, watching the clouds ahead of them. Something is going to form. He knows it. He just hopes it’s a good one, something worth chasing. 

In the passenger seat, Boone is keeping a good eye on the clouds to the east. He’s filming as well, live streaming as usual. 

“You were right, Ty,” Boone says, pointing the camera out the window towards the east. “That one’s gonna give us nothing. It’s already disappearing.”

Tyler lets out a breath of relief. You’re out of harms way and even though he knows you’d be annoyed at him if you ever found out, he can’t seem to find it in himself to feel bad about the fact. He had felt bad about the bet when you’d been talking to him, but now he realises that keeping the bet was a good idea.

“This one’s gonna be a good one, I can feel it,” he says, eyeing the clouds above them. 

Then, it happens – the tornado forms right in front of them. It’s already huge, bigger than any tornado Tyler has seen in the past few months.

Boone whoops in the seat beside him, moving the camera to film the tornado through the windshield. 

“Just look at that beauty!” He exclaims. 

Tyler can’t keep the smile off of his face as they drive closer to it. He stops the car once they get close enough, anchoring it to the ground as usual, watching as it gets closer and closer to the truck. 

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Tyler yells, straight to the camera that Boone is holding in his face. “Let’s do this!”

It’s only a split second later that his heart drops to his stomach. He watches as the tornado, once coming right towards them, veers off course. It’s heading east. And it’s growing in size. 

He looks out of the passenger window and in the distance, he can see your truck. It’s white, so bright under the dark sky. You’re going to be right in its path.

He sent you in the wrong direction to try and get you out of harms way, and instead he’s sent you in the exact direction the tornado is heading. There’s no way you can get out of its path in time. 

Tyler suddenly feels like he can barely breathe.

“Turn the camera off, Boone,” he commands, and then he’s removing the anchors from the ground and pressing his foot down onto the accelerator before he can even really think about it, even though there’s no way he can reach you in time with how quickly the tornado is moving towards you.

Boone, thankfully, listens, ending the stream, putting the camera down and picking up the radio to try and reach you. He’s realised what’s happening. Tyler tries to ignore the panic he feels when there’s no answer.

He can’t lose you like this. Not now. Not when he never really even had you. Not when you didn’t even know the way he felt about you. He’d been an asshole, a fool, making that bet. If he hadn’t, none of this would have happened.

“Please be okay, please be okay.” He mutters it under his breath like it’s a mantra. He doesn’t care what Boone thinks. If he says it enough, maybe he can make it come true.

—

You’ve seen tornadoes before. You’ve been close to them before. But you’ve never had one quite this size coming straight at you. You hadn’t expected this. 

When Tyler sent you east, Robbie had checked the radar and noticed that the cells out here were much less likely to form a tornado compared to the ones west. You’d gone anyway, figuring you’d try your chances, leaving Ally, Harry and the rest of your team a little further back, trying to get as close as you could before you realised your tornado was going to amount to nothing at all.

You and Robbie had been watching the tornado forming west of you, wishing you had been able to chase that one rather than do what the Tornado Wranglers told you. 

And then, it changed course.

“Get out of the car! We need to run!” Robbie undoes his seatbelt as he speaks and it doesn’t take you long to follow suit, undoing your own and jumping out of the truck.

He takes off at a run ahead of you just as the rain begins.

Your heart is beating faster in your chest than you think it ever has before. Your legs burn at the pace you’re running, your feet sinking into and skidding through the muddy paddock thanks to the heavy rain last night and the rain growing even heavier now. It slows you down, but your adrenaline pushes you faster. You can’t stop, not now. Not when there’s a possible EF4 on your tail, getting closer to you with every breath you take.

You make a mistake, then, deciding to look back at it. 

The sight of it only makes you run faster, but when you turn back, fear strikes through your system as you realise you can’t see Robbie anymore. 

The wind isn’t strong enough to have pulled him back into it, not when he was running ahead of you, but you can’t help but think of the worst possible scenario as your gaze narrows in on a gully just ahead of you. Maybe he made it there before you and now he’s just waiting.

The wind from the tornado picks up trees and branches and other debris, sending things spinning through the air. You feel something slice across your leg and cry out at the sudden pain, but there’s no time to inspect the damage as you slide down the small hill into the gully, the mud going everywhere as you hit the bottom. 

You don’t even have time to scan for Robbie as you press yourself down onto the ground of the gully, covering your head with your hands and pressing your face into the ground. You try to ignore the feeling of the mud and dirt on your skin, the throbbing pain in your leg, the rain pelting down on your back, soaking you to the bone, and try to keep breathing steadily despite being out of breath from the run and the adrenaline. 

You can’t panic now. If you panic now, you’re dead. 

The tornado gets closer and you can hear it. Hear the wind rushing through the air, hear the sound of trees being ripped out of the ground. Hear the crashing sound of the truck being picked up and thrown by it. 

Everything is okay,  you tell yourself, like a mantra. Everything is going to be okay. Because if you tell yourself enough, maybe it will come true.

—

By the time Tyler gets to the place where your truck had been, the tornado is gone and so is your truck. He barely even has time to put his own truck into park before he’s jumping out of it and calling your name. 

Boone is quick to follow him.

Tyler’s eyes narrow in on something in the distance – the remnants of your truck. It’s sitting upside down, the cab crushed in and all the glass broken. Even some of the wheels are missing. His heart almost stops.

No, you would have been smart enough to get out. You wouldn’t have stayed in the truck. He knows that. He believes that. It was one of the first things any storm chaser learnt – never stay in your car, it’s better to take your chances outside of it.

He stops in the middle of the field and takes a long, deep breath to try and calm himself down when he hears the sound of someone yelling out.

“Hey, I need some help over here!”

It’s a male voice, not belonging to you, which is the first sign that makes Tyler realise something is wrong. He recognises Robbie immediately, even though he’s drenched in rain and covered in mud and blood.

Boone runs off towards him and Tyler follows.

“Where is she?” He cuts in as Boone begins asking Robbie where he’s been hurt. “Were you with her? Where is she?” 

He knows he’s being a little irrational. He should be kinder, especially when he’s the reason Robbie was even in this tornado in the first place, but his mind is narrowed in on you, on making sure you’re okay. He’s never been more terrified that he’s lost you in his life.

“I don’t know,” Robbie shakes his head. “She was behind me, and then I jumped down into this little dam and she never came in after me.” 

Tyler doesn’t let him say anything else before he takes off running. He knows Boone can handle Robbie. His only concern is finding you. He calls out your name again and again and again, willing you to respond to just one of them.

He only hears silence.

—

The second you wake up, you push yourself up, getting your face out of the mud and opening your eyes, trying to adjust them to the sudden brightness now that the tornado has disappeared. 

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of someone calling out your name, but it sounds fuzzy, far away. Your head is spinning and you’re pretty sure you could be imagining it.

You put a hand up to the side of your face, feeling the sticky sensation of blood on your hands. Something must have hit your head and knocked you out during the tornado. You can only remember something hitting your leg as you’d slid down into the gully. How long have you been lying here? Minutes? Hours? Days, even?

Looking around, you can see the devastation caused by the tornado. There are trees and branches everywhere, and with the rain, it’s made it even muddier – and probably impossible to climb out of, especially with your injuries. You finally allow yourself to inspect your leg, noticing a deep cut across your shin, ripping your jeans. Your leg starts to throb as you finally allow yourself to recognise the pain. 

With a deep breath, you try and push yourself to your feet. It’s slippery down here thanks to all the mud and rain, and you manage to stand for just a second before your leg buckles and sends you crashing back down. At least it’s a fairly soft landing.

You curse under your breath just as you hear movement above you. Your eyes flicker towards the direction of the sound, and when you see Tyler Owens appear at the edge of the gully just to the right of you, you nearly feel like you could cry.

“Tyler!” You manage to call out to him, though your voice is weak.

His head spins towards your voice, eyes widening as he sees you. You must look like a mess, covered in all the blood and dirt, but you knows he doesn’t care. Especially with the way he slides down into the gully and stumbles towards you, getting covered in mud himself in the process.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He falls to his knees in front of you, his hands moving to cup your cheeks and move your head from side to side. He’s quick to check the wound on your head where the blood is coming from. “You’re okay, darlin’, it doesn’t look too deep.”

You can see the panic in his eyes as he scans you, scans your whole body looking for injuries. You can also tell from the look on his face when he looks at your shin that your injury there is worrisome. 

“It’s my fault,” Tyler shakes his head, refusing to move his hands from your cheeks. It’s as if you’ll fade away if he lets go. “I shouldn’t have told you to go east. I was just trying to get you out of the way of the tornado cause I felt that yours wasn’t gonna develop, but then ours changed course and it was heading straight towards you and I couldn’t get here fast enough and god, the idea of losing you, of never seeing you again, of never asking–”

“Tyler!” 

He stops talking, having not even realised that he had let the situation get the better of him and had been rambling on. When he meets your eyes, you’re shocked to see that there are tears in his. 

“You never call me by my first name.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to get your attention if I didn’t.”

Your reach up and take one of his hands off of your face and weave your fingers between his. You don’t really know what you’re doing, exactly, but all you know is you need to comfort him. That and you’re shaking like a leaf and the feeling of holding his hand is like an anchor to the world. A reminder that you’re alive. 

“I’m still here, Tyler. I’m all right.”

“You’re not,” he shakes his head. “You’re hurt, and it’s because of me–”

You take him by surprise as you reach up and place your own hand on his cheek. It’s only when you touch his face that you remember your hand is covered in blood and mud, but when you try and take it away, Tyler places his hand over the top of it. His eyes flutter closed and he lets out a long breath that feels to you that it’s something like relief.

The two of you stay there like that for what feels like an eternity but is really just a few minutes, soaking in the feeling of each others skin and coming to terms with the realisation that you’re alive. 

“It’s not your fault, Tyler,” you mutter softly. “You couldn’t have known that tornado was going to change course and head straight for us. Just because that bet ended up landing us in the path of a probable EF4 doesn’t mean you’re the one to blame for it. I don’t blame you.”

He blinks his eyes open and stares at yours for a moment. 

“Now, what were you saying about asking me something?” You try to change the subject.

There’s a look of something in Tyler’s eyes that you can’t quite place, but it drops off of his face instantly at your words and he lets out an awkward laugh. “I don’t think now’s the right time, darlin’,” he says. “Some other time, when you’re not bleeding and injured. We need to get you out of here and to a hospital.”

You shake your head, ignoring the fact that the movement makes you a little dizzy. “I could have just died and I would have never known what it is you wanted to ask me. So I want to know what it is right now.” You’re surprised at how strong your voice sounds, even though you don’t feel strong at all right now.

Tyler sighs and you can see by the look on his face that he’s giving in to you. “I was trying to get the courage to ask you out, was trying last night actually but I chickened out. You can be quite intimidating sometimes, you know that?”

For a moment, you just stare at Tyler. 

“I thought I was the one who hit my head. Did you hit yours too?”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Something like that.”

“You need another reminder that we’re supposed to hate each other?”

Tyler shakes his head. “I think I’ve had enough reminders to last me a lifetime. But I’m done with pretending to hate you. With trying to convince my team that I dislike you so much. I know they know the truth. It doesn’t matter, even though you can’t stand me.” 

You meet Tyler’s eyes and in them, you can see that he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t hate you, nor dislike you, nor anything similar. With the way he’s looking at you, the way he was calling your name, the way he panicked so much when he thought you were seriously hurt… he really was trying to ask you out. Just the thought of it makes that feeling rise in your stomach again, and for the first time you recognise the feeling for what it truly is – butterflies. You don’t get butterflies from people you hate.

“I don’t hate you, Tyler.”

You can see the surprise flash across his eyes.

“You don’t hate me?”

“You annoy the hell out of me and you drive me insane sometimes. But no. You fascinate me, and you make me laugh, and even though every member of my team hates you and your stupid red truck, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be in the passenger seat with you, driving head first into a tornado, and I nearly said yes when you asked me earlier.”

Tyler chuckles. “My truck is not stupid.”

“Does your passenger seat really have my name on it?”

“Embroidered it myself.”

You laugh, then, a real, full laugh, and Tyler can’t help but laugh as well at the absurdity of the situation. You’ve just survived a devastating tornado, you’re injured in more ways than one, Tyler Owens has just told you he likes you and you’ve come to the realisation that you like the fact that he does. And maybe, you like him a little bit too.

“We’re not gonna make it to that rodeo tonight, are we?” You ask, once the laughs subside.

Tyler shakes his head. “Rain check for the next one?”

“That’s how you’re asking me out?”

He doesn’t get a chance to reply before you both hear your names being called and look up just as Boone and Robbie appear at the top of the gully. Tyler turns around to look at them. They look relieved to have found you both, and you feel just as relieved to see that Robbie is alive and well, only a little battered just like you are. Even if you’re a little disappointed that your moment with Tyler was interrupted. It seems that happens more often than not lately.

“Is she okay?” Boone asks Tyler.

He nods. “Yeah, but she’s injured. We’re gonna need a hand out of here.”

“We got you,” Boone says.

��

“So, when are you asking me out properly, Owens?” You ask.

It’s been a week since the tornado and a week since you found out that Tyler Owens had been wanting to ask you out for months. Boone had stayed true to his word that day, using a rope and Tyler’s truck to pull you both up out of the gully.

Tyler had barely left your side since – even in the truck ride to the hospital. He usually hated letting anyone drive his truck other than himself, but that day he’d thrown the keys to Boone so he didn’t have to take any of his attention off of you. He’d stayed with you in the hospital as well, even when the rest of your team turned up to check on you and Robbie.

You were surprised at how quickly your teams had dropped their rivalry after the tornado. They’d clearly seen the way you and Tyler acted around each other, how things had changed after the tornado, even though both of you refused to give them details on what had happened when Tyler had found you in the gully. 

It was something both of you were glad for.

“You can’t just ask me that,” Tyler says, kicking his legs up on the desk in the small motel room. Luckily, he’d taken off his muddy boots when he’d come inside to check on you. He had insisted you go back home to recover from your leg injury, but you’d refused. 

“I can’t?” You ask from your spot on the bed, resting your leg up on some pillows. It had luckily not been too bad of an injury, just a reasonably deep cut that needed stitching and wrapping. You still had to be careful not to rip the stitches, which meant no storm chasing and only resting for the time being. 

Tyler nods. “You made me admit the truth to you while we were both covered in mud and blood in the bottom of a wet, muddy gully. I’m not going to ask you out while you’re sitting on a motel room bed with an injured leg and stitches in your forehead. I’m classier than that.”

You snort. “You, classy?”

“From time to time,” he shrugs a shoulder.

You jokingly roll your eyes at him. “I’ll believe it when I see it. You know, you never actually explained what the other bet you wanted to make with me that day was. Was that something to do with asking me out as well?”

Tyler’s face broke out into a grin. “Maybe.”

“Of course,” you can’t help but laugh at the silly look on his face. “Are you at least going to ask me before I get swept up in another tornado?”

“Darlin’,” Tyler stands up and crosses the room until he’s standing right beside you. One of his hands reaches down and picks up yours, weaving his fingers in-between yours. “If you get swept up in a tornado, I’m going to be right beside you. I’m gonna be beside you for as long as you let me. For as long as I get. As long as I get, okay?”

He repeats it like a mantra. Because if he says it enough, he’s certain it will come true.

[sylusxyou]

Anything For You | LaDS Sylus x Reader Fic

Summary: Sylus is known by most to be dangerous and threatening. You are the exception. When you call him in need, there is nothing that will keep him from coming to you. Even if he’s in the middle of teaching an ambitious group of criminals a lesson.

Pairing: Sylus x Reader (MC or non-MC, whatever floats your boat I think) 

Content: Lovesick Sylus, just plain sick reader, purely fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: This is 100% inspired by THIS PIECE by @heartswithinreach. I read it and could not get it out of mind. Go like and reblog! Wrote this while I’ve been home sick from work. Still getting back into practice with writing. I kinda love the beginning of this but feel it falls apart a bit at the end. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!! Now back to writing the Sylus yachting fic…. 

When the sky was black with the cover of midnight, the N109 Zone came alive. It was a breeding ground for criminals and their unsavory dealings and any ordinary citizen would tell you to avoid entering it at all costs. Of course, there were one or two things about the N109 Zone that kept you crossing the line from regular civilization to lawless land again and again. 

The leader of Onychinus was almost more myth than real man. Somehow everywhere and nowhere all at once, nothing in the N109 Zone happened that Sylus wasn’t privy to. The most successful deviants in the N109 Zone were the ones that accepted their place below Sylus and dared not challenge him. It was inevitable though, that some would seek to rise above him. Greed was powerful and often stripped people of their senses. It wouldn’t take long for some to be consumed by it and forget the failure of those who tried before them. 

This evening Sylus found himself dealing with one such forgetful crime syndicate. These ambitious groups were little more than a nuisance to him. Most of the time he would avoid dealing with them directly. He trusted Luke and Kieran to do much of the dirty work and often these groups would take care of themselves, fighting each other to the point of no return. This group, however, had amassed too much wealth and too many followers. This one required Sylus’ personal touch. 

Intel indicated an ambush planned for an auction taking place on this night. Sylus had originally planned to send Luke and Kieran to buy out the inventory. It was meant to be a show of wealth more than anything but when he learned of the ambush it became a show of power. He couldn’t allow anyone to steal from him even what he intended to be his. 

That is how Sylus found himself on the roof of an auction house, lazily dodging bullets and fists as man after man desperately tried to land a blow on him. Perhaps one day the people he fought would present a challenge for him but today was not that day. At this point Sylus was simply delaying the inevitable, prolonging the fight to make coming out here worth his time. As he found himself particularly amused by one individual that continued to charge at him no matter how many times he was knocked to the ground, Sylus’ phone rang in his pocket. The ringtone was distinct and indicated the person calling was the one person Sylus would drop everything for: you. 

As Sylus sidestepped a punch he pulled his phone out of his pocket, “Kitten, this is a surprise. What’s got you calling me so late?” 

The men surrounding him paused a moment and glanced at each other. Their faces seemed to say, ’Kitten?’. Surely they heard him wrong. The softness in his voice was something none of them had heard before and directly contradicted the violent and corrupt man they knew him to be. 

On the other side of the phone you laid in your bed, head pounding and face burning up. After a long day at work you had come home and fallen asleep immediately. As soon as you woke up you knew sickness had overtaken you. You weren’t entirely surprised. This week had been particularly strenuous and each night was more sleepless than the last. Unfortunately, because the week had been so busy, you hadn’t had time to restock your refrigerator. Your stomach ached from hunger and it was too late to get a delivery driver to pick something up for you. It was an easy decision to make, calling Sylus, as he had been pressing you more and more to rely on him. It didn’t come naturally to you but you knew how you felt when he relied on you. Certainly you could allow him that same warm feeling by expressing that you needed him every now and then. 

You heard distant grunting through the speaker on your phone, “Sylus, what was that? Is everything okay?” 

Your voice came out weaker than intended and Sylus noticed immediately, “I’m fine, but forget about me. What’s wrong? You don’t sound very good, sweetie.” Suddenly any entertainment he was getting from humoring the ambitious criminals surrounding him ran dry. You were the only thing on his mind. His evol stretched out to wrap around each individual on the roof, holding them all in place. Despite their struggling, none could break free. 

“Are you sick?” 

A short cough escaped your lips, “It would seem so. I didn’t have time to get groceries this week and I fell asleep before I could order dinner tonight. I was calling to see if you could get me some soup but if you’re in the middle of something don’t worry about it.” 

Sylus couldn’t help but chuckle at your attempt to ask for help. Even when you were sick and hungry you didn’t want to be a bother. “Kitten,” he moved towards one of the men trapped in his evol, “there’s nothing I could be doing that’s more important than taking care of you.” The men exchanged looks of disbelief around Sylus once again. What woman would be demented enough to put their care in this monster’s hands? 

What they didn’t know is that your heart squeezed at his words. To them he was a monster but to you he was a dark angel. His hands were certainly dirty but he was mostly misunderstood. You saw a side of him unknown to others. It was a side that was gentle and adoring, a side that you treasured above all else. Though you felt bad asking him to drop what he was doing to come to you, you knew Sylus wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t really mean it. This was a chance to let yourself be loved, something you didn’t do too often. 

“Okay,” you squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to push out the unnecessary guilt you felt for being a burden, “if you mean that, I could really use some soup. Maybe a hug too.” 

Sylus grinned, another move that unnerved the men waiting for him to decide their fates. It wasn’t the grin of a villain reveling in the fear on his prey’s faces. It was a soft grin that made him seem in love. Onichynus’ legendary leader was known to be many things but in love was not one of them. 

“I think I can get you both of those things. You must be feeling really ill if you’re asking me for help and affection.” 

This made you blush, “Well, I’m trying to rely on you more. You know, like you asked me to?” 

“That’s good, kitten. It makes me feel good when you lean on me.” Sylus’ focus shifted on the man in front of him, his expression going from soft and loving to intense and determined, “I just need to wrap up what I’m in the middle of and I’ll come to you. It shouldn’t take me too long so try not to fall back asleep before I get there, okay?” 

“Okay, and thank you, Sylus.” 

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” 

With that Sylus ended the call and placed his phone back in his pocket. In front of him the man choked out a laugh, his throat constricted by the tendrils of Sylus’ evol. Sylus raised an eyebrow, “And what could you possibly be laughing at in your position?” 

Despite his fear the man managed to form a reply, “I just can’t believe the fearsome leader of Onychinus is the type of man who would be at the beck and call of some bitch.” Around him the other men groaned, aware that he could not have chosen a worse string of words than that. 

“I’m not surprised,” Sylus’ evol pulled tighter around the man, slowly closing his airway, “that a rat such as yourself would find it emasculating to take care of a woman.” Now his evol pulled every man in its grasp towards him, “One minute of her company is worth more than all of your lives combined. Luckily for any woman unfortunate enough to encounter you, I’m planning on eradicating you from the living world. Any last words?” 

Simultaneously the men began shouting pleas for their lives, apologizing for their botched ambush attempt and their colleague’s ignorant words. Sylus pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by the noise, “How pathetic and uninspired.” He turned and began to walk away from the men towards the edge of the roof, “Thank you for the temporary distraction. I’m off to much better company.” With that his evol burst with power, destroying the men in its grasp. It only took a moment for Sylus to return to his home, his encounter with the sorry excuses for criminals already forgotten. The only thing on his mind now was what soup would make you feel better and how he couldn’t wait to hold you in his arms.

[xingumi]

jasmine (megumi fushiguro x reader)

“you can’t, okay? not with him. not with anyone else. just me now.” 

tags: sfw, fluff, crush confession, possessive megumi, jealous megumi, friends to lovers, itadori is also there, nobara is also there, megumi can’t be honest with himself

notes: first fic!! also posted on my ao3, my writing requests are open :3 i wrote this for my friend and maybe some1 else will like too... art by @pantarheio8

----

megumi makes every effort to be a perfect gentleman. he holds your bags on shopping trips, picks up the lunch bill, and pulls his punches while sparring with you during training. his gestures are always perfectly measured, showing slight softness but keeping him at a safe, respectable distance. mostly because he didn’t like what it would mean for him if he let himself get any closer. 

his self control was a fragile thing, fraying at the edges when you spared a glance for anyone else. there is a limit to how far his friendly courtesy goes; his greed speaks to him stronger than his restraint, whispering insidious little thoughts– should be mine… 

he only recently came to the shameful realization of just how much he likes you. it didn’t happen all at once, it was slower. quieter, like a stray thread of his heart snagging and unraveling before he could stop it. he caught himself looking at you for a moment longer than necessary and he noticed the way his chest felt too tight when you smiled at him. it pained him how badly he wanted to monopolize your attention and how easily you monopolized his.

by the time he understood what it meant, it was already too late. megumi fushiguro had fallen in love with you. and somehow, that was the last thing he had ever wanted.

he cared too much about you to say something to you, to be freed from his silent yearning and to love you the way you were intended to be loved. he couldn’t throw away your friendship for feelings that he himself didn’t understand.

so he kept his hands in his pockets when he wanted to reach for yours. he looked away when you leaned in too close. he bit his tongue when the words hovering on the edge of his lips weren’t the ones a friend should say.

still, he hated the bitterness that came from being kept from his heart’s desire.

the proof is in the muscles in his face that twitch and flash a disapproving frown at the sight of itadori laxly throwing his arm around you. it bothered him how easily yuji touched you like it was nothing at all. it bothered him more that you seem to lean into the “friendly” gesture. he tries to explode itadori’s arm with his mind, unavailingly.

“on saturday, we can spend the whole day in tokyo, girls trip, no boys!” nobara exclaims like an eager grade schooler, linking her arm through yours and yanking you from itadori’s grasp. while thankful for that, a small wrinkle forms between megumi’s tightly knit brows. it doesn’t seem fair that she gets to lay claim to your time in a way that he couldn’t without blowing his cover. even nobara isn’t safe from megumi’s possessiveness. he sighs and turns a page in the book he’s pretending to read. 

you free yourself from being sandwiched between your two friends, standing abruptly from the couch. 

“i’d love to, bara, but i’m training with fushiguro that day.” you say apologetically, turning on your heels and planting yourself in the seat next to megumi.

hearing his name is bittersweet. he wishes you wouldn’t be so formal, but he loves hearing you say his name. in the quietest hours of the night, he imagines the sound of your voice ringing in his ear, calling his name over and over again. 

“whaatt? is this true?” nobara demands, narrowing her eyes at megumi. her voice snaps him back to reality and he replies without looking up. 

“she skipped last week. it’s only fair.” he remembers that you were markedly missing that day. your absence didn’t go unnoticed as you’d hoped it would. 

nobara huffs, defeated. “oh yeah, AND we missed human earthworm 4 because you saw it last saturday with yuji!”

megumi’s whole body stiffens. the room feels a little smaller and his breath suddenly feels uncomfortable in his throat. 

is that where she disappeared to? a whole day with him? why not anyone else? did they…  were they just hanging out? why didn’t she tell me? i’ve known her for longer than he has, so why would it be him?

megumi is quiet for a long minute. his white knuckles grip the book in his hand that he’s been using as a prop. his eyebrows are stitched together closer than before and his lips have pressed themselves into a thin line. 

i don’t even care! but… was it a date? does she like him or something? he definitely likes her, that piece of shit, he doesn’t know the first thing about her. 

but she didn’t even think to ask me. i want her to hang out with me. am i too late?

he barely heard the rest of the conversation. his mind was stuck on the image forming in his head— itadori walking beside you, making you laugh, sitting too close in a dark theater.

if he tried anything, i’ll seriously kill him. he’s dead either way. 

you notice megumi’s withdrawn posture and look at him inquisitively, craning your neck to gauge his body language. he’s quiet but not this quiet. he looks really, really pissed off. to you, it just looked like his book had just deeply offended him. you lean closer to him to get his attention. his eyes shoot up for a brief second to meet your concerned eyes. he feels like he’s been caught, like you can see right through him. 

“‘s something wrong?” you ask, wanting to put a comforting hand on his knee. you stop yourself, not knowing how he would receive the touch.

“confusing chapter,” he lies, with more hardness in his voice than he intended. 

– 

megumi couldn’t think straight the rest of the day. he was filled with a tight uneasiness and a heart-sinking feeling simmering beneath his skin that was impossible to ignore. he was so distraught by the idea of someone else making you smile in a way that was supposed to be his to earn.

the day passed unwillingly. every conversation felt like static in his ears. the training session was a waste of movement, his focus was shot to hell. even the simplest things—walking through the halls, eating dinner, hearing your voice—felt grating. the more he thought about it, the worse it got. the worse he got. 

the sky had deepened from azure to deep navy and the corridors quieted for the night. he was sick of his thoughts looping over themselves, tangled and knotting up. he figured that he’d done enough sulking for the day. 

megumi found himself on his feet, walking through the hall in a posture and cadence that felt weird, even to him. he couldn’t stop his feet from dragging as he navigated his way to your room. the walk was too short for him to reconsider his reckless decision. he stares at your door blankly before tapping three hollow knocks on the wood. 

“hello? it’s me,” he whispers, just loud enough to be heard through the wall. his voice is quivering already.

you’re reading your textbook when you hear his familiar voice cut the silence of the evening. startled, you slide out of bed to meet him at the door. he’s unexpectedly close to the door when you open it, making him shift back half a step. 

“hi, megumi,” you smile and look up at him. his arms hung awkwardly at his sides and his hands clenched and unclenched, like he didn’t know what to do with them. the blue light from the window in the hallway hit his angular face in a way that carved shadows along his sharp features, making his eyes seem darker and stormier. he’s always been handsome, sure, but something’s different about him now. you feel strangely intimidated by the broadness of his shoulders and the severe look he’s giving you now. 

he’s quiet for a second too long, also taking in how pretty you look out of uniform. 

“may i come in?” megumi asks, his voice still low. 

“of course,” you reply.

if he was nervous before, he was absolutely frantic walking into your room. his heart drummed against his ribs in a hurried rhythm, an anxious percussion echoing in his chest. 

“make yourself at home,” you gesture with open palms to your room. megumi is too nervous to sit so he stands with his feet planted in the dead center of your room.

“i hope i’m not intruding, were you up to something before this?” 

“not at all, you actually saved me from studying for history,” you laugh a little. his expression softens and his resolve is refreshed by the sound of your laughter. how could he let anyone else take this from him?

“okay, good…” megumi’s voice trails off. his breathing is heavier than usual. multiple beats of silence pass, too long and too heavy. it’s never usually awkward like this. you watch him, a bit lost as to why your crush of many months is standing in your room, stiff as a soldier at attention. 

even now, when he’s uncharacteristically uneasy, there’s something magnetic about him. a long day has weathered his usual guarded demeanor, leaving him looking just a little undone—his hair messier than usual, and in his casual clothes, the sharp control he always carries himself with has softened at the edges. somehow, his unpolished silhouette makes him even more handsome. there’s something breathtaking about seeing him like this, as if, for once, you’re seeing what’s underneath all the restraint he usually wears like armor.

still, he couldn’t have come at this hour of the night to have small talk. you don’t speak, just tilting your head at him, sensing there’s something he wants to say by the way his lips are parted slightly.  

he realizes then he has to get it out. he swallows hard, trying to draw enough moisture from his throat to speak. he exhales sharply through his nose, eyes flickering to the floor before dragging back up to meet yours.

then–

“i–,” his breath hitches. the words stick in his throat, thick and burning, because once they’re out, there’s no taking them back. he takes a labored breath before trying again. this time, his voice comes out in a rush like floodgates opening. 

“i just have to say something. i can’t watch like everything’s okay, i can’t pretend like it doesn’t bother me because it does. it really, really does. it’s driving me insane, because it’s not just today, it’s every time i see you with someone else, every time i think about–” he sucks in a shaky breath before his words roll out heavy again.

“i like you, okay? i’ve always liked you. you don’t know what you do to me and i’ve never felt this way about anything.” he drags one hand through his hair and avoids your gaze. 

“i’ve been waiting all this time– i don’t even know for what, but it was completely stupid because it feels like you’re slipping through my fingers and i’m too late and i just can’t–” he’s becoming completely undone in front of you, his voice swelling like an intense musical score. he shakes his head and struggles to become coherent. his voice comes out quieter when he speaks again. 

“i just– i can’t lose you. i can’t stand the thought of it, please…” by the end of his desperate ramble, his eyes have darted to every corner of your room and he’s sweating. when the dust has settled, he’s breathless, almost panting. 

“please, say something,” he’s pleading now, his voice even lower. 

despite his request, you don’t say anything at all. you can’t find the words. your feet move by themselves, silently taking swift steps towards him and closing the distance between the two of you. you hook your arms under his, pulling yourself to his chest. you finally hear how hard his heart is beating now. your head rests underneath his chin as you firmly wrap your arms around him and breathe him in fully.

“you don’t have to worry about losing me.”

megumi doesn’t immediately register the warm pressure that’s lodged itself comfortably against him. suddenly, his knees feel weak and his shoulders slump, finally being relieved of the tension he’s been holding all day. at the same instant, the invisible barrier he’d built around himself shatters, crumbling beneath the weight of your warmth.

for a moment, he can’t move at all, but his instincts bring his arms to you, hesitant at first, then tighter, pulling you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. his hands grab at the fabric of your shirt, less chivalrously than he would’ve consciously decided. 

“you really mean it?” he whispers hoarsely. you nod without pulling yourself away from him.

in this moonlit memory, beautiful and tender, you can’t help but laugh. stoic and aloof megumi fushiguro has become a nervous wreck in a way you could’ve never imagined. you found it both endearing and amusing how helplessly vulnerable he made himself be for you. amusing only because he had been so wracked with anxiety, thinking you didn’t feel the same way, and he couldn’t have been more wrong. 

he feels the vibration of your failed attempt to hold your laughter and looks down, arms still around you. you meet his eyes, beaming ear to ear. 

“this is about that thing with itadori, right?”

he throws his head to one side and gives a weak scowl, irritated at the mention of his name. you laugh again, taking his dramatic annoyance as an answer to your question. it also annoyed him how well you knew him; he was a completely open book to you. he shakes his head. “no, well yes, but no, not really,” he huffs.

“i’ll have to thank him for bringing this out of you then.”

“i think you’ve had enough time with him recently.” megumi retorts quickly, abruptly shutting that idea down. 

you laugh again while soaking up the last seconds of his embrace before finally peeling yourself off him. you’re still connected at the waist when you meet his half lidded eyes, intently focused and glazed over with need. 

“you can’t, okay? not with him. not with anyone else. just me now.” he whispers, suddenly serious.

he says it with such authority that you don’t question what he means. you give him one slow nod. you notice how painfully close your faces are. you feel his steady breath tickling your skin. his hand finds its way to your chin, tilting your head up and to one side. anticipation paints your face as you both inch closer—

[mcrdvcks]

heyy i have a request for logan and reader where they get in an argument which results in either reader gives him the silent treatment or they both do and just ignore each other until logan does something about it!!

how you get the girl

summary: After an argument with Logan, you both stop talking to each other. word count: 7.6k+ pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader notes: this somehow became much longer than i thought it would, lol. also, i wrote in emma frost, but i based her characterization off of her in marvel rivals (so what if it's a videogame? she's hot asf-) also, i wrote something similar a while back with old man logan! check it out here: things i wish you said warnings/tags: angst, angst, angst (like... so much), happy ending, asshole!logan, bamf!reader, don't settle for less than you deserve y'all, silent treatment

You sighed as you stepped through the mansion doors, exhaustion settling heavy in your shoulders. Your day had been long—endlessly long—and teaching mutant teenagers about control and responsibility had felt particularly draining today.

You glanced around, hoping for Logan. Seeing him always eased the tightness in your chest after a bad day. But as your eyes scanned the foyer, there was no sign of him.

“Hey, Ororo,” you greeted softly as you saw her passing by. “Seen Logan?”

Ororo paused, offering you a gentle smile. “I believe he’s outside. He seemed a bit… restless today.”

You nodded, feeling unease curl slightly in your stomach. “Thanks.”

Outside, you found him sitting on the steps of the mansion’s back porch, cigar in hand, expression dark and contemplative as he stared into the distance.

“Hey,” you called gently, stepping up beside him.

He barely glanced at you. “Hey.”

His voice was flat, the usual warmth gone. You frowned, hesitating only a second before sitting next to him. “Rough day?”

“Something like that,” he muttered, taking a slow drag and releasing the smoke into the chilly air.

You studied his profile carefully. Logan was closed off more often than not, but this felt different—like he’d already decided to shut you out.

“Logan,” you prompted softly. “Talk to me.”

He sighed, frustration evident in the way his jaw tightened. “Nothing to talk about. Leave it.”

“Clearly, there’s something. You don’t have to pretend—”

“I said leave it,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he’d intended.

You recoiled slightly, hurt flickering across your face. “I’m just trying to help—”

“Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t,” Logan said abruptly, his eyes finally flicking to yours, harsh and defensive. “Maybe you shouldn’t try so hard, Y/N.”

Anger twisted tightly in your chest, clashing against your exhaustion. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like,” he growled, flicking his cigar onto the grass. “You’re always pushin’, always tryin’ to fix somethin’ you got no damn business fixin’. Maybe you’d be better off not carin’ so damn much.”

“You think I enjoy pushing you?” You stood abruptly, disbelief turning quickly into hurt. “Logan, all I’ve ever done is care about you.”

“Yeah, and look how well that's goin', sweetheart,” he shot back bitterly, rising to his feet. “Maybe you'd save yourself some trouble if you didn't count on me so damn much.”

Your heart sank, pain sharp and immediate. You swallowed, feeling your throat tighten painfully. “So that's it, huh? Caring about you is the problem?”

He didn’t respond, jaw clenched, gaze hard and distant.

You shook your head, stepping back. “Fine. Message received, loud and clear.”

Turning quickly, you walked back toward the mansion without another word, refusing to let him see the tears already threatening to spill. Logan remained rooted to the spot, fists clenched at his sides, the angry words he'd hurled at you already burning bitterly in his throat.

He watched you leave, regret creeping in even as he stubbornly refused to call you back.

And just like that, silence fell between you both—thick, heavy, and painfully loud.

---

You always had a hard time sleeping. Before dating Logan you would just pop some sleeping pills—a little more than the recommended dose—and hope for the best. But when you started dating, and sharing a bed, you found it a little easier to fall asleep.

The warmth of being held, him rubbing your back, murmuring sweet nothings. But tonight, you popped those sleeping pills and curled up in bed long before Logan got there.

You were awake, eyes closed, breaths slow and careful when you heard the bedroom door open softly. Logan’s footsteps were quiet, almost hesitant as he paused at the edge of the bed, lingering for a long moment. You could feel his gaze heavy on your back, the mattress dipping slightly as he sat down carefully on his side.

Neither of you spoke, and the tension filled every silent second. You focused intently on keeping your breathing steady, even as your chest felt unbearably tight.

"Y/N?" Logan’s voice was quiet, almost tentative. A careful prod in the silence.

You didn’t answer, pretending instead that sleep had already claimed you.

Logan exhaled softly—frustration, regret, maybe both. He shifted beside you, and for a brief moment you thought he’d reach out, rest his hand on your shoulder, try to make things right. But instead, he settled down, turning his back to yours, the heavy sigh that slipped from him enough proof that he was just as stubborn as you.

Sleep came eventually, but it was restless and filled with vague, half-formed dreams that left you tired when morning came. Logan’s side of the bed was empty and cold, no lingering warmth to suggest he’d stayed beside you long.

The silence persisted.

You dressed quickly and quietly, making your way down to breakfast where the usual bustle of the X-Mansion filled the room with chatter. Logan was already there, hunched over his coffee and glaring down at the newspaper like it had personally offended him. You pointedly avoided looking at him as you poured yourself coffee and quietly moved toward an empty seat by Jean and Scott.

"Morning, Y/N," Jean greeted softly, her eyes flicking to Logan briefly before landing back on you. Her expression shifted subtly, perceptive as always. "Everything okay?"

"Fine," you answered shortly, sipping your coffee and focusing on the table.

Across the room, Logan shifted slightly in his chair, clearly listening.

Jean glanced at Scott, who wisely decided to stay out of it, turning back to his breakfast without comment. Jean lowered her voice, leaning closer. "If you need to talk—"

"I said it's fine," you snapped, sharper than you intended. You sighed immediately after, guilt tugging at your chest as you glanced at her apologetically. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well."

Jean squeezed your arm gently. "Understood."

You didn’t look over, but you felt Logan’s eyes on you from across the room, heavy and intent. Ignoring him took effort—every fiber of your being wanted to turn, snap something sarcastic, or glare at him—but instead, you deliberately kept your attention on your coffee and Jean's quiet, sympathetic presence beside you.

It went similarly during dinner. You sat in your regular spot, except you were the first one at the table. No Jean across from you, no Ororo on your left, and certainly no Logan to your right.

You felt a presence sit down next to you, but you kept your eyes down on your plate, not looking over.

"I take it this seat isn't usually vacant?" a smooth voice drawled softly beside you.

You stiffened immediately at the sound of Emma Frost's unmistakably confident tone, the way she seemed to relish the tension. Slowly, you forced yourself to glance over, keeping your expression carefully neutral.

"Usually isn't," you replied evenly, offering nothing more.

Emma tilted her head slightly, regarding you with a cool, appraising gaze. "Trouble in paradise?"

You exhaled slowly through your nose, irritation flaring sharply beneath your forced calm. "Is there something I can do for you, Emma?"

She smiled faintly, picking up her glass and sipping elegantly before placing it down again with an almost deliberate precision. "Not particularly. But seeing as how Logan's sulking on the other side of the room like a wounded puppy, I figured I'd make use of the empty seat. You know how much I enjoy shaking things up."

You frowned, unable to resist the quick glance over your shoulder. Logan sat by himself at the far end of the table, a plate barely touched in front of him. His jaw was tight, eyes glaring daggers into Emma's back. When your eyes met his briefly, he quickly looked away, annoyance clear in every stiff movement.

"You picked the wrong day, Emma," you said shortly, picking at your food with renewed agitation. "I'm not in the mood."

"Oh, darling, that's precisely why I picked today," Emma replied smoothly, completely unfazed by your sharpness. "It's hardly ever interesting around here when things are peaceful."

"You could just leave," you pointed out flatly. "Then you wouldn't have to worry about boredom."

Emma laughed softly, the sound like expensive silk—cold and smooth and utterly unbothered. "And miss moments like this? Please. Watching Logan stew is just icing on the cake."

You didn't answer, instead focusing pointedly on your food. Despite your best efforts to ignore her, Emma seemed thoroughly content to remain, sipping her drink and occasionally casting you sidelong glances.

Finally, you broke the silence, irritation fraying your voice. "Did you need something specific, Emma?"

"Actually, yes." She leaned forward slightly, voice lowering conspiratorially. "I'm genuinely curious—how long are you going to keep up this little silent-treatment game? You two are rather notorious for being nauseatingly affectionate."

"None of your business," you muttered stiffly.

"Oh, come now, Y/N." Emma's lips curved slowly, eyes glittering with something sharp and dangerous. "Everyone in this mansion can feel the tension rolling off both of you. Honestly, you're both exhausting."

You pushed your plate away abruptly, your appetite utterly gone. "Emma, whatever game you're playing, go play it somewhere else. I've had a long day."

She arched a delicate brow, unfazed. "Believe it or not, I'm doing you a favor."

"How exactly is this a favor?"

She glanced pointedly across the room, eyes briefly landing on Logan before returning to you, perfectly composed. "He's stubborn and prideful. If you expect him to break first, you may be waiting quite some time."

You refused to look over, despite the overwhelming urge. "Again, none of your business."

Emma shrugged lightly, leaning back in Logan's chair, legs crossed elegantly beneath the table. "Suit yourself. But in my experience—and believe me, I've dealt with men like Logan—these standoffs rarely end with dignity intact."

You narrowed your eyes, finally turning your head fully to face her, your tone sharp. "And just what are you suggesting, exactly? That I go apologize when he's the one who—"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Emma interrupted calmly, her eyes cool but surprisingly sincere. "I simply dislike the tedious atmosphere your stubbornness creates. Handle it or don't, I honestly don't care. But this silence is exhausting for everyone."

She stood gracefully, smoothing her clothes as she cast a last amused glance toward Logan, whose expression was now practically murderous. Emma smiled faintly, clearly pleased by the reaction she'd provoked. "Good luck, Y/N. For your sake, I hope this resolves sooner rather than later."

You watched her go, jaw clenched tightly, a swirl of anger and embarrassment twisting uneasily in your gut. Before you could even consider Emma's words further, footsteps approached again. You glanced up sharply, expecting Emma to have returned to further antagonize you.

Instead, it was Ororo. Her gentle expression was cautious but kind, a stark contrast to Emma's calculating smirk.

"Do I even want to ask what that was about?" Ororo asked softly, taking the seat Emma had just vacated.

You sighed, rubbing a tired hand over your face. "Emma being Emma."

Ororo hummed softly, eyes drifting briefly across the room. "Logan looks particularly irritable tonight."

"Yeah," you said shortly, biting the inside of your cheek as you stabbed at your food half-heartedly. "He's made it very clear he wants space."

Ororo studied you quietly for a moment, thoughtful. "Perhaps it's less about wanting space and more about needing it."

You looked at her sharply, frustration bubbling up. "What does that even mean?"

Ororo's eyes were sympathetic but firm. "You know Logan better than most. He isn't good at asking for help or accepting comfort. It's easier for him to push people away."

"And I'm supposed to just accept that?" you asked, the anger in your voice giving way slightly to hurt. "He said things, Ororo—things he can't just take back."

"No," she agreed softly, "but he can apologize. If given the chance."

You shook your head slightly, swallowing down a lump of emotion you didn't want to deal with. "I don't think he plans to."

Ororo reached over, squeezing your arm gently. "Just because he's stubborn doesn't mean he isn't sorry. Give him some time."

You nodded stiffly, blinking quickly to chase away the prickling tears of frustration gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Maybe. I just... I don't know."

She smiled gently, leaning in and speaking softly enough for only you to hear. "He misses you. Anyone can see that."

You didn't answer immediately, the ache in your chest twisting tighter at her words. Your eyes betrayed you, drifting across the dining hall despite yourself, and finding Logan's gaze already locked onto yours. For a long moment, neither of you looked away, stubbornness and hurt caught between you, tangled and raw.

Eventually, Logan broke first, his jaw working tightly as he pushed away from the table roughly, leaving the dining room without another glance your way. You swallowed down the tight lump in your throat, staring blankly at the empty doorway he'd disappeared through.

Ororo sighed softly, understanding in her eyes. "He'll come around, Y/N. Logan always does."

You managed a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head slowly. "I wouldn't be so sure this time."

She squeezed your hand softly, sympathy in her voice. "I am."

You didn't answer, your mind stuck replaying the fight, Logan’s harsh words still echoing painfully in your chest. And as much as you wished it didn't bother you, Emma's smug voice kept slipping back in too—reminding you that waiting him out could be a long, miserable ordeal.

So you resolved to do just that—to wait. Logan was stubborn, but you could be stubborn too. If he wanted silence, you’d give him all the silence he could handle.

It was Logan's move now.

---

Sometimes the mall was relaxing. You could walk around, buy new candles, find a few nice shirts, and even get a pretzel and a coffee.

Today, it felt like an escape—somewhere to be without Logan’s heavy presence lingering in every corner of the mansion. It was the third day of your stalemate. No conversations, no hellos, no goodnights, nothing. Just tense silence and carefully avoided eye contact.

So you wandered slowly, idly browsing a display of candles labeled with names like "Lavender Fields," "Cozy Cottage," and "Stormy Nights." You lifted one of them to your nose, inhaling deeply before setting it back down with a sigh.

"That good, huh?"

You turned, startled, to see Jean standing behind you, a small smile on her face.

"Oh. Hey, Jean," you said, setting the candle down gently. "Didn't see you there."

"Clearly," Jean teased softly. She glanced around the shop. "Retail therapy?"

"More like avoidance therapy," you admitted dryly.

Jean hummed knowingly, falling into step beside you as you moved toward another shelf. "Still not speaking to Logan?"

You sighed, reaching for another candle absently. "He started it."

She chuckled softly, glancing over the label on the candle you'd picked up. "I'm sure he did. But are you going to let him end it, too?"

You groaned lightly. "Please, I had this conversation twice already. Once with Ororo, once with Emma—of all people—and I really don't need another lecture."

Jean laughed quietly, picking up her own candle. "Fair enough. No lectures, just friendly observation."

You shot her a wary look. "Which is?"

She smiled gently. "Logan doesn't know how to fix it."

"Logan hasn't even tried," you said stiffly, placing the candle back down with unnecessary force. "He made it pretty clear I'm the problem."

Jean shook her head slowly. "That's not true, and you know it. He's hurting too. He's just too stubborn to admit it."

"Stubborn is an understatement," you muttered, wandering toward the clothing racks. Jean followed easily, letting the silence sit between you for a moment.

She fingered through some shirts, pausing to look at you seriously. "Would it really kill you to reach out first?"

You glanced at her sharply. "Why do I have to be the one?"

"Because you're the emotionally mature one," Jean teased gently. "And because Logan is—"

"Emotionally constipated?" you supplied flatly.

Jean laughed brightly, nodding. "Yes, exactly."

You smiled slightly despite yourself, turning back to the shirts. "If I do it, then it becomes a pattern. It’ll only ever be me running to him for a mistake he made. I don’t want to be the kind of girl who has no self-worth.”

Jean exhaled softly, setting the shirt she’d been looking at back on the rack. "I get that, Y/N. But I don’t think Logan sees it that way. He’s… complicated."

You snorted lightly, shaking your head. "That’s the understatement of the century."

Jean nudged you playfully, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Okay, more than complicated. He's stubborn, prideful, emotionally closed-off—"

"Are you trying to help or convince me to leave him?" you interrupted dryly, earning a small laugh from Jean.

"Listen," Jean said softly, turning serious again. "You and Logan are good together. He’s better when he’s with you—softer, happier. And you’re more grounded, more confident. The two of you… you balance each other out."

You chewed your lip thoughtfully, avoiding her eyes. "Maybe. But I don’t know how many times I can do this. How many times I can put my heart out there, only for him to stomp all over it when he's having a bad day."

Jean was quiet a moment, her voice gentle when she finally spoke. "That's valid, Y/N. Completely valid. But ask yourself honestly—is it really worth this much misery just to prove a point?"

You stayed silent, unable to answer right away. You didn’t want to lose your pride, your self-respect—but you missed Logan terribly. The stubborn silence that filled every space between you was becoming unbearable.

Jean sighed, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Just… think about it. Okay?"

"Yeah," you murmured softly, giving her a small nod. "I'll think about it."

---

Returning to the mansion was like stepping back into the cold tension you'd managed to briefly escape. You half-expected to see Logan brooding somewhere, cigar smoke trailing behind him like a dark cloud—but he wasn't in the common room, wasn't lingering around the halls, wasn't out back.

Instead, you found Scott, grading papers at the kitchen island, glasses sliding low on his nose. He looked up when he heard you come in, giving you an awkward, sympathetic smile.

"Hey, Y/N," he greeted softly. "You doing okay?"

"Fine," you replied automatically, grabbing a glass to fill with water.

Scott raised an eyebrow, putting down his pen. "You don’t have to pretend. Logan’s been a moody nightmare, so I can’t imagine things are fine."

You chuckled humorlessly. "You don’t have to deal with it. I'm pretty sure he's avoiding me at all costs."

Scott shrugged, leaning back on his stool. "Maybe. Or maybe he doesn’t know how to approach you after… you know."

You turned, leaning your hip against the counter as you faced him. "What did he say to you?"

Scott hesitated, clearly uncomfortable being in the middle. "He didn’t say much. Just snapped at pretty much everyone who asked him about it. You know how he is."

"Yeah, unfortunately, I do," you sighed tiredly, sipping your water slowly.

"He’s miserable though," Scott added quietly. "Whatever happened… it’s eating him up."

You shook your head slowly. "Then he should be the one doing something about it."

Scott gave you a faint, sympathetic smile. "I'm not arguing with you there."

You pushed away from the counter, moving towards the hall. "Thanks for caring, Scott. But I'm tired of everyone making excuses for him."

"Hey, I'm not," Scott called after you softly. "Just stating facts."

You waved a dismissive hand, offering him a tired smile as you left the kitchen.

---

The next morning, you were in the kitchen making tea for your thermos when Logan walked in. Despite every part of you wanting to just rush out, you didn’t. You stayed calm and continued making your tea, adding a little bit of milk and sugar.

Logan came next to you, grabbing a mug and pouring himself some coffee from the pot. “You doin’ okay?” He asked.

You let out a quiet breath, “yeah, fine.”

Taking Jean’s advice, you stayed, waiting—hoping—that Logan would say something, anything else. But nothing came. He stood there, silent, sipping his coffee.

You let the silence stretch on, hoping against hope he’d speak first, that he’d find something, anything to say.

But Logan remained quiet, his gaze firmly fixed on the countertop, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. Finally, the realization settled heavy in your chest—he wasn't going to say anything.

He wasn't going to apologize.

You sighed quietly, feeling something crack inside your chest as disappointment seeped through your veins. Without another word, you closed your thermos, deliberately not looking at him as you turned to leave the kitchen.

"Y/N," Logan called suddenly, his voice rough, hesitant, stopping you mid-step.

You paused at the threshold of the kitchen, not turning to face him. Instead, you stared straight ahead, waiting.

Logan hesitated again, and you could practically feel the frustration radiating off him. "Nevermind," he finally muttered.

You clenched your jaw tightly, disappointment turning quickly into quiet, simmering anger. "Right," you said softly, barely louder than a whisper. "That's what I thought."

Then you walked out, leaving him standing there, the silence heavy in your wake.

The rest of your day passed in a numb blur of classes and grading assignments, Logan's stubbornness gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, distracting you in ways you wished it wouldn't. You'd hoped—maybe foolishly��that he'd at least have tried to talk to you again by dinner.

But he didn't.

In fact, when dinner came around, Logan was nowhere in sight. His absence, though annoying, felt intentional. Like he was deliberately trying to avoid even the slightest possibility of confrontation.

You sat quietly at your usual spot, ignoring the sympathetic looks Jean shot your way, ignoring Emma's knowing smirk from across the room. You kept your head down and finished dinner quickly, the silence between you and Logan stretching unbearably through the meal.

Later, as you curled up alone in bed, your mind was restless. You glanced at the clock—nearly midnight—and Logan still hadn't come upstairs. His avoidance was clear, and it hurt more than you'd care to admit. Sleep felt impossible, your heart and mind racing despite the exhaustion settling deep in your bones.

When the bedroom door finally opened an hour later, your heart skipped a beat, eyes shut tight as you pretended to sleep.

Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering silently for what felt like forever. Finally, he moved into the room, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.

You kept your breathing steady, your back to him, waiting anxiously to see if he'd finally break. If he'd finally say what you desperately wanted—needed—to hear.

Instead, after several tense, silent moments, Logan stood up again, footsteps soft and cautious as he left the room. The door clicked quietly shut behind him, leaving you alone once more, the ache in your chest growing sharper by the minute.

The next day dragged, each class feeling longer and more draining than the last. You tried your best to act unaffected, smiling tightly at the students and nodding absently at your colleagues. But beneath the carefully maintained facade, your mind kept returning to Logan, replaying every cold, tense moment since your fight.

"You look exhausted," Ororo observed gently later that afternoon, finding you alone in your classroom, leaning heavily against your desk.

You sighed, rubbing your temples tiredly. "Understatement of the century."

"Still not resolved?" she asked softly, stepping further into the room.

You shook your head. "He's not speaking, I'm not speaking. It's just... silence."

Ororo sat beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Maybe someone has to be brave enough to break it."

You laughed quietly, without humor. "Why does that someone always have to be me?"

"Because you have patience," Ororo said gently. "Because you love him enough to push through the stubbornness."

"And he doesn't?" you challenged bitterly.

Ororo gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, understanding shining in her eyes. "Logan loves you deeply. He just... struggles. You know that."

You sighed deeply, exhaustion creeping into your bones. "I know. I just... don't know if I can keep doing this. I don't know how many more times I can be the one who bends."

She smiled softly, her voice kind. "I understand, Y/N. I just don't think either of you want to lose each other. You need to decide if being right is worth more than being happy."

Ororo's words lingered heavily with you throughout the evening, your thoughts swirling restlessly as you climbed into bed again—alone, once more. Logan hadn't returned, and you wondered bitterly where he'd chosen to spend the night instead.

You lay awake, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, tension knotting your stomach until sleep finally, mercifully, claimed you.

When morning came, you felt groggy and unrested, each movement heavy with fatigue. You went through your morning routine numbly, showering and dressing without enthusiasm. Eventually, you made your way downstairs to the kitchen, dreading another quiet standoff.

Instead, you found Logan already there, leaning against the counter, staring into his mug as steam rose softly around his face. You paused in the doorway, debating whether you should just turn around and walk out again.

But Logan looked up, his eyes meeting yours and holding your gaze firmly.

"Morning," he greeted quietly, voice rough and cautious.

"Morning," you returned carefully, stepping further into the kitchen and deliberately looking away as you moved to fill your thermos.

For a long, tense moment, Logan said nothing else, merely watching you with that unreadable expression that frustrated you endlessly.

"Y/N," he finally started, voice uncertain, hesitant.

You turned slowly, lifting an eyebrow expectantly. "Yeah?"

He paused, visibly struggling, eyes dropping to his coffee again. "About... about the other night—"

"What about it, Logan?" you interrupted, heart thudding painfully in your chest.

He clenched his jaw briefly, frustration flickering in his gaze. "I didn't mean it the way it came out."

You scoffed softly, shaking your head as disappointment settled bitterly in your throat. "That's your apology? 'I didn't mean it'?"

Logan sighed, annoyance flashing in his eyes. "Dammit, Y/N, I'm tryin' here."

"Are you?" you challenged sharply, voice low and fierce. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're doing everything you possibly can to avoid actually apologizing."

He stared at you, jaw tight, irritation radiating off him in waves. "Maybe I ain't good at sayin' I'm sorry."

"No kidding," you muttered bitterly, turning away again, angrily twisting the lid onto your thermos.

Silence settled thickly around you both, tension coiled and ready to snap at any moment.

"You know what, Logan?" you finally said quietly, voice shaking slightly. "I’m not asking for much. I’m just asking for you to say you're sorry and for you to mean it.”

He stood there, mug clenched tightly in his fist, jaw set and eyes stormy. He opened his mouth briefly, then shut it again sharply, frustration clear on his face.

"I’m not askin' you to pretend it didn’t happen," Logan muttered roughly, voice tense. "I messed up. Ain’t denyin' it."

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to remain steady despite your shaking hands. "Then say it. Tell me you're sorry."

He glared at the countertop, stubborn pride still holding his words back. "It ain’t as simple as that."

"Actually, Logan, it really is," you snapped quietly, hurt and anger intertwining. "It's two words. Two simple words."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, voice low and defensive, "I told ya I'm not good at this."

"Logan," you began sharply, your patience fraying quickly, "it's not about you being 'good' at it. It's about you acknowledging you hurt me."

He ran a hand through his hair roughly, frustration evident in every line of his posture. "You think I don't know I hurt you? You think I ain't been kickin' myself every damn minute since?"

You shook your head slowly, feeling exhausted down to your bones. "I don't know, Logan. You've barely looked at me, you don't speak to me, and when you finally do—it's this. Defensive and angry and completely closed off."

"I'm tryin' to tell you—"

"No," you interrupted sharply, voice shaking with emotion, "you're trying to get out of apologizing. You’re trying to get me to move past it without ever having to actually deal with it."

He slammed his mug down hard enough to make you jump, coffee sloshing onto the counter. "Dammit, Y/N! What do you want from me? Blood?"

"I want an apology, Logan," you snapped, voice breaking slightly, eyes stinging with angry, frustrated tears. "That's it. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you regret what you said."

His jaw clenched tightly, eyes blazing. "Yeah, well maybe words don't come easy for me. Maybe you ain't figured that out yet."

You turned fully to face him, swallowing past the tight lump in your throat. "Oh, I figured it out a long time ago. I just hoped—maybe stupidly—that I was worth the effort."

His expression faltered briefly, a flicker of guilt and uncertainty crossing his features. "You are, dammit," he ground out roughly, frustration clear. "I ain't sayin' you're not worth it—"

"Then prove it," you challenged fiercely, stepping closer, your eyes locked onto his. "Stop telling me all the reasons you can't and start giving me a reason to believe you actually care."

He stared back, stubborn silence heavy between you both. You waited, chest aching, heart pounding—but Logan said nothing.

"Right," you finally whispered, disappointment bitter on your tongue. "I get it."

Turning away abruptly, you grabbed your thermos from the counter and left the kitchen without another word. You refused to look back, refused to see whatever expression might have flickered across Logan’s face, refused to let yourself feel hope or guilt or anything except the quiet, simmering hurt that had taken root deep inside your chest.

The rest of your day passed in miserable quiet. Teaching felt exhausting, conversations draining. You avoided common areas, avoided the dining hall, avoided anywhere Logan might be. Every interaction felt superficial and forced, every smile brittle.

When night finally fell, you stayed in your classroom far later than necessary, grading papers until your eyes blurred and your head ached. Eventually, though, you couldn't put it off any longer. Slowly, reluctantly, you headed back toward your shared room, heart heavy with dread.

Logan was already there, standing by the window, staring out into the dark grounds. He glanced your way when you walked in, eyes guarded, jaw tight.

"You're back late," he muttered, tone carefully neutral.

"Needed to finish grading," you replied stiffly, moving around him to grab pajamas from the dresser.

Logan hesitated, shifting slightly, tension clear in the set of his shoulders. "You eat yet?"

"Not hungry," you said flatly, refusing to look at him.

He sighed quietly, frustration evident. "Y/N—"

"I'm tired, Logan," you interrupted shortly, your voice quiet but firm. "I really don't want to do this right now."

He turned sharply, glaring your way. "Don't wanna do what, exactly?"

"This," you said bitterly, finally meeting his gaze head-on. "The tense small-talk. The pretending we're fine when we're obviously not. If you're not ready to apologize, fine. But don't expect me to act like everything's normal."

Logan’s eyes darkened, irritation flashing clearly. "So what, then? We just stay quiet forever? Act like strangers?"

"Until you figure out how to apologize?" you challenged quietly, frustration and exhaustion clear. "Maybe we should."

Logan's jaw twitched, eyes narrowing, fists clenched at his sides. "You really wanna play it that way?"

"No," you whispered tiredly, turning away to hide the sudden tears blurring your vision. "I don't want this at all."

He said nothing else, and neither did you. Instead, you grabbed your pajamas and disappeared into the bathroom, changing slowly, your heart heavy and aching. When you finally emerged, Logan had already climbed into bed, his back facing your side of the mattress.

You hesitated briefly, exhaustion warring with stubbornness. Eventually, your tiredness won out, and you climbed into bed beside him, careful to keep distance between your bodies. The mattress felt miles wide, the silence deafening.

You lay awake, staring at the wall, frustration and hurt twisting tightly in your chest. Beside you, Logan's breathing was heavy and uneven, clearly awake, clearly as restless as you were.

Neither of you spoke.

The next morning was no better. You dressed in tense silence, moved around each other stiffly, carefully avoiding any sort of interaction.

At breakfast, you sat alone, barely eating, gaze locked firmly onto your plate. Logan sat across the room, sipping coffee and glaring at nothing. Jean, Scott, and Ororo glanced between you both warily, clearly uncomfortable with the heavy tension filling the room.

Emma sat down by you, her nails clinking against her mug.

“You’re not gonna tell me to apologize to him, are you? Because I’ve already heard that, and I’m not doing it.”

Emma’s perfectly manicured eyebrow arched upward, an amused smirk pulling at her lips. “Oh, darling, trust me. I'm the last person who'd encourage you to do that.”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by her quick and confident reply. “Really?”

“Please,” Emma scoffed lightly, elegantly stirring sugar into her tea. “Logan may have the emotional range of a teaspoon, but that’s his problem, not yours. Frankly, I’m impressed you've put up with his nonsense this long.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help a small, humorless laugh. “At least someone’s on my side.”

Emma shrugged gracefully, sipping her tea calmly. “You’ve gotten far too comfortable letting Logan off the hook simply because he finds genuine emotional expression inconvenient. You're right to hold your ground. He's an adult, Y/N. It's long past time he acted like one.”

You sighed deeply, stabbing your fork into your untouched breakfast. “It's exhausting. Everyone else keeps making excuses for him. 'Oh, it's just Logan.' 'He doesn't mean it.' 'He's trying.' At what point do those excuses stop being enough?”

Emma watched you thoughtfully, her voice softening just a fraction. “They stopped being enough the moment you had to start justifying basic decency and accountability.”

You looked up, surprise flickering briefly through your eyes. Emma wasn’t exactly known for her empathy, yet here she was—making more sense than anyone else had so far.

“So, you agree? I'm not asking for too much?”

She leaned back slightly, lips curving into a knowing smile. “You’re barely asking for the bare minimum, darling. Logan may find this terribly challenging, but that's his burden. Not yours. If he can't manage a simple apology when he's clearly in the wrong, he's got no business being in a relationship.”

The bluntness of her words stung, but there was something comforting in her honesty.

“Harsh,” you murmured softly, your gaze drifting across the dining hall toward Logan, who was doing a poor job of pretending not to glance your way every few moments.

“But true,” Emma insisted firmly. “You've spent enough time apologizing for both of you. If he wants you back, he can bloody well put in some effort. And if not—well, perhaps he's doing you a favor.”

Your chest tightened painfully at the thought, but you nodded slowly, considering her words. “I guess I never looked at it that way.”

She placed a delicate hand over yours, her voice surprisingly gentle. “I know it hurts, Y/N. But remember, you’re worth far more than constantly bending to accommodate his pride.”

A soft sigh slipped from your lips, exhaustion and resignation heavy in the sound. “It would just be easier if he’d meet me halfway. Hell, I'd even settle for a quarter of the way at this point.”

Emma squeezed your hand lightly, an uncharacteristically supportive gesture. “Don’t lower your expectations just to make it easy for him. Logan’s been coddled for too long. If he genuinely cares, he’ll figure it out.”

You glanced up sharply, meeting her cool, unyielding gaze. “And if he doesn't?”

“Then at least you'll know exactly where you stand,” Emma said calmly, sipping her tea once more. “Uncertainty, darling, is far worse than a painful truth.”

You looked down at your plate again, pushing your food around absently. “I just—I've never been good at giving up.”

Emma laughed softly, leaning back in her seat. “Then don’t. You're not giving up—you're giving him an opportunity. The choice is his. Stop trying to make it easier.”

The dining hall doors opened, breaking the tense moment as a group of students bustled in, chatting loudly. Emma rose elegantly, gathering her empty cup.

“I have to go terrify my next class into submission,” she said lightly, flashing you a smirk. “But think about what I said.”

You nodded, offering her a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, Emma.”

“Don't thank me yet,” she teased dryly, her eyes flicking briefly toward Logan's brooding figure across the room. “Save it for when he finally manages to scrape together a coherent apology.”

She turned on her heel, exiting the hall gracefully, leaving you alone again. You sighed softly, considering her words carefully. Emma's perspective was harsh, blunt—but undeniably fair. It was refreshing, even comforting, compared to the gentle yet endlessly patient suggestions from Jean and Ororo.

---

That night, the cycle continued. You would be in bed, wide awake, when Logan walked in and finally stayed, getting into bed, facing away from you.

Except this time, you couldn’t take it any longer. Couldn’t take the fact that you had to try and fall asleep like a wooden plank, or the fact that you missed curling up to Logan.

Perhaps, above all, it was the fact that you felt like you were trapped in bed, a place you were supposed to relax.

You slowly sat up, legs dangling off the side of the bed as you grabbed your two pillows and moved to your desk to grab your throw blanket.

Behind you, you felt the mattress shift. Logan stirred slightly, but you refused to glance over your shoulder. Silently, you picked up your phone and charger, determined to move somewhere else—anywhere else—that felt less suffocating.

“What’re you doin’?” Logan’s voice was gruff, thick with sleep, but you could hear the alertness beneath.

You paused for a moment, gathering your resolve before speaking. “Going to sleep somewhere else.”

Logan sat up, the rustle of blankets loud in the quiet room. “It’s past midnight. Where the hell else are you gonna sleep?”

“The couch,” you answered flatly, still not looking at him as you bundled your things together. “Or maybe my classroom. It doesn’t really matter.”

He exhaled heavily, frustration evident in the rough sound. “Y/N, c’mon. Don’t do that.”

“Why not?” you snapped bitterly, finally turning to face him. “We’re already practically strangers. Might as well make it official.”

Logan clenched his jaw, clearly struggling with what to say. He ran a rough hand through his hair, eyes dark and unreadable in the dim moonlight. “You don’t gotta do that. Just come back to bed.”

“Why?” you challenged, anger simmering beneath the quiet hurt in your voice. “So we can lay here in angry silence? Pretend this isn’t happening? I’m exhausted, Logan. I’m tired of pretending.”

“You think I ain’t tired too?” Logan growled softly, frustration deepening in his voice. “You think this is easy for me?”

You sighed heavily, gripping your pillow tighter. “No, Logan, I don’t think it’s easy. But I also don’t think it’s fair that I’m always the one trying to make things right. I shouldn’t have to beg you for an apology. I deserve better than that.”

He swallowed visibly, his eyes narrowing slightly in the shadows, jaw working. “I know.”

Those two simple words caught you off guard, your anger faltering momentarily. You stared at him, unsure how to respond.

“You know?” you repeated carefully, guardedly.

“Yeah,” he muttered roughly, dropping his gaze. “I know. You deserve a hell of a lot better than me.”

Your heart twisted painfully at the defeat in his voice. “Logan—”

He shook his head sharply, cutting you off. “Don’t try and argue that. It’s the truth. I ain’t good at this. I ain’t good at talkin’ things through, I ain’t good at apologizin’ when I screw up. And I know I screw up—a lot. So, yeah. You do deserve better.”

Your grip loosened slightly on the pillow, uncertainty creeping in. “You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

“I ain’t makin’ decisions,” Logan said flatly, frustration flickering back into his voice. “Just statin’ facts.”

You stepped closer, setting your blanket and pillow down on the chair. “Then try, Logan. Just try. You think I don’t know you’re bad at this? I do. But I also know you’re capable of more. And if I didn’t think that, we wouldn’t still be here.”

He looked up at you sharply, his gaze intense, searching yours carefully. For a long, tense moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke.

Finally, Logan exhaled slowly, his voice gruff but softer than before. “I didn’t mean what I said that night. ‘Bout you carin’ too much.”

You nodded slightly, crossing your arms protectively. “It sure felt like you did.”

Logan’s jaw tightened briefly, frustration evident, but he didn’t look away. “I lashed out. It was a rough day. Lotta old memories comin’ back—things I thought I put behind me. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Then why did you?” you asked softly, your anger fading slowly, replaced by the ache of exhaustion. “You’re supposed to trust me, Logan. To lean on me. Instead, you pushed me away.”

He swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper when he spoke. “I got scared.”

Your chest tightened, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice. Logan wasn’t someone who admitted fear lightly—if ever. You moved even closer, your tone gentle now. “Scared of what?”

“Losin’ you,” he admitted quietly, the words tumbling out with obvious difficulty. “Eventually, you’ll realize you can do better than some stubborn, broken-down asshole like me. It’s just a matter of time.”

Your breath caught slightly, heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “Logan,” you whispered softly, “do you really think I’d still be here if I didn’t want to be?”

He shrugged slightly, not meeting your eyes. “Sometimes, I dunno.”

Slowly, you moved back to sit beside him on the bed, careful to keep a cautious distance, but close enough to show you weren’t running. “Well, you should know by now. I’m here because I want to be. But you have to let me in, Logan. You have to give me something to work with. I can’t be the only one putting in the effort.”

Logan’s hand twitched slightly, hesitantly reaching out until it brushed yours, fingers tentative. “I know. I ain’t makin’ excuses, just… tellin’ you the truth. I’m not good at apologies. Never have been.”

You watched him for a long moment, the careful honesty in his eyes slowly chipping away at your anger. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be a perfect apology,” you said gently. “Maybe it just needs to be real.”

He nodded slightly, throat working as he forced the words out. “I’m sorry, Y/N. For what I said, for pushin’ you away, for makin’ you feel like I didn’t care. I do. More than you know.”

You let out a slow breath, your shoulders relaxing a little as the words sank in. “That’s all I needed, Logan. Just that.”

He sighed softly, relief evident in the slump of his shoulders. His fingers tightened around yours, more confident now. “So, you stayin’?”

You hesitated, looking down at your entwined fingers, the comfort and warmth of his touch grounding you in a way you’d desperately missed. “Only if you promise we’re done with the silent treatment. I can’t keep living like that. If we fight, we talk it out. Even if it’s hard.”

He gave a low, rough chuckle, a faint smile flickering briefly across his face. “Deal. Even if I’m terrible at it.”

“I’ll take terrible over nothing,” you murmured, smiling softly despite yourself. “At least it’s a start.”

Slowly, Logan reached out, carefully wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you gently against him. You sighed, relaxing into his familiar warmth, exhaustion and relief mingling together until you felt tears stinging your eyes.

“I really am sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, lips brushing gently against your temple. “I ain’t ever meant to hurt you.”

“I know,” you whispered back quietly, your voice soft but firm. “But you did. And that means you have to make it right.”

“I will,” he promised quietly, his voice rough with sincerity. “Whatever it takes.”

You nodded against his chest, allowing yourself to finally relax fully into his embrace. It wouldn’t fix everything—not immediately, at least—but it was a start. And right now, that was enough.

For the first time in days, the silence that fell between you was comfortable. The tension was still there, buried beneath careful apologies and cautious promises, but finally, you felt hope beginning to thread its way back into your heart.

And tonight, as you allowed Logan to hold you close again, you knew with quiet certainty that no matter how frustrating he could be, no matter how stubborn and closed-off he seemed, he was worth the effort.

And finally, finally, you were sure—without a shadow of a doubt—that Logan believed you were worth the effort too.

[mika-no-sekai-blog]

Azriel x reader

Word count: +3400

Warnings: none (?)

Summary: When love becomes a painful burden and you can't stand it anymore, you decide to turn it into hate, avoiding its source at any cost. However, Azriel has enough and seeks you out.

When I wrote it in my head (late at night of course), it was perfect. But I forgot the exact wording😮‍💨 Now I'm not so sure about this. Also I bit changed the intended end to cut down the word count

Anyway, I hope you will enjoy it

Despite my resolve to not to look in that direction, my eyes darted to the dance floor again and again, pulled by power stronger than my will. Pain sharp like dagger carved deep into my heart as I watched Azriel dancing with some female whom he just met at bar. Their bodies seemed to be glued together as their hips swayed in the rhythm of the music, even their foreheads were touching. Female's arms wrapped around his strong shoulders and neck, sliding down and back up his biceps and chest only to once again return back to their start point, holding him close. Pulling him closer. He didn't seem to mind it though as his own hands travelled all over her body, squeezing soft flesh wrapped in tight mini-dress at times.

I felt bile rising in my throat and turned back to my drink, wishing it was something stronger than just mojito—something that would burn not only my throat, but also my heart with all the traitorous feelings. I wished I had never made that mistake and fallen in love with him. Things would be much easier.

We used to be friends, really close friends. However, ever since I realized I felt something more for him, my feelings kept deepening with every passing day to the point it physically hurt to even look at him. He didn't seem to feel the same way though, not noticing anything, and I was too scared of refusal and never confessed. After just few months I was so agonized that I couldn't even step out of my room without bursting into tears and that's when I decided to rather hate him than to suffer like that.

I started ignoring him, avoiding him at any cost, twisting everything into anger. I went so far as not even answering him when he directly spoke to me. It still hurt, but it was more manageable kind of pain than what I felt before. This was how I had lived for the last two years, working hard to build the wall of the hatred around my heart brick after brick, yet I had a long journey ahead of me.

I threw the straw on the table and knocked back half of my drink, trying to think about anything except of what was happening to my left. I was so focused that I noticed Cassian only when he tapped his glass to mine.

"What are we drinking to?"

"To fucked up life."

Cassian's guttural laughter was so loud that it even overbeat the pulsing bass of the music.

"To fucked up life then," he toasted and got his drink down in one gulp. He was in his element, beaming with excitement.

Rita's was full of all kinds of faeries as usual, the dance floor pulsed with life, bodies swaying, alcohol flowing. After the warm-up drinks, our group fell apart — some were at bar, some were dancing and some disappeared to who-knows-where. Cassian was the first one to mingle between the dancers. It was almost midnight, yet this was the very first time he stopped for a while. Well, stopped.. His body was somehow managing to keep moving along the music even while he was sitting.

He reached over the table, caressing my cheek, his expression softened. "You need to learn how to let go, doll."

"It's easier said than done," I sighed and straightened up to get away from his reach. I used to be quite touch starved person, enjoying every contact with persons dear to me, but lately I could hardly stand anyone in my close proximity.

His eyes narrowed at me for a second, but he said nothing and drumming fingers on the table turned to the dance floor. He bit on his bottom lip. Devilish smile spread on his face and he turned back to me.

"Then I'll help you."

"Help me with what exactly?" I frowned, already having bad feeling.

"To let go. Come!" He raised a brow, jerking his head toward that maze of bodies. "Come," he repeated, offering me his big hand when I didn't react.

Out of the corner of my eye, I gazed at the full dance floor. "No, never," I grimaced. "I'd rather die than to do that."

"Come! I promise you will have fun."

"I can't dance." All my friends knew that, including Cassian. I wasn't willing to dance even where nobody could see. That kind of activity simply wasn't up to my liking nor ability.

"I'll teach you."

"No."

"I'm not accepting no as an answer this time," he grinned, rounded the table and gripped both of my hands, pulling me with him. He was too strong. I followed him involuntarily, squeezing in between dancing bodies. He took me to the back where weren't so many faeries and we didn't have to jostle with others. Only then he let go of my hands. I immediately crossed them on my chest, feeling awkward.

"Relax," he pulled me closer, his hands on the small of my back. I pulled my lips into thin line, frowning. I didn't like this at all. "Just feel. Let the music lead you."

"The music leads me back to the table," I grunted to which he laughed.

"Just bit move that ass of yours. Like this." He gripped my hips, pulling on and pushing them to demonstrate the movement he wanted me to do.

"Geez, you are so stiff," he was laughing his ass off. The small amount of alcohol I drank finally kicked in. There was nothing funny on this, yet I couldn't help myself and giggled.

"That's it," he praised me when I did as he instructed. "Just like that."

When I got used to the motion, he let go of my hips and took a step back to have a better view. "And now add legs." He demonstrated several simple moves and I tried to mirror them. I felt like idiot.

"You are doing great. Don't stop." He again stepped closer and took me by waist. We danced together for a while, Cassian's mouth never closing — showering me with praise, stupid jokes and stories — and I really had fun just as he'd promised.

"That hardly can be called dance. Let me show you how to do it," a deep voice spoke somewhere behind me and shiver ran down my spine. My heart flipped at that sound and smile froze on my face. I knew that voice too well.

"As if you could dance any better," Cassian snorted, but he started retreating. I desperately grabbed fabric of sleeves on his forearms, wordlessly pleading with him to stay.

"Just have fun, doll," he shrugged and turned away, immediately finding another dance partner. I stared after him in disbelief, my back still to the newcomer. I felt him move, slowly circling me and I swallowed hard. I turned to the opposite side, determined to head back to our table, suddenly too thirsty.

Scarred hand grabbed my elbow, yanking me back and I was met with his broad chest. I didn't dare to look up.

"Not so fast, Y/N," Azriel mumbled and I wondered how it was possible that I heard him so clearly over the loud music.

"I don't dance," I retorted, pulling away. I didn't get far though, his strong arms keeping me at the place.

"I just saw you with Cassian. Just one dance. I'm not asking for too much."

No matter how desperately I searched for good reason to decline, any reason honestly, I found none. "Fine," I grunted at last.

For a while we danced and I moved as Cassian showed me, but I felt so uncomfortable.

"Try it like this," Azriel said, his hands moving to my hips.

"Don't touch me," I barked at him, my mind flooded with imagines of him touching that female not so long ago. "I don't even want to think about where your hands were before."

His body stiffened as if I slapped him and he fell out of rhythm. "I can assure you that I washed my hands properly."

He sounded hurt and I felt pang of pain in my chest. I realized the ambiguity of my own words. And because this was Azriel, he probably thought I meant his work which was quite sensitive topic for him. He didn't torture people because he enjoyed it, but because he had to—to protect this court, to protect his family.

Ignore it! I ordered myself, clenching teeth.

It took him a moment to recover. Just as we began dancing again, he keeping hands at his sides, the song ended, immediately followed by much slower one. A lot of faeries around left the dance floor. I took it as my call and followed the suit.

"Wait!" Azriel grabbed both of my hands. "We haven't even danced yet."

"But-," I stuttered.

"One song. Please."

It was that damn word please. He hardly ever used that word. He was always polite and perfect gentleman and everything, but it seemed he didn't have this word in his vocabulary. I could count on fingers of one hand how many times I heard him to say it in almost two centuries we knew each other.

"Just one song then."

"Yeah, just one," he agreed. His hands reached for my waist. "Can I?"

I just nodded, still feeling bad for unintentionally hurting him like that. He hesitated.

"You should put your hands here," he guided them to his shoulders, but I immediately let them fall to his biceps. I didn't want to hold on to him like that bitch. I inhaled sharply, surprised by the sudden strong wave of jealousy.

Hate. You aren't jealous. You hate him, I had to remind myself.

"That's also fine," he sighed, snapping me out of my spiralling thoughts. "Now you need to come a bit closer."

He gently pulled me to him. I made sure there was a wall of air between us, already sensing where he was heading. Unfortunately, I was so occupied by keeping him as far from me as possible that I didn't notice drunken faerie passing by. She dangerously swayed, unstable on her own feet, and shoved me from behind. Clumsy idiot as I was, I lost balance and once again ended up pressed to Azriel's chest. He was fast, his arms immediately wrapped around me, not letting me step away. Now our bodies were touching.. everywhere — hard parts pressing into soft ones.

I felt heat climbing up my neck, my ears already burning.

"Dance partners usually look each other in the eye," he muttered, amused. He had some guts to tease me.

My head snapped up in rush of disbelief and rage, my eyes met with honeyed hazel ones. Those warm orbs completely captivated me, imprisoned me in their depths and I couldn't look away anymore. All my thoughts vanished at once.

It was long since I properly looked at him, let alone so close up. He hadn't changed much. If anything, he was even more handsome than before.

Idiot! Stop thinking such shit! He isn't handsome. He's disgusting. Not so long ago he was touching some random female and now he's here, touching you with the same hands. He's promiscuous pig. Absolutely repulsive.

My chest heaved as I was fighting with myself, heart against mind. My heart pounded so hard it had an echo.

Wait! What a nonsense! Heart can't have echo, can it?

Just then I realized it wasn't some echo but a beat of another heart. It was Azriel's heart that hammered just as fast as mine and so strongly that I felt it through our connected bodies. And if I felt his, then he had to feel mine as well. At that thought panic started to creep up on me.

Azriel leaned down, so slowly. His warm breath fanned my face, our noses touching.

The song ended replaced by another and dance floor filled again. Azriel seemed to be too occupied and didn't even notice it, but I did. I shoved him away with all my strength.

He didn't expect it and wavered, his grip on me loosened. I jerked from his arms, recoiling. He reached for me.

"Y/N, wait.. Just one more-"

"No more dancing," I said, my voice so cold that I startled even myself. "You wanted one song and you got one. I'm done here."

I didn't wait for his reaction and showed him my back. I marched over to our table, emptied my glass in one go and even one shot that was left there. The alcohol burnt its way down my throat and I grimaced. I grabbed my things and without looking back or leaving a message to others, I left.

I stomped down the snowy road, hardly noticing the slippery ice under soles of my boots. Only once I got all the way down to the Sidra, I paused on one of the bridges, letting out an angry sigh. I drew the thick cloak closer, feeling the chill of winter night, and looked up at sky full of stars, my warm breath creating quickly disappearing puffs of steam. I was on verge of tears, angry, hurt and confused. What was that even about?

"Y/N, are you all right?"

Not again. I wanted to flee away, but his big hand blocked my way.

"Stop already running away from me!"

"Leave me alone!"

In the attempt to get away, I lost my footing on slippery stones. I would fall down into deadly cold waters if it wasn't for his strong arms that kept me upright.

"Please." There was that word again, this time even more desperate than the one before. "I can't do this anymore. Please, tell me what I've done that it made you this mad. I will apologise as many times as you wish. I'm willing to do anything to gain your forgiveness."

"I thought that when I leave you be, your anger will ease and you will eventually tell me what happened, but it's already so long and it's getting worse and worse," he continued when I just stood there, gazing down into dark waters of Sidra.

How was I supposed to tell him that he did nothing? That I was just stupidly in love with him and that I couldn't deal with my own feelings anymore? I couldn't possibly tell him that. So I was silent while cold tears rolled down my cheeks.

"I'm so desperate that I even tried to provoke you to no avail. I don't know what else to do to mend our relationship back to what it used to be. And I miss you.. so much. So please, tell me what happened, so I never again repeat the same mistakes."

He stepped closer, hugging me from behind. "Please." When he breathed out near my ear, shiver ran down my spine and my eyes closed. All strength, all fight left me and my shoulders slumped down. Azriel gently turned me around, so now I faced him. His warm hands cupped my wet and cold cheeks, his thumbs wiping tears away.

"Speak to me otherwise I-.." His voice was low, dangerously low.

"You what?" I whispered the words into silent night, needing to hear the answer.

"I.." Suddenly his face was so close that it was the only thing I saw, his breath hot on my face. My head, heart, lungs, whole my body shut down. I was just standing there, gaping, hypnotized by his sad eyes.

He waited until I inhaled and then his lips sealed over mine, his eyes holding my gaze. The kiss was slow, careful, hesitant.

I was stunned, my eyes the size of full moon above us. As the new sensation settled in, a firework boomed in my chest and I.. moaned.

He made a sound back in his throat that vibrated through whole his chest. Shutting his eyes closed, he unleashed, deepening the kiss. His lips, hard like stone and so soft at the same time, hungrily danced over mine, his tongue gently pushed into my mouth, looting and exploring.

Azriel tasted like an old whiskey Rhys poured me once from his precious collection. The rich spiced and woody taste was mixed with something sweet and delicious and I moaned again as I realised I tasted strawberries on his lips. My knees buckled and I clasped hands around his neck, my fingers tangling with strands of silky dark hair. He swallowed my moan and holding me upright, he pulled me even closer — as if it was possible — his fingers digging into my flesh.

His enormous wings wrapped around me, cutting off the rest of the world, wall of shadows protecting us from any prying eyes.

We kissed and kissed until my lungs began to burn with need for air. Yet I held on as long as I could, wanting this moment to last forever and only when I felt like I was going to faint, I slightly pushed against his shoulders. Reluctantly, his mouth released mine, but stayed close enough that I felt its every move. Both of us staggered weakly and he chuckled.

"Gods," he muttered under the breath, heaving heavily. "You taste better than I've imagined. I wanted to do this for so long."

I was still too dazed to think straight. I just knew that I was happy, my heart hammering into the ribcage so wildly as if it was trying to break through it. His lips travelled all over my face, leaving dozens of small pecks behind. As he calmed down, he hid his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, still holding me in an iron grip.

"Why are you angry with me?" His voice was muffled by fur of my cloak. Under my cheek pressed to his shoulder, I felt his pulse, strong and fast, just like mine. I inhaled his rich scent of early morning mist in the snowy mountains.

"I'm not angry, not really." My face burned with shame. I sounded pathetic even to myself, somehow defeated. My traitorous heart wanted to believe that this was real and that it would last, while my mind was screaming that it was only a short-lived dream.

He was silent for a while, most likely putting together pieces of a puzzle. Maybe it was my salvation that he was a spymaster with a brilliant mind. I didn't have to sink to the very bottom to voice aloud just how lame and stupid I was, saving me from the most shameful moments.

"Never - do you hear me? Never do that again. There's no need for such..." I thought it impossible yet his grip grew even firmer. He sighed heavily, pushing words through clenched teeth. "-ve you."

He muttered something, but I heard only the last part of it. What did he say? No matter what I filled in, nothing made a sense.

"What?" I whimpered, hardly holding my tears back.

Azriel inhaled deeply. "-ve you."

"I.. don't understand."

He straightened up, looking into my eyes, his face deep shade of crimson.

"I said, I love you." His voice was firm, but his wings around us trembled slightly, giving out just how nervous he was.

My eyes widened in disbelief. I certainly misheard. "Eh?"

"As you heard," he looked away shyly, his hands slowly falling down, releasing me. "I started to feel it shortly after we met, but it took me too long to recognize the feeling for what it is. I was full of myself, I should have noticed your pain much sooner. I'm so sorry, Y/N."

His words tore down the dam and the tears began freely flowing down my cheeks in streams. Years of the pain and suffering for nothing.

"You are really the worst. I hate you," I sobbed.

Azriel stiffened and then chuckled when I leaned in, hiding face on his chest. "Am I? You owe me chocolate for at least last two years. And that is not all. I believe you owe me one more thing."

"What do you mean?"

He licked his lips and biting on the bottom one, he slowly pulled me into another embrace. "When someone-.. No. When I confessed to you, you were supposed to answer something like 'I love you, too', don't you think?"

I hesitantly wrapped my arms around his waist and still sobbing retorted, "as if I could say such thing so easily."

His smile only grew. "Then I have to coax it out of you," he cooed and captured my lips in another sweet kiss and another and he kept kissing me until my heart healed, mending all the wounds of the past years.

[fear-less]

could you maybe do james potter x some one who is strange and wonderlandish (kinda like the one you wrote for sirius)

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 minorly stuck

paring: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, james is now understanding the term of love at first sight when he sees a not so normal looking girl wondering around the castle.

warnings: silly reader, fluff, james is in love, use of y/n, lowkey ended it on a cliffhanger bc I was running out of ideas

1.7K words 

It had been the same as any other day for James Potter—chaotic morning, disorganized afternoon, and who knew what the night would hold. The usual whirlwind of mischief, laughter, and the occasional near-miss with Filch had made their way through the first few hours of the day, but there was something different about today.

As James and the rest of the Marauders made their way to the Great Hall for lunch, they were stopped in their tracks by an unexpected sight. A girl stood just ahead, the very picture of contradiction and eccentricity. She was dressed in a riot of colors—patches of reds, yellows, greens, and blues—clashing wildly yet somehow coming together in a way that defied all logic. There were layers of mismatched fabrics, a plaid shirt with a striped skirt that seemed to swirl in a strange dance with every step, and shoes that looked as though they’d been chosen by a person who didn’t care to follow the rules of symmetry.

James, who was known for his casual but fashionable style, couldn’t help but be drawn to her outfit. He’d never considered himself a fashion expert, but even he knew better than to pair such audacious patterns. He’d never be caught dead wearing something so utterly mismatched, yet here she was—radiating an aura of confidence that made the idea of conformity seem utterly unimportant.

“Bloody hell, look at her,” Sirius muttered under his breath, though it wasn’t entirely in judgment. More like... fascination. “Who wears a plaid shirt with striped skirts?”

James grinned, watching the girl curiously. “She does, apparently.”

“You think she’s lost?” Remus asked, raising an eyebrow. He’d heard of eccentric students from the other houses, but this one was something else entirely.

Before anyone could offer another word, the girl turned towards them, her eyes gleaming with a strange, knowing look. She smiled, as if seeing them for the first time, but somehow, James had the oddest sensation that she had already been watching them for far longer.

“You must be the Marauders,” she said, her voice light and airy, like the sound of a bell ringing in the distance. It was both an observation and a statement, as if she knew their every move before they even made it. “You’re much easier to spot than you think.”

James blinked, his mouth slightly open in surprise. "And you are?" he asked, his voice a little more curious than he intended.

The girl tilted her head, her mismatched socks peeking out from beneath her skirt. “Oh, I’m just someone passing through your world. But, I think you’ll find my path crosses with yours more often than you realize.”

She gave them one last smile, a cryptic little twist of her lips, before turning away and walking off into the maze of Hogwarts corridors. Her steps were light, almost as though she were floating rather than walking, her mismatched clothes swishing around her like a kaleidoscope of color. Before long, she disappeared into the distance, leaving behind a lingering sense of wonder, or perhaps confusion, that none of them could quite shake.

While the Marauders continued toward the Great Hall, chatting among themselves as if nothing had happened, James found himself walking on autopilot, his mind elsewhere. His feet carried him forward, but his thoughts were still tangled in the strange girl they had just encountered. Who was she? Why did she seem so... out of place yet completely in tune with the madness of Hogwarts? He had no answers, but there was something about her that he couldn’t ignore. Her smile, the way she spoke, the sheer oddity of her presence—it was all so... mysterious.

"Oi, Potter, you all right?" Remus’ voice broke through his thoughts, and James blinked, momentarily shaken. He glanced at his friends, who had already started making their way toward the Great Hall, completely unaware of the strange moment that had just passed.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," James mumbled, his voice absent as he unconsciously followed them. “Just... thinking.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. "You're awfully quiet today. You were boasting about how you were going to charm some first-year by the end of the week, and now you're just... spaced out?"

James didn’t respond right away, his mind still far from where they were. He was still replaying the image of her in his head—her odd clothes, her cryptic words, that strange, otherworldly aura. It was like something from a dream, something out of place in the dull routine of Hogwarts. His heart thudded slightly faster with a sudden, inexplicable pull.

Then, without warning, the words slipped out of him. “I think I found my soulmate.”

Sirius, who had been walking beside James, nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. Remus and Peter looked at him with equal disbelief.

“Say what now?” Sirius laughed, the grin on his face widening. “What are you talking about, mate?”

James’ cheeks flushed slightly at the attention, but he didn’t care. He was too caught up in the idea that had just dawned on him. “I don’t know her name, but I swear… I’ve never met anyone like her.”

The three boys stared at him, dumbfounded. James had always been the first to boast about his latest romantic conquests, but this… this was different. It wasn’t like the usual flirty comments or half-hearted crushes.

“Well, who is she, then?” Sirius prodded, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Where’d you find her, and why hasn’t anyone else noticed?”

James shook his head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t know yet. But I will. And I’m going to find her again. No one else can see it, but I can. I’m going to figure it out.”

He paused, as if gathering his thoughts, before turning to his friends. “Actually… forget about the Great Hall. I’ll catch up with you guys later. I need to find her. I'll see you in a bit."

Without waiting for a response, James turned on his heel, his eyes scanning the crowd of students moving in the opposite direction, searching for the mysterious girl who had already captured his full attention. He didn’t know what it was about her—her quirky, untamed nature or the strange sense of destiny he felt—but he knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t about to let this feeling slip away.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

As James was walking through the corridor, deep in thought about the strange girl, something caught his eye—a flash of color. It was a brief glimpse, but enough to stop him in his tracks. The bright, mismatched clothes reminded him immediately of her, the girl who had wandered into his life only hours before, leaving behind a trail of questions. Without thinking, his feet carried him toward the left, where the corridor opened up to the outside grounds.

He hesitated for a moment, a small voice in his head telling him to turn back, but his curiosity won out. This could be his chance to figure out more about her. With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, he decided to follow.

His heart raced as he moved closer, and soon enough, there she was. She walked with a carefree stride, her arms holding something—James couldn’t quite make out what it was. It looked like a bundle of books or perhaps a strange collection of trinkets, but it was hard to tell from the distance. Whatever it was, it only added to the air of mystery surrounding her. James made a mental note to ask her about it later, curious to see what she might be carrying.

He took a breath and straightened up, trying to approach nonchalantly, like he wasn’t following her at all. He even threw in a casual little flick of his hair, trying his best to act as if he just happened to be walking in the same direction. But before he could get any closer, she turned—suddenly, almost as if she’d sensed him.

Her eyes met his immediately, that mischievous glint flashing in them once more. The smile she gave him was a curious one, not quite a greeting, but something else entirely. It was as if she already knew exactly why he was there, even though he hadn’t said a word.

James froze for a split second, caught completely off guard. He had expected to catch up to her, perhaps even start a casual conversation. But now that she had turned to face him, there was an intensity in her gaze that made his confidence falter, just for a moment.

"Following me, are you?" Her voice was light, almost teasing, like she had been waiting for him all along.

James opened his mouth to reply, but the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to explain that he’d been thinking about her, or that something about her was completely captivating. Instead, he just flashed her a grin, hoping to play it cool.

“Maybe,” he said with a wink, finally finding his voice. “But I’m just hoping I can learn more about... you.”

"Hmm, well then, James, I am Y/N," she said, her smile widening, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes.

James blinked, momentarily struck by the sound of her voice, soft yet full of mystery, like a melody he couldn’t quite place. “Y/N…” he repeated under his breath, testing the name on his tongue. It was simple, yet somehow, it felt like it held an entire world of secrets.

What a lovely name, he thought, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. He couldn’t quite explain why, but it seemed to suit her—unusual, elegant, and more than a little out of place in the best way possible. There was something about it that made her feel even more enigmatic, as if she were meant to be a riddle he’d have to solve.

He met her gaze again, trying not to let his smile slip too widely. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, his voice a bit lighter than he’d intended, like he was speaking a line from some grand tale. And, in a way, he felt like he was.

[bellaxgiornata]

What's Left to Lose [1/2]

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k [Part two] [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; nurse!Reader, angst with an eventual happy ending, pining, emotional hurt/delayed comfort, Tara is an ass, Reader smokes, Reader has a brother (nameless/description-less to be inclusive as possible)

Summary: Ever since your brother patched into SAMCRO's charter and you moved to Charming three years ago, you and Jax grew close. Despite having quietly fallen in love with him, you'd accepted your position as just his best friend–until Tara unexpectedly returns to Charming and rips him straight from you. Now you're left feeling like nothing at all to him.

a/n: I've been craving something angsty with Jax, so I wrote this little thing that's been in my head all week. There's no comfort in this first part, but I'm intending to give it at least a part two. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Jax Teller One Shot Tag List: @kmc1989

Everything had changed in a matter of just a few weeks–and you absolutely hated it.

Over the past three years since you’d moved to Charming shortly after your brother had patched over to SAMCRO’s charter, you’d gotten used to Jax calling you a few times a week. He’d often be checking in to see if you were working a shift at the hospital that night or if you had plans with your other friends, because if you were free, he'd be inviting you to hang out so he could get a break from the guys’ bullshit. Other times you’d finish a shift to find a text or a voicemail from him telling you to get your sweet ass over to the clubhouse for a party before the chaos of it had even begun. 

But your phone history showed that it had been almost a month since he last called you. The previous few texts you’d received from him had been just over a week ago, and they'd been short responses to the texts you had sent him asking if he wanted to have a few drinks with you–something that you’d both done frequently if he wasn’t wrapped up in club business–which he'd declined. Jax’s name barely ever appeared on the screen of your phone anymore.

Lately he kept telling you that he was busy. Because he was always busy now–too busy for you. Ever since Tara reappeared in Charming unannounced, stepping back into Jax’s life just over a month ago like she still belonged there, he had distanced himself from you. She'd been here barely more than a month and had already ripped your best friend away from you.

And Jax and you had always been incredibly close. While he and Opie had been best friends since childhood, the relationship between you and Jax had somehow become infinitely closer. The two of you talked about everything and anything, including some things you figured that he had accidentally drunkenly spilled to you on the nights he’d had a few too many to drink. There was just something about your relationship with each other that always felt easy and right, and you’d never had nearly as much fun with anyone else before you met Jax.

But now there were no more late nights drinking beers on the roof of the clubhouse while sharing cigarettes under the cover of a few stars while Jax vented about the direction the club was going in. No more getting high the day after a night of drinking, riding on the back of his bike to the gas station on the corner of Main Street and sharing a box of candy, a bag of chips, and a giant blue raspberry slushie as you both walked through downtown together. He didn’t seek you out at clubhouse parties anymore, didn’t step outside to smoke with you, and he certainly hadn’t incurred the look of warning from your brother that he usually received whenever you climbed off the back of his bike after one of your usual adventures. 

As you walked through the brightly lit halls of St. Thomas Hospital, making your way back towards the nurse’s station so you could finish the last couple of hours of your shift after the break you'd just finished, you’d become painfully aware of his lack of visits while you worked, too. When things were running smoothly with the club, you could count on at least one surprise visit a week from Jax during your break times. He always brought you better coffee than the shit served here in one of his tumblers from home, a satisfied grin on his face every time you thanked him profusely for it like he’d just somehow saved your life. The pair of you would usually sit outside in the outdoor cafeteria of the hospital while Jax listened to you vent about your day. You always loved when he added his own amusing thoughts just to get you to laugh. 

But those coffee breaks together had stopped the moment Tara had returned. Instead, you’d catch him in the halls every once in a while making his way towards her office, greeting you with a nod and a couple of words and nothing more. Or you might see him in the parking lot leaning against his bike, his attention fixed on his phone as he clearly waited for her to finish her shift.

Waiting for her. Not you.

You didn't understand what was happening between them, either. During one of the many drunken nights you’d spent with your head resting on Jax’s shoulder, the pair of you leaning against the wall behind his dorm room bed at the clubhouse, you’d learned that she had tried to drag him from the club eleven years ago. She had given him some sort of ultimatum, stating that he would leave Charming with her if he truly loved her. 

The way he'd spoken about that last conversation they’d had–with an agonizing calmness and a vacant look in his eyes–told you everything you needed to know that you knew he'd never say. When she left him all those years ago, she had completely destroyed him. You knew Jax well enough to know the real reason he never got serious with anyone, the reason he never let anyone get too close to him, and the reason he’d never gone on a single date as long as you'd known him. It was because of her. Because of the hurt that still lingered inside of him when it came to Tara, the hurt that had never completely healed. Because she had absolutely done a number on his heart and his trust.

That was why you’d never pushed for anything more than friendship with him, never tried to see if he felt any of the things you did those times you two were more affectionate than friends should ever be. You’d come to understand that he’d never gotten over her from the very little he ever opened up about her. It was also why you’d reluctantly forced yourself to look the other way whenever he took some croweater to his dorm room when he was wasted. You knew those girls meant nothing to him, that they weren't anything but something more satisfying than his own hand. So you let it go because you always held onto the hope that someday he might realize there was something more than friendship between the two of you. You had hope that someday he'd see it. Stupid, foolish, steadfast hope.

Until Tara came back and set all your hopes on fire.

Turning the corner of the hallway as you navigated the hospital, you felt your heart sink to your feet at the sight of the white doctor's coat making its way towards you at the opposite end of the hall. Because of course you’d have to run into her today. St. Thomas wasn’t that large of a hospital after all, it was often impossible to avoid running into her here.

The second Tara spotted you, a bitter smile twisted her lips upwards. It was the same look she’d been giving you for the past two weeks now, ever since one of the other nurses mentioned that Jax used to come here and visit you all the time before he'd been stopping by to see her. And she’d very quickly decided that she didn’t like you after that, always shooting you dirty looks or making passive aggressive comments about how haggard you looked, or hinting at you being some sort of club pussy on your nights off. Always talking down to you with that petulant smile on her face.

“Don’t you have a bedpan to be cleaning up or something?” she commented as she neared.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes at one of her many attempts to demean your position as a nurse, you set your jaw and kept on walking down the hall. Giving in to the urge to break her nose–to prove to her that she wasn’t nearly as tough as she thought she was–was always so strong whenever she opened her mouth. But you’d most likely end up fired, with an assault charge, and a guarantee that Jax would only continue to keep you out of his life. So you refrained from ever acting on the impulse.

“Oh, you're trying to ignore me now?” Tara asked, her words clearly meant to taunt. Her footsteps down the otherwise empty hall came to a stop behind you before you heard her voice again. “Still pissed at me for being the one he wants, are you?”

Arms crossing over your chest, you could feel your hands balling into fists as she goaded your retreating form. Just one hit. One right hook straight to her nose like your brother had taught you all those years ago. That would shut her goddamn mouth up. But instead you grit your teeth and kept on walking.

“You will never be what he wants, you know,” Tara called down the hall after you.

Stopping mid-step, you halted in the middle of the empty corridor. Those same words had echoed in your mind for years now, usually in your own internal voice. It was a fear you’d had for a while as Jax continued to keep you at arm’s length, burning through girls in his bed like it was nothing while still only playfully flirting with you. Until he’d gone back to following Tara’s shadow like an angry, lost puppy the first chance he got. 

“But you know that, right?” she continued, clearly pleased that she’d caused you to stop. “You’re nothing but a small town nurse who gets wasted and high in her free time at that clubhouse. No better than the croweaters sucking whatever cock swings their way.”

Head whipping over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed back at Tara. “I’m not a fucking club whore,” you snapped. 

“Right,” she said with a nod, stalking towards you with far too much confidence. “Because your brother is a Son. So you think that somehow makes you better than the other girls trying to catch their attention, right?”

She came to a stop just in front of you, the toes of her shoes practically touching yours. As she leaned her face towards you in an attempt to intimidate, invading your personal space, you found yourself struggling to keep your composure. Everything inside of you just wanted to take a swing at her, just one.

“But you’re not,” she continued, voice dropping into a low hiss. “You’re just as useless and forgettable as the rest of the stupid fucking girls that hang around the club with their tits and their asses out. You mean absolutely nothing to Jax. Just as little as all the other croweaters. You always have.”

A sick, roiling sensation hit you in the gut at her words. You wanted to spit something back in her face, to tell her that she was wrong and far too fucking full of herself. But you hesitated, the month long absence of Jax from your life making you question your ability to even argue otherwise before she was speaking again.

“He’s mine,” she warned you. “He’ll always be mine. And you will never, ever have a place in his life. Not just because you don’t matter to him like I do,” she continued sharply, “but because I’ll never let you near him.”

“You don’t even know him.”

The words that you’d been wanting to scream at her for weeks every time she’d looked at you wrong or said something cruel finally fell right from your lips. You couldn’t hold them back as you unflinchingly held her glare with your own despite the way it felt like a fist was squeezing your heart in your chest as the words ‘you don’t matter to him’ repeated in your mind. 

Tara laughed bitterly before she straightened, no longer directly in your face. “I know him better than anyone,” she disagreed. “Including you.”

“You know a teenager from eleven years ago,” you shot back, hands still balled into fists as your arms hugged your chest tighter. “You don’t know the man he is now–what’s in his heart and his head. You don’t know a damn thing about him anymore.”

Tara’s lips twitched briefly at the corners, her eyes still narrowed at you as they ran up and down the length of you in silent appraisal. “I know damn well you’re not what he wants,” she spat. “You’re forgettable. Not someone worth a second look. I can promise you, he will never want you like you so clearly and pathetically want him. So I suggest you let it go and stop trying to text him asking to spend time with you before I make sure he never wants to look in your direction again.” That ruthless little grin was back on her lips. “And believe me, I could do that. Make him hate you. Make him revulsed at the sight of you.”

As much as you wanted to call her bluff, there was a part of you that truthfully was afraid that she could manage to do exactly that. Pit Jax against you, make him hate you. With the way he’d been acting the past few weeks, he hadn’t seemed like the Jax you’d gotten to know over the last three years at all. And the last thing you wanted was to lose your best friend even if it felt like you already had.

A self-satisfied smirk pulled at Tara’s lips when she saw how quickly that threat had silenced you. She knew she’d gotten under your skin finally. But before either of you could say another word, a figure appeared at the other end of the hallway. The movement caused both of you to turn your heads before you caught sight of Jax just as he realized he’d stumbled into something happening between the two of you. His expression shifted between a mixture of things so quickly that you only managed to catch a couple of emotions–surprise, guilt, frustration–before he’d thrown that usual stoic calm over his features which often made him impossible to read.

“Everything good here?” Jax asked as he sauntered towards the pair of you.

You’d been about to answer, but Tara beat you to it as she gestured a hand in your direction.

“You really need to get a handle on the croweaters “ She sent you a sidelong glare before adding on, “They clearly don't know when their mouths are wanted.”

“She’s not a croweater, Tara,” Jax replied, sounding tired. 

He glanced over towards you, taking in your posture as you noticed how exhausted and worn down he looked. He looked as if he hadn’t been sleeping well for a few days. His blonde, shaggy hair was messier and more disheveled than usual, and even the way he carried himself seemed a little off–sluggish and weary. You wondered if it was his thoughts or something else keeping him up late at night before you quickly shut those thoughts down. You probably didn’t want to know the answer.

“I’ll meet you in your office, alright?” he said, focusing back on Tara. “Just gimme a minute.”

Tara stood there eyeing you, that smugness still radiating off of her before she finally continued down the hall in the direction she'd been going in initially. Your attention remained on Jax, studying his face as his eyes followed Tara’s retreating form until it was gone. Then he ran a hand across his mouth in agitation as his gaze drifted back to you.

“What're you doing?” he asked.

Your brows immediately drew together at the accusation in his tone. “What are you talking about?” 

Jax’s head gestured towards where Tara had just disappeared. “Talking to Tara,” he clarified. “Whatever that was clearly wasn't friendly. What're you doing?”

Lips parting in surprise, you couldn't believe he was blaming you for that tense situation he had just stumbled on. Jax had always known you to be fairly level-headed even if you were blunt and spoke your mind. You didn't start shit at the clubhouse despite the few times you'd shut a girl up when you'd truly needed to and he knew that.

“Oh, so I'm the one starting shit?” you shot back incredulously. “Is that the bullshit she's poisoning you with?”

Jax made a face immediately, his expression twisting into one of distaste. “Poisoning me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

The look on his face gave you pause before you could blurt out everything that'd been on your mind about him and Tara since she returned. But you could see the way his brows had drawn together as his eyes narrowed back at you, his mouth a tight line. He was getting pissed. At you. Something that had never happened before. You knew Tara was a topic that had often been off-limits with him in the past, so calling out her bullshit seemed like it'd get you nowhere with him, even if he desperately needed someone to yank his head out of his own ass.

“She stopped me,” you said instead. “Trust me, I have no desire to have hallway chats with her. That was all on her.”

“Just stay outta shit with Tara,” he told you, moving to step past you like he was already done talking to you. “It’s none of your business.”

Your eyes finally fell to what he was holding in his hand as he took a step forward in the direction of Tara’s office. It was a tumbler. Probably a tumbler filled with coffee. Just like he used to always bring you. The sight of it left you breathless, feeling as if someone had just slammed their fist right into your chest and knocked the wind straight out of you.

“You're bringing her coffee now?” the question slipped softly out before you could stop it.

For the briefest moment, Jax looked guilty at your question and the tone of your voice as his eyes fell to the cup in his hand. But almost as quickly, his jaw tensed and he focused back on you.

“It's none of your business, like I already said,” he snapped.

“So that's it then?” you asked, your mouth suddenly having a mind of its own. “You only have time for Tara now?”

Jax turned back towards you, that frustration from a moment ago returning and setting him off like a lit match. He tensed as he stepped towards you, his eyes narrowed into a sharp glare.

“Maybe I've been fucking busy,” he snapped at you. “You think of that? Maybe I don't have time to sit and drink with you because I've got other shit going on.”

“For a month, Jax?” you asked in disbelief. “Too busy to call or text? Too busy to talk when I'm at the clubhouse? You've been like that ever since Tara came back–you're avoiding me.”

“What?” he snapped, shaking his head at you. “You think I'm avoiding you, is that what this is? You're mad cause you're not getting all my attention? Are you fucking serious right now?”

“I'm mad because you haven't been acting like yourself lately!” you shot back, waving a hand at him. “You never get mad at me like this!”

“Cause you're actually pissing me off right now!” he yelled back.

Those words quieted you, your mouth closing before another thing could come out of it. You'd clearly gone too far and now he was probably just going to push you further away. And dammit, that hurt. All of this hurt.

He pointed a finger in your face as he leaned in towards you, his voice growing dangerously calm as he continued. “Leave the shit with Tara alone, I'm not gonna say it again,” he warned you. “It ain’t your goddamn business. Stay the hell outta it.”

He didn't stand there another second longer before he turned and headed off in the direction Tara had left a few minutes ago, abruptly ending the conversation with you. You stood there watching the back of him, your eyes fixed on the reaper of his kutte until he disappeared towards her office and left you standing alone in the hallway.

A strangled, choked noise fought its way up your chest and out of your mouth before you threw a hand over it. Everything felt like it was suddenly crumbling around you, a burning ache exploding in your chest at the way Jax had just gone off on you.

Ducking into the empty room nearby, you could feel the sting of tears as you slipped inside. You abruptly shut the door after yourself before sinking to the floor, your back to the door as both of your hands flew over your mouth to muffle the sounds of the sobs beginning to fall out of you. 

That hadn't been like Jax at all. Not with you. He'd never gotten pissed like that at you before, never gotten in your face. Even when he was in a bad mood, he'd always been careful with you. Always immediately apologized the handful of times he'd accidentally snapped at you. 

But not this time. 

Warm, wet tears spilled down your cheeks as you shook with sobs against the closed hospital room door. The memory of the way Jax had looked at you just now had Tara’s earlier threat running through your mind again. How she could make him hate you, never want to look in your direction again. Was that what she was already doing?

Where the hell had the Jax you knew for the past three years gone? The one who'd held you close when you'd had a really bad week at the hospital and never minded if you'd cried on his shoulder? The one who used to make you smile with his smartass mouth, and who sent you voicemails to tell you about some ridiculous thing that happened when you'd been working a late shift at the hospital and couldn't be there to witness it? Where was the Jax who'd pick you up sloppy drunk from girls night outs with your friends and called you adorable as he made sure you got home safe?

What the hell had she done to him?

[pshbites]

COWBOY LIKE ME - park sunghoon (teaser)

pairing → sunghoon x reader

synopsis → fresh college graduate, park sunghoon decides to take a 5 month long vacation with some of his closest friends to northern italy. his expectations? bike rides, gelatos, his best friend and designated chef trying a multitude of recipes, and late night swims. the reality? falling deeply in love with the girl who lives with her grandparents next door.

genre & warnings → coming of age, summer au, mentions of the UK school system, based in europe (duh), strangers to friends to a secret third thing, heavy feelings, use of alcohol and drugs, mental health problems, running away, yn has an avoider attachment, loverboy sunghoon, more tbd.

cast → all of enha, kazuha and yunjin from lesserafim, mentions of txt, much more side characters.

est wc → 20 - 25k (?) currently at 15k so we'll see

authors note → hai guys, sooo this is smth i wrote this summer as u can see it is HEAVILY based off of cmbyn ermm so i guess just enjoy! reply here if you wanna be added to the taglist and pls like n reblog <3

SOMEWHERE IN NORTHERN ITALY, 2022.

you and sunghoon laid on the grass next to one another, bodies just inches apart. the moon was high in the sky and it was another one of those quiet nights with him, you adored these nights. you could hear your friends laughing in the house, but it still just felt like it was just you two and the rest of the world and your respective worries just faded away. 

sunghoon turned his body to face you, his elbow propping him up slightly. you turned your body, now face to face with him. his hand reached over, brushing hair out of your face. his eyes were looking into yours like they usually did, but now they were holding something back. “what?” you mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. it wasn’t the fear of being too loud, it was the content of your conversations being strictly between the two of you, no one else’s. 

that was the beauty in these moments you had with sunghoon, they were sacred. as if it were a child hiding candy. the two of you weren’t secretive in the fear of being caught or teased, it was to keep whatever you had, yours. the content that no one else besides sunghoon could know your in and outs, and same with him. it was like your relationship was a question mark to everyone else around you and the two of you intended to keep it that way. 

sunghoon didn’t say anything for a couple seconds, his hand still in your hair, now moving down to cup your cheek in his hand. his thumb grazing the apples of your cheeks. during all this his eyes never left yours. he finally sighed out. “call me by your name and i’ll call you by mine” he breathed out, his voice soft but words as hard as bricks. 

“what?” you repeated, smiling softly at his words. something about this moment between the two of you was so intimate that nothing could tear you from one another. his hand now rested on your waist, rubbing it up and down. somehow you were closer to him than you were before. “you heard me.” sunghoon whispered back, lost in your eyes. 

he shifted a little closer to you, leaning forward so his lips were against your ear. “sunghoon, sunghoon, sunghoon” he whispered, lips kissing the shell of your ear afterwards. each time he said his name there was a pause in between it. he moved back a little, now smiling. you could hear your heart beating in your ears as you smiled back. 

you moved closer, leaning forward so your lips were against his ear. “yn, yn, yn” you whispered back, following the same rhythm he did. you leaned back, eyes never leaving his. his hand reached down to yours and he intertwined your fingers together with his, holding you tightly as if you were going to disappear in a matter of seconds. 

you laid on your back, your cheeks starting to hurt because of how hard you were smiling. you felt closer to sunghoon now than you had this entire summer. he moved closer, head resting on your shoulder as he laid on his back as well. your hands still intertwined because of the fear eating both you alive. 

the fear that this won’t be forever.

[rovsemyri]

I smoked away my brain..(plug!k.choso) ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚

❄️UP ON MY GUMS , (I THINK THEY GOIN NUMB!)

now playing: demons- a$ap rocky

cw: plug!choso / drug dealer!choso, soft dom!choso, fem!reader, dubcon (kinda; sex under the influence), car sex, praising, riding, pussydrunk chosooo!, plot(kinda?), unprotected sex, creampie ₊˚ෆ₊

synopsis: it’s a friday night after work, you finally have the weekend off! stressed, you decide to call your plug, choso. you met him through one of your closest co-workers, yuiji after finding out he had a brother, since then, I guess you can say that you became choso's favorite customer — ★ (intended lowercase)

levy's note⭒⊹ ࣪ ˖: not my best work (i wrote this while i was high) :( but the show must go on. i had the idea to add visual links but i didn't know if people would be cool wit that, so lmk! tyy :) *there may be spelling errors,etc*

╰⟢ it was a late friday night and you didn’t have work tomorrow, so what did u do? called choso, your plug of course. though he was your drug dealer, you knew him a little bit more than his other customers, might even say, you got special treatment. choso was always laid back, he hated people in his business so not many people knew much about him, you wouldn’t have met him if it weren't for yuiji. 

 when he arrived, you stood outside the car door , just talking for a moment before he asked if you wanted to chill for a bit, suggesting you smoke a few blunts and talk…as you know, he always enjoyed your company. 

“so how you been, ma?” he asks, passing you the blunt as he fights a grin asking you the question. taking it from his hand, you take a pull before answering, “ tired, work has been stressing me out lately, but i’m doing okay” you flash him a small smile before taking another pull from the blunt. “you've been staying after hours, right?” he laughed a little, you could tell he was already buzzed. “you stalking me?” you ask, keeping up the light mood. passing the blunt back to him, your body began to feel heavy. 

“nahh, yuiji told me. the boy never shuts up about you, he’s worried bout you”, he says nonchalantly, taking another hit from the blunt. “you gotta take it easy for realll” his words slowing down a little. you could feel your head start to spin as the car became filled with more and more smoke, making your brain blank a little. “i’m doing fine though! just make sure you tell him to not worry when you get back” you laugh a little at the fact that yuiji worried about you and told his brother. choso takes a few pulls before outing the blunt. “you ain’t fine, you just said you was stressed” his words slur a little, the bud getting to his head. “ know i had smoke with you real quick, mama” he says with a grin on his face, pulling out another pre-rolled blunt, passing it to you with his lighter.

“being generous tonight, cho?” you smile at him, lighting the next blunt. “ you said you were stressed…you know i gotchu.” he says looking at you with a soft expression, making eye contact you try to avert your eyes. though choso was your friend’s brother you couldn’t help but admit he was so fucking hot. he was the quiet type, never spoke too much about himself or his life, he was a chill type of guy. that's what made you take interest in him, he was a mystery, really. 

you continue to spend the night just talking, getting things off your mind. choso was always a good listener and it seemed like he loved to listen to you talk. you could sometimes feel the way his eyes are glued to your lips as you're talking…or when he thinks you're not looking, you could feel the way his low eyes trace your figure as you tell him about what's going on. your mind gets more and more intoxicated as the rotation continues several times, somehow he’s still going, waiting for you to tap out or break the box. 

it's getting later as you both continue to talk, rotation going back forth as well, reminiscing about the past you both giggle and laugh. the euphoric feeling takes over your body, you haven’t felt this high in a really long time, you almost feel yourself twitching. choso lets out a soft laugh before passing the blunt back to you, his eyes low and red. “hmmph, cho, you’re not tapping out yet?” you pout giving him a playful hit on his arm before taking the blunt from his slender fingers. “think you could out smoke me, baby?” his tone lowers, a grin plastered on his face, laying back in his seat he watches as you look surprised at the name he called you. 

“of course i can!” you reply quickly with a smile on your face. “what you suggestin’ , girl? we try?” he says, his words slow and slurred, looking up at you making eye contact with you. 

you tried to avoid his eyes as you took another hit from the blunt, you couldn’t help but think about how hot he looked when he was high, you thought maybe shit was just getting to your head. 

“why you keep lookin’ away from me, ma?” he couldn’t help but laugh a little, clearly intoxicated. he passes you another blunt again with his lighter, willing to give into your little game. you kill off the blunt before looking at him, taking the next blunt from him to light , he couldn't help but smile. you could tell choso was on a different planet at the moment but you both felt the tension. “ you're gonna regret this, baby. you can’t out-smoke me” his tone was lower than before. you laugh, exhaling before passing it back to him.” you said you were being generous tonight, right cho?” you tease him, thinking that he’ll tap out sooner or later. the rotation continued.

and somehow, you find yourself in the backseat of choso’s car, the two front seats pushed back, making enough space for you to be perfectly sat on top of him. one hand on your hips, gripping them firmly. His shirt and your clothes are discarded and thrown onto the dashboard of the car and on the car floor. your chest pressed against his as he has one hand harshly holding down your hips on top of him, and the other around your neck. smashing his lips onto yours as the hand on your neck slightly tightened as it guided you to keep up with how he was moving. 

his kisses become sloppier by the minute as you grant his tongue access to yours, before he pulls away, loosening the grip on your neck and allowing you to catch your breath. “this is what ya’ get, baby” he groans, his gaze focused on the way your body looked as you were on top of him, trying to catch your breath. you couldn’t help but take a minute to breathe, his hands traveling to your lower body. his two large hands on your hips, gripping them firmly, slightly pushing your clothed cunt against his tightening bulge, his jeans unbuckled & pushed down far enough to reveal the wet spot forming in his boxers..“cmonn, please help me, baby” choso whined, guiding your hips to grind against his bulge through your soaked panties. . “choso, you’re just really high right now, relax” you pat his head before looking down at him, your hands on his shoulders. 

he groans, throwing his head back before pulling you closer to his chest. “fuck, i’m so impatient, girl” he whines, burying his face into your neck. one of the hands-on your hips now placed on ur neck, you almost gasp at the feeling of the slightly tight grip on your neck “cho.. take it easy on me” you choke out trying to keep yourself composed as you could feel how hard the poor boy was under you. 

planting wet kisses and leaving deep shades of red and purple on your neck, you bite your tongue to hold back the small yelps that almost escape your lips each time you feel his teeth gently sink into the sensitive spots of your neck

poor thing, he couldn’t help but think about how badly he wanted to stuff your tight cunt. his head spinning and low eyes making it worse, he needed it. 

“please let me fuck you, baby” he whines into your neck, he couldn’t take it anymore. he barely waits for you to nod before choso let’s out a soft growl, growing needier by the moment, one of his hands moving away from your hips. slowly moving down to your panties.

he brushes his thumb over your clit, “just the tip baby, I promise” he whines, looking up at you with his low red eyes, moving your panties to the side , “promise??” you move one of your hands down to his erection, freeing them from his boxers. “promise, doll face” he says, lining himself up with you, his hands digging into your soft hips. 

you choke back a moan as the tip of his cock enters your soaking cunt. a loud whimper escapes his lips as he throws his head back. he couldn’t take it , your tight cunt was squeezing his leaking tip. he wanted to see how you’d take him sooo bad. 

 “fuck- i’m s-sorry ma but-“ he manages to say through his sped up breathing before roughly pushing your hips down, your cunt stretching around him as he throws his head back in pleasure. “chosoo, you p-promised” you moan loudly. “sorry baby, take it for me… please?” he almost finds himself begging. 

his rough hands hold your body up, rutting his hips into you at a slow but steady pace, allowing you to get used to the feeling, kissing your cervix each time he comes back down. bouncing yourself back on him, one of his hands cup your face forcing you to look at him with your teary eyes. 

he couldn’t help himself from taking in every part of you. he loved watching the way you tried to hide the way your facial expression changed each time his tip hit the right spot. admiring the pretty sounds you made for him and only him to hear. he loved knowing that he was the one relieving your stress. 

““fuckkk .. you move your hips so well. keep riding me s-so fucking good.” he moans loudly before pulling you closer to him. you could swear his voice was louder than yours but he just couldn’t help it. 

you feel the tears well up in your eyes as his pace begins to quicken, pounding into you, the vibrations riding along your sensitive clit making you moan louder with pleasure. “-- ngh! feels good .. s-so good,” you babble, your body getting tired, you lean on his chest for more support. 

your nails digging into his back, the pain almost giving him more energy, he pounds into you harder making the sounds you were making impossible to suppress. you feel the knots in your stomach tighten. 

“c-cumming—m’ gonna c-cum mmph!!” you whine, 

“ cmon baby,, cum on my dick m’ almost there” he groans in your ear as you grip his shoulders tighter. you feel a euphoric wave overtake your body as he continues to chase his high, fucking you through your orgasm, leaving your legs shaking as he overstimulates your weak spot. 

“fuckfuckfuckfuck!--- p-please take it, princess. m’ right there” he’s at the point of tears. your vision is blurry as you watch as he desperately fucks into you. you weakly push yourself back against him, attempting to help him. 

“i’m cumming, p-please don’t stop” he whines loudly as he continued to fuck into you before feeling his dick twitch inside of you, his breathing became heavier. he buries his face into your neck, whimpering as he paints your tight gummy walls white, riding out his high.

he lifts his head, face stained with tears, he looks at you with low eyes, trying to catch his breath. 

“ think ya got one more fa’ me, princess?” 

[biting-miguel-ohara]

A/B/O with Bucky Barnes

A/N: Kinktober fic #11

Errrr 🫣 Don’t come after me if this is inaccurate or weird or anything, please. I wrote this mostly based on memories from back when I had an A/B/O phase. Please let me know if I missed any warnings!

Written for an ftm!Reader

Link to masterlist here

CW: missing Bucky; heats; Reader is an Omega; Reader nests; cramping from heats; sex toys; explicit sexual content; smut; Bucky is an Alpha; ruts; sexual teasing; scent gland biting; nudity; missionary position; rough sex; Reader’s parts are called dick and hole; mentioned multiple orgasms; cumming inside; unprotected sex; knotting; licking; ‘I love you’s; mentioned multiple rounds

805 words

You missed him.

You always did when he was on a mission, but this time was worse. You could’ve sworn you’d double-checked your heat schedule, planned for a few days extra just in case.

But apparently not.

Now you’re ransacking the house, grabbing every pillow, blanket, and soft thing you can find. You’re dressed only in his clothes, his scent helping calm the distress clawing at the back of your mind.

Last time he’d helped you build your nest. Now it feels weird to not have him around.

You drag the load of soft things to your bedroom, breathing in the faint but mixing scents of you and your mate. It relaxes you a little more, gets you more focused on your task.

You have a nest to build, a heat to go through. It’ll be hard without him, but you’ve done it before. You can do it again.

Hopefully.

Your heat hits right as you finish your nest. You crawl into it, stripping off everything but his shirt. You need him on you somehow.

Everything feels hot. Hot hot hot. It’s only made worse when the cramps hit. Strong aching cramps that make you scramble for a toy.

Your entire body screams for him and he’s not there.

The anguish fades once you start to fuck yourself with the toy. Once pleasure starts to do away with the cramps and melts your mind. It’s a big toy, modeled after him, and you intend to use it as much as you can.

It’s not your alpha, but it’ll do for now.

You’re two days into your heat when you hear footsteps. You immediately curl into yourself, fear spiking through the haze of pleasure. Then you catch the scent.

You’re on your feet in an instant, flinging yourself into his arms. “Alpha!”

“Omega.” His voice is low, a rumble of need. He might not be in rut yet, but the sight of you all naked and needy is enough to do him in.

His lips crash to yours, mouth greedy and bruising. He kisses you like he’s going to claim you all over again and you go weak in his arms for it.

His fingers come down to tease your hole, slick gushing over his hand. You’re beyond soaked, your body aching for him. Even just the brush of his fingers has you clenching hard enough to cramp.

You whimper pathetically, shifting and squirming to press yourself down on his fingers. You need something, anything, in you.

Thankfully, thankfully, this finally seems to trigger his rut because he growls and buries his face in your neck. Nipping at your scent gland. “Omega.”

“Alpha!” You melt against him and he scoops you up. Carrying you to your nest.

He makes a sound of approval at the sight, making pride fill every inch of your being.

He lays you down and strips, revealing every bit of his perfect body to you. Your mouth waters, your body already aching for him.

He waits for a moment, letting you get comfortable in the nest before making a move. You appreciate it, swaddled by blankets and pillows as he moves to kiss you.

You moan as he drags his thick cock against you, slicking it up. When he finally pushes in, you gasp and shudder before melting completely. It feels so good. So thick and long and perfect. So much better than a toy.

You cling to him, lips melding to his as he starts to fuck you. It feels so right, kissing your alpha like this.

He pulls back, leaning down to nip at your neck once more. Then he starts to fuck you. Hard and fast; deep, pounding thrusts that leave you breathless and whining.

You can’t think. There’s nothing in your mind but praise for your alpha. Broken coos you manage to whimper out. He seems to revel in them, growling out snarled praises of his own.

You cum once, twice, three times in the first round. You can’t help it, not when his fingers find your dick and rub it so well. Not when he’s fucking you mindlessly, snarling out promises of breeding and pups.

It’s over when you bare your neck to him. When you expose your gland to him. He bites down hard, claiming you all over again. And you melt into it all over again, crying out softly as his thick seed fills you up.

As his knot settles into place. Locking his cum inside you.

He immediately licks at your neck, soothing the sting of the bite with his saliva. You relax into the pillows, sweaty and panting.

A single moment of clarity pierces your mind and you smile lazily. “I love you, Bucky.”

He grins, all teeth and sharp eyes. “I love you too, handsome.”

You start round two not long after.

[jeanforestauthor]

Hey, My Book is Great and You Should Read it For Free

Hi there! I wrote a book, and I want to let you read it for free!

In The Princess and the Peaches we follow Ethan, a young man with a lot of heart, and not much spine, who is struggling to run a small failing grocery store after the untimely death of his parents. Ethan also has the misfortune of being a thoroughly Normal Guy in a world where fairytales are far more fact than fiction.

Ethan has always lived with the understanding that magic was quite firmly None of his Business, but when a wayward Princess falls victim to a curse inside his shop, he is informed by an iron-fisted Fairy Godperson that it has suddenly become Entirely his Business.

As a result, Ethan is forced to deal with flirtatious dragons, sadistic Princes, and more than a few deep seated insecurities.

So, you may be wondering, if this book is so great, why is it free? Well, because of my burning resentment for the stranglehold of capitalism on the accessibility of art. Uh, Marketing... or something. The point is, I think my book rules, and I wanted it to find people who also thought it ruled, so here it is!

You can access it on multiple e-reading platforms, including Apple and Smashwords here:

Or on Google Play here:

If you STILL aren't totally convinced, that's cool! I generously put the first three chapters under a read-more so you can check them out without even having to leave the safe harbor of Tumblr.

Copyright © 2025 by Jean Forest

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. 

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by Andrew Filion

First edition, 2025

Chapter 1

It was always the same dream.

For twenty-some years Ethan Green had enjoyed placid, peaceful sleep. He'd had boring, pointless dreams and loved it. Then everything had changed, and now, for four years, it had been the same stupid nightmare, every single night. He drifted through it, carried along in its insistent, unchanging rhythm.

He passed through the living room, warm and full of light. Meandered towards the door, his stride easy and unhurried. At this point, Ethan always somehow felt calm, even eager, despite knowing how this was inevitably going to end. Reflecting on it later, he knew it made a sad kind of sense. This was the only way he could see them now.

He heard them before he'd even reached the door. Laughter so deep and loud it sounded like trains passing outside the window. Then a quiet, lilting tone, rising and falling like birdsong.

With one twist of the handle, one swing of the door, he stepped out into the bright, sun drenched storefront, and for just a brief moment, everything felt right.

Ethan's gaze traveled over the deep velvety green of the walls, the worn pine floor, dappled with light. He looked at the big, arched windows, draped in the same old green gingham curtains, heard the quiet chatter of customers, and now, just like every time, he could swear he smelled the scent of sweet, ripe peaches.

And then came the moment he always anticipated. His view swept from the windows, to the neat, trim counter waiting at the front of the store, over the battered old till, up into the lively, animated face of his father.

He was exactly the way Ethan remembered him. Big as a bear and nearly as hairy, booming with laughter, his rough, calloused fingers almost too large for the spindly keys on the register. Ethan took in his twinkling eyes and crooked grin fervently, as if to fix every minute detail in his memory.

And then there, nestled in amongst the bins and barrels of fresh fruit was his mother, as small and willowy as his father was large, but no less intimidating. Her voice was bright, her movements brisk and efficient. Ethan watched her long, elegant hands tug trimly at the curtains and found himself remembering the way they'd often done the same at the collars of his shirts.

Ethan basked in this moment, like the sight of a sunset, brief and fleeting.

Because of course, it never lasted. It started with the windows, like Every. Single. Time. 

Small cracks, that began to spread, like ugly, spiraling spider webs, reaching greedily for the corners of the panes, until suddenly with a deafening crash, the air was full of cascading shards of glass.

As usual, his parents made no reaction, still cheerful, unshaken. Ethan always tried to reach them, even while knowing it was pointless.

"Dad!" He cried, working off the same unending script. "The windows! What's happening!?"

His father turned to him, a placid smile in place.

"It's alright, kiddo, don't worry. I know you can handle it." He replied in his deep, bass rumble.

Ethan stared down at his feet, shifting through the piles of shattered glass.

"But dad-"

Then the fruit would go. Where there was once jewel-bright piles of fresh, ripe produce, suddenly there would be putrid mounds of rotted fruit, their stench overpowering.

"Mom!? How did this-!?"

His mother would give him that soft, exasperated look, like he'd forgotten to comb his hair again.

"Ethan, it's okay, honey. We know you'll take care of it."

And then came the groaning, rending sound of splintering wood, and Ethan's heart would drop into his stomach. The long beams overhead would begin to tear, shaking dust from the ceiling. Every inch of the walls would begin to crack and buckle.

Ethan would look to his parents, still blissfully smiling back at him.

"Everything's falling apart! Can't you see it!? Come on, help me!" He'd cry.

"Ethan calm down," His mother would laugh, "Everything will be fine."

"Yeah kiddo," His father would add with a grin, "You'll just need to take care of it."

And like every time, Ethan would find himself brought up short, paralyzed. He'd stand in the midst of the destruction, his whole life going to ruins around him, and he'd be useless. 

"You can do it." His father would add, with such perfect, maddening certainty.

"But..." Ethan muttered, as always, his voice strangely clear among the chaos. "But I don't know how."

Ethan awoke, a few seconds before his alarm, like always, just a little too late to stop it from going off. It's grating, jangling tones piercing straight into the center of Ethan's brain.

He levered himself out of bed immediately. A Green did not snooze, he told himself wearily, not when there was work to be done. Ethan had never once in his life slept past the alarm and today was no exception. 

Groggily, he shuffled into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. There was that curly mop of comb-destroying hair. There were those same, tired brown eyes. A nose a little too long, a mouth a little too feminine, a frame far, far too scrawny.

Nothing new here.

He went through his usual routine, dressing in the same white shirt, and the same green slacks he wore just about every day of his adult life. He slipped on the same, stiff loafers, and then… Well, then the apron.

He'd thought he'd have gotten used to it by now. He'd seen it on his parents since he was a child. He'd worn it himself since he was a teenager. But somehow, it still managed to give him pause. Probably because it was hideous.

Family legend said that his great grandmother had chosen the color because it reminded her of springtime, of freshness. Most people Ethan knew would never in their wildest dreams have come to these associations. Looking at it, the words of Ethan's best friend ran through his head. 

"If that's fresh anything, it's fresh vomit. Unhealthy vomit. Go to the doctor, something's gone wrong, vomit."

But... It had been a family tradition for generations. It was the Green family's trademark.

And so, dutifully, Ethan put it on, tying it in a tight double knot, even though it made it near impossible to get off later. It was what he always did. It was how it had always been done.

With heavy feet, he trudged downstairs, into the living room.

In truth, it looked almost no different from his dreams. Everything was still in its place, untouched, as it had been for four years now. A few low couches, huddled around the room, a tall bookshelf standing sentinel in the corner, a battered TV sitting silent nearby. The same pictures, arrayed on the mantelpiece, familiar faces staring out. It was exactly the same, an almost perfect monument to the way things used to be... except.

It was so empty. Ethan had managed to preserve every inch of the room, as though nothing had changed, but somehow, like sand slipping through his fingers, he hadn't been able to keep the life that had once existed here, the almost palpable feel of warmth and joy. Now, absence seemed to hang like dust in the air. 

Well, that wasn't the only change. Slowly, Ethan made his way over to the bookshelf, and ran his fingers over the glossy, cool stone of the urn sitting high on its shelves. He muttered a quiet, customary, "Good morning." For a moment he forgot his rituals, forgot his duties, and let himself get lost.

The soft tinkle of the bell on the other side of the door jarred him out of his reverie though. There wasn't really time to pause, he reminded himself. With brisk, purposeful steps, he crossed the room and exited out of the dim, musty corners of his home, and into the bright halls of the storefront.

This too, like the living room, differed little from his dreams, although Ethan thought hopefully that the store at least, was less melancholy than the rest of the house. The soft light of sunrise was just filtering through the tall arched windows, catching in the gingham curtains, painting the pine floor. 

There was no boisterous, laughing man behind the front counter though. Instead, there sat Todd... Or lounged Todd, his sandy, brush cut head lying in a nest of insultingly well muscled arms.

This too, Ethan had to concede, wasn't exactly new. Since Ethan had begun running the shop, Todd worked every morning, the same time, same as Ethan, and yet somehow stubbornly refused to adjust himself to actually being awake during sed time. And as he had every morning,  Ethan considered that if Todd hadn't been his best friend, he'd probably have fired him by now. That, and he was pretty good at moving boxes.

Sighing, Ethan made his way over to the stool Todd had precariously perched himself on and gave it a lazy kick. Todd awoke with a start, scrambling to keep upright.

"Am I keeping you awake Todd?" Ethan asked with a weary smile.

"Bro, you are single handedly destroying my sleep cycle, but what else is new?" Todd replied groggily, "Why'd you wake me up? You don't even need me for anything."

"The produce shipment-" Ethan began.

"-Probably won't come until noon," Todd concluded sourly.

Ethan scowled. "You've noticed that too huh? He used to come first thing a few years ago... Now he's been coming later and later..."

"Fine by me, I'm in no hurry to play packhorse." Todd replied with a jaw cracking yawn.

"It's your job Todd. Being awake, by the way, is also your job."

"Yeah, when there's shit to do. Trust me, I'll be all over those boxes when they come. I'll hit those boxes like they owed me money. Fuckin' Prince of boxes over here. But for now, no boxes, no customers... So no Todd," He muttered, laying his head down again.

"Todd, come on man. You've gotta do something. Remember what dad used to say? If you've got time to lean-"

"- You've got time to clean, yeah I remember. And don't get me wrong bro, your dad was a regular fountain of wisdom, but it's gonna be a long friggin' day. The dust will still be there after my power nap." 

Shaking his head, Ethan abandoned his efforts to rouse Todd and fetched his old push broom from its resting place nearby. 

It was worn, it's bristles tattered, it's paint chipped, and it was heavier than a broom had any right to be, the shaft made of what Ethan suspected was solid metal, but it had been in the family for generations, and it fit in Ethan's hand like it was made just for him. 

Wearily, he took it and made a few halfhearted swipes at the floor, but had to concede that all he was doing was likely wearing more of the already thin varnish off the boards. He'd spent most of last night aimlessly sweeping too, after all. It wasn't like there were customers to keep them busy.

Todd looked up, and seemed to notice the despondent look on Ethan's face. 

"Hey man, I'm just fuckin' around. You know I'll work hard today." 

"Yeah Todd, I know, I'm not really worried about you," Ethan replied quietly.

Todd stood and made his way over to Ethan,  awkwardly clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry so much dude. Things will get better. Today's gonna be different! I can feel it!" Todd exclaimed with as much enthusiasm as one could have at six in the morning.

"I don't really want it to be different," Ethan sighed,"I'd rather things... went back to being the same."

Todd scowled. "Well, tough. I said today's gonna be different, and it will. You wait and see, bro."

"Alright," Ethan laughed, "If you say so."

As the day wore on, things certainly seemed far from different.

As Todd predicted, the produce shipment came extraordinarily late. True to his word, Todd tackled the task with gusto. Ethan was forced to admit, when there was actual work to be done, Todd was a model employee. It was just sheer boredom that tripped him up. Unfortunately, boredom was the one commodity they had in plenty at the store. Once the crates were squared away, the produce stocked, there was little else to be found, because as Ethan had predicted, only a few, meandering customers made their way into the store all day. Even fewer had bought anything. 

As evening began to fall, Ethan gradually found that even he was running out of mindless busywork for himself, and so, he began to fall back on entertaining Todd's inane chatter.

"Hey, bro!" Todd called from the front of the store. From where Ethan stood, crowded in the far corner, surrounded by crates of fruit, he could only just make out Todd's frame leaning languidly on the counter, a newspaper in hand. "Did you read this story? The one in the paper today?"

"You mean that paper we're supposed to be selling?" Ethan sighed.

"Yeah, whatever dude, listen up. Apparently there was a dragon attack in South Mills. Isn't that crazy?"

Ethan scowled. "A dragon? An actual like... wild dragon? I thought those were pretty rare."

"Yeah, I know right? I guess it's the first attack in like, five years or something," Todd paused, laying down the paper, "Hey... do you think something like that could happen here?" He added, in a tone far more hopeful than frightened.

"Here?" Ethan didn't even give the question a moment's consideration, "No way. That stuff happens out in the country, not in the middle of downtown. Not here."

"I dunno, could happen. Oh! like I heard from my cousin’s friend's sister, there was that place down on Pine St, that mom and pop diner? Anyhow, so I guess the health inspector was due to visit, and they were freaking out because they'd never make the grade, right? And then like, overnight, they get one of those... Uh, those little bastards... What're they called? Something like food... a muffin?"

"A Brownie," Ethan supplied wearily.

"Yeah! That's the thing! Anyhow, I guess one of those moves in, and suddenly the next morning their kitchen is totally clean and up to code! So see man, that kind of thing happens around here."

Ethan shook his head. "Don't hold your breath Todd. This place isn't exactly magical."

Ethan had always been vaguely aware of Magic, in the same way one could be vaguely aware that elephants existed. It was a part of life for some people, and sometimes interesting to hear about, but Ethan sure as hell didn't want it in his shop. A Green, he could almost hear his father saying, did not rely on Magic. Hard work, courage and love had their own magic, he would state, and it was all their family ever needed. Ethan held by this attitude dutifully... Not that anything remotely Magical had ever shown up at his door. Life at the shop had been blissfully routine for years, so much so that it was almost easy to forget that Magic even existed to begin with.

"Still, it'd be cool," Todd muttered.

Ethan smirked. "What, you want a dragon to come burn the shop down?" 

Todd heaved a sigh. "Well at least then I'd get weekends off..."

Ethan paused, a twinge of guilt running through him. "Look..." He began awkwardly, "I'm... I'm really sorry you've had to work so much lately. It's just, you know, money's tight... I can't really afford to hire..." 

"Bro," Todd cut in with a laugh, "Shut the fuck up man. I don't care. I didn't really mean what I said, you know that."

"I... Yeah," Ethan sighed, "I just... Feel bad."

"You always feel bad. Constantly. You're like a little rain cloud of pure downer. Come on, bro, don't take me so seriously. I don't." 

"Yeah okay. Just, I don't wanna be that boss, y'know?"

"You aren't dude. Calm down. Sweep or something, that'll cheer you up." 

"Great advice. Thanks, Todd." Ethan shot back sarcastically.

"Anytime." Todd replied with cheerful sincerity.

Aggravatingly, as closing hour neared, Ethan really was still sweeping. 

There was no real aim. He just skated his broom around the shop, letting his mind wander, trying to keep visions of red ink and out of business signs out of his head. He was startled out of these thoughts however, by a sharp jab to the back.

"Ow! F-Fudge!" He muttered.

He heard Todd creak on his stool. "The spinning wheel?" He drawled lazily.

Ethan wheeled to eye the contraption in question. "Yeah, the stupid thing."

"Goddamn, that's got to be the fifth time this week. You'd think you'd steer clear of that thing by now.”

"You'd think..." Ethan muttered darkly.

He hated that spinning wheel. Hated it. Nearly every day of his life he'd had to dodge its spindle, jutting out into the aisles, taking up precious space. But his mother, and his grandmother, and her mother before that had been enamored with it. Made the place look rustic, they'd said, homey. Made it a death trap, Ethan thought murderously to himself. But still, he couldn't bring himself to remove it. It was a part of the shop. Tradition. 

He was still rubbing his sore back when the smell met his nose. He felt his stomach sink. Rotten fruit. Again. Just what he needed.

Striding over to the produce, he bent over the bin of peaches and poked at them experimentally. Their flesh gave way, revealing their slick, browning insides, releasing that same putrid odor. Ethan suppressed a groan of frustration.

"Todd!" He called.

"Yeah, what?"

"Did you forget to swap out yesterday's peaches?"

Todd poked his head down the aisle, scowling. "No man. I restocked those today, my own two hands."

"They're friggin' rotten again!" 

"Again? That's weird. They looked okay when I stocked them, I guess," Todd shrugged.

"Well, they're garbage now," Ethan sighed.

Grumbling, Ethan seized a trash bag and set about the unenviable task of discarding the moldering peaches. He was so consumed by his frustration that he didn't even hear the bell tinkling on the front door. After a few minutes though, he couldn't help but notice Todd's frantic attempts to get his attention from behind the counter.

"Bro!" Todd hissed, "Bro c'mere! C'mere c'mere!"

Ethan wasn't sure why Todd was bothering to whisper, considering that he was also windmilling his arms enthusiastically. With a sigh, Ethan set down his bag and wandered over.

"What is it, Todd?" He asked wearily.

"Check it, bro. Unbelievable," Todd breathed, gesturing down the central aisle.

Ethan followed his gaze. It was a girl. That was unsurprising. Todd never hesitated to point out a shapely looking lady or two, with just as much finesse as he was doing now. Ethan usually didn't humor these gawking sessions, a little too respectful and very much too terrified to scope out women, but this time, he found he couldn't quite tear his eyes away.

She was beautiful. Radiantly, impossibly beautiful. 

She was short, but not too short, perhaps a full head below Ethan. Her hair was cropped startlingly, boyishly close, but it was a color that Ethan, though a not poetic sort, could only describe as honey-gold. Though she wore loose, casual clothes; a t-shirt, jeans, a scarf hanging about her neck, she bore them as if they were the finest regalia. 

She stood near the coolers, inspecting a drink, and as she moved Ethan found himself taking in even the tiniest aspects of her delicate form. She had slender, perfect fingers. Rosy, cherubic, perfect lips. A pert, perfect nose. Indeed as Ethan stared, he began to realize that just about everything on her was perfect, in a very uniform, depthless kind of way. This idea suddenly changed his awe to unnerved fixation. There was something... uncanny about her.

If you'd asked a man to describe what a perfect woman looked like, aside from her haircut and clothes, they likely would have rattled off her exact attributes. There were no flaws, no quirks, nothing curious or odd on her body anywhere. Not a single freckle, beauty mark, scar, wrinkle. She was of perfect proportion, curvaceous, but not overly so. Her ears were cute ears, her brows were cute brows. Even before he caught sight of her eyes, he could predict their color, a pure brilliant sky blue. The entire effect was one of a lovely woman, to make no mistake, but something struck him as off. She seemed so... generically gorgeous. So... homogenized.

Still, she was a girl, and she was beautiful, and so Todd's next words brought a twist to Ethan's stomach.

"Go talk to her, bro."

Ethan whirled to face Todd. "What!?" He hissed.

"Yeah, dude, go talk to her! One of us has to! We can't let a babe like that walk out the door without saying something!"

"Yes we can! And why me!?"

Todd shrugged. "I know my limits dude. A girl like that? Wouldn't say two words to me. But you've got that whole kicked-puppy thing going on. Girls love that. Go talk to her."

"I... What?"

"Besides, you deserve a break. Maybe if you got a girlfriend you'd stop moping for once."

"I am not going to go over there and hit on her!" Ethan exclaimed, a little more loudly than he'd intended. He froze, panicked for a moment. Had she heard? He snuck a glance at her, but she was still staring impassively at her drink. He could have sworn he heard a snicker though.

"Relax dude. I didn't tell you to go ask her to marry you. Just say something to her."

"Like what!?" Ethan demanded quietly.

"I don't know man, like, "Hey, need help finding anything?" At the very least you gotta go help her out. It's good customer service."

Ethan paused. In a roundabout way, Todd was right. She was a customer, and so far all he'd done was stare at her. His parents would be mortified.

"Okay, well... yeah. I'm going to go help her. But I mean... Just because it's my job," He stammered.

"Sure bro. Good luck. I'll be here, thinking up baby names for you."

Ethan scowled and shook his head, but nonetheless gathered his courage and began to approach the mystery girl. He saw her gaze slant over to him, and it hit him like an electric shock. Suddenly Ethan became painfully aware of his every flaw, and imagined a few new ones for good measure. Was he walking funny? Did he always walk like that? How did walking work again?

His suddenly stilted gait carried him to her, and as she stared up at him expectantly, he remembered that now he was supposed to talk.

"Hhhh...." He began. It was supposed to be Hi, but the I had jumped ship somewhere between his brain and his lungs. "So, can I... find... anything?"

Somewhere, in the back of his skull, a cruelly rational part of him began dissecting his sentence, and concluded that it was at least missing a verb and a pronoun. It decided that the obvious remedy to this problem was to make him blush furiously. The girl bit her lip. Ethan wasn't sure what this was supposed to mean, but he had a suspicion it meant something, in the mystic language of girl. 

"Uh, yeah, no, I'm just looking at the sodas," She replied with a fluttering smile.

She had a soft, lilting voice. The kind you expected to hear raised in song. Just listening to it Ethan had the impression that pan flutes and violins were on standby.

"Oh. Okay. Sodas are... good," Ethan murmured. He could hear Todd's hand hit his forehead all the way from the front of the store.

"Yeah, uh... right. So..." The girl murmured back awkwardly.

"So..." Was all Ethan could manage to reply.

He knew this was his cue to walk away. But he just... couldn't. It was as if something intoxicating was radiating off this girl, like a perfume. It fixed him to his place, denying him the dignity of a hasty retreat. He was struggling for some kind of rational explanation for this when the girl cleared her throat.

"Look," She began. Her lyrical voice had taken on a wearied, flat tone, to very odd effect. "I'm sorry. This isn't your fault."

"Wait, what's not my fault?" 

"The awkwardness."

Her bluntness was surprising, but somehow Ethan found himself laughing. "Oh. No. I'm pretty sure it's all my fault. It's kind of what I do."

The girl laughed in return, and it sounded like bells. "No, seriously though. I have this effect on everyone. It's not just you."

Ethan's mouth beat his brain. "Well, yeah, because you're gorgeous."

From the front came the distinct noise of Todd falling off his chair.

To his relief and bewilderment, she laughed again. "Uh huh. I know. It's kind of part and parcel of the whole gig. I'm, uh... Well see, I'm a Princess."

Ethan blinked. Even as his mouth was saying, "What?" His mind was quickly putting the pieces together. It made sense, actually.

Up to now, Ethan had only seen Princesses on the television, generally being paraded as some kind of prize in reality shows. The formula was always the same, a few handsome Princes, some perilous trials, and in the end, a happily ever after, or so the tabloids purported. The Princess in question had always stuck Ethan as more of a prop than a person, bubbly, vacuous, grinning glossily as men risked life and limb in the pursuit of their hands, cooing breathlessly as they were carried away into the sunset like hunted pelts on the back of some ridiculous horse. And they all looked the same. A minor variation in hair or skin color, height, features, but nearly always the same, tame, brand name beautiful. Looking at this girl now, he realized that she fit the same mold perfectly, as though she'd been crafted on the same assembly line.

At any rate, Princesses, like Magic, were something that didn't happen to Ethan Green. So despite instantly believing her confession, it took a few moments for the gears in his head to restart.

"Yeah, so, I guess it's normal that you're... y'know, staring and everything," She muttered, "It's okay. Well actually it's not okay, I mean, it's kind of a pain in the ass, but it's not like you're the only one." 

Ethan shook his head. "I... I'm sorry. I just... Why are you in my shop!?" He blurted.

The Princess regarded him frostily, a strange expression on her angelic face. "Excuse me?"

"No! No no, I didn't mean that like, 'Get out of my shop or anything' it's just that... Aren't you guys usually-?" 

Her expression only darkened, her long fingers gripping the top of her soda viciously. "Aren't we usually what? Fawning out windows, waiting for our Prince to come? Embroidering our wedding gowns? What are you saying, 'Shouldn't you be in your tower?!'" 

"No! No, jeez, no," Ethan cried, holding his hands up placatingly, "I just... You're here, doing... Normal people stuff. I mean, Princesses aren't... Normal."

Somehow, he knew it was the wrong thing the moment he said it. Still, he didn't expect the tears that sprang up in her eyes.

"No. We're not. Thanks for reminding me." She seethed. Roughly, she jammed the soda back into the cooler, and wheeled around. Ethan expected her to storm off, but instead she froze.

"Miss? Please Miss... Uh, or your highness, or... whatever. I'm sorry." Ethan stammered out.

She didn't turn, didn't move. 

"Miss? Are you alright?" 

He walked as close as he dared to her. She was still fixed in place, and as Ethan watched her, he could see she was barely breathing. Baffled, he followed her gaze. She was staring, wide eyed, unblinking, at the spinning wheel.

She let out a small, defeated breath. Spoke only two words.

"Oh, fuck."

Then, moving like a woman possessed, she stepped forward, stretched out a hand, and pricked her finger on the spindle.

Then dropped like a sack of rocks.

Chapter 2

Ethan gaped for a second, staring at her sprawled body, stepping away from it like it was toxic. It took him a few seconds to find his voice. It took him longer to form actual words.

"Oh fu- Oh sh- Oh God. Oh god oh man. Ohhhhhh god oh man oh god..."

"Bro?" Came Todd's voice tentatively from the front.

"TODD!" 

"Whoa, Bro, what!?" Todd called, scrambling out from behind the counter. 

"TODD!" Ethan cried again, pointing to her prone body.

"OH SHIT!" Todd yelped, jumping back. "WHAT THE FUCK, BRO!? I told you to talk to her, not club her like a fucking seal!"

"I didn't! I was talking to her, and then she flipped out, and then she... died?"

"OH FUCK, IS SHE DEAD!?" Todd roared.

"I DON'T KNOW! I don't know! I don't know, I just... SEE THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I TALK TO GIRLS!"

Todd let out a small burst of hysterical laughter. "Oh shit, Bro, you're a real lady killer."

"NOT FUNNY!" 

"Okay. Okay, just chill, just... Just chill," Todd took a deep breath, ran his hands through his crop of hair, "Okay. First aid right? Do we check her pulse, or... CPR? Mouth to mouth?" He offered vaguely.

"I wouldn't recommend that." Came a dry voice from behind them. 

Both of them jumped. Todd let out what could only accurately be described as a squeal. 

Whirling, Ethan came face to face with the most bizarre looking woman he'd ever seen in his life.

She wasn't quite young, but she wasn't quite old either. Something about her eyes suggested a certain august maturity, but her face had a glossy, flawless quality to it, not unlike the Princess. Her hair was a faint lavender, pulled into a rather intricate bun at the crown of her head. In truth, everything about her was lavender, from her severe, sensible pumps to her glittering, wire rim spectacles. She even seemed to emanate a nearly imperceptible lavender aura. Her clothes smacked of the same sickly hue. Ethan was just a bit at a loss for how to describe them though.

It looked like a pantsuit, tailored by someone given only the barest description of what that entailed, and with a fanciful imagination. Flairs and curlicues and embroideries plagued the thing. Ethan absently made out that her buttons were in fact twee little violet butterflies. 

And then of course, there were the wings. Gossamer, gaudy affairs, in the same precise shade of Lavender. They reached above her head, and came to an almost menacing hooked peak. They swallow-tailed beneath her, trailing just above the ground.

Ethan absorbed all of this in just a few stunned seconds. Sheer panic made him a studious observer. As the shock wore off, he felt Todd, gripping his arm so hard he was losing sensation.

"Whathafuckisthat?" Todd squeaked.

The woman... person... thing, straightened her glasses and scowled. 

"My name is Louise. I'm your Godperson attendant for this juncture," She answered. Her voice was somewhere in a bland, middle range, sterile and professional, the type of voice one chose for answering machine menus.

"Our what?" Ethan breathed.

"Here, take my card." She twiddled her fingers and in a blink of an eye a small card appeared in her hand, lavender of course. As Ethan took it, he noted absently that it gave off a strange, nauseatingly sweet smell.

"Wherethafuckyoucomefrom?" Todd cut in again.

"I teleported. Standard procedure. Much more efficient than flying," She stated as if this were self-evident, "Now, before we continue chatting, I have to observe protocol," She cleared her throat, staring Ethan square in the face. Her eyes were god damn lavender colored, "We have received notice that on these premises, a Princess has succumbed to a Curse, and as such as initiated her Trial Phase."

She had a remarkable ability for pronouncing capital letters. Everything was said with an inflection of slight annoyance.

"Uh, Miss Godperson... Louise. Ma'am. May I ask a few questions?" Ethan ventured, struggling to tread water.

"By all means."

"Okay. So. Princess?" 

"Her." Louise replied flatly, pointing to the girl sprawled on the floor.

"Okay... Curse?"

"The Spinning Wheel's Spindle. A rather old fashioned method. Usually avoided nowadays, the whole Coma business can put Princes off rather a bit, but it was deemed... Necessary in her case. Nonetheless, it was rather hard to trigger. I have to say I'm grateful for your assistance in that matter."

"Assist? I didn't push her into the thing!" Ethan exclaimed.

"Of course not. It would have drawn her in the moment she saw it. All the same, I'm glad you have one lying around. They're hard to come by."

"I... Yeah, sure... Anyhow. Uh... Trial Phase?"

"Ah, now here is where we really talk business. Are you the owner of these premises?" She demanded, fixing Ethan with a piercing gaze.

For a moment, Ethan almost said no. Some part of him still knew it as his parents' house. Their shop. Their home. But no, it was only his now.

"Yes. Yes I'm the owner," He nodded.

"Well then, as such, you are required, by code, to permit the use of these premises for use in the Princess' trials, and house her person until such a time as the trials are complete and a suitable Prince has awoken her."

"Waitwaitwait," Todd chimed in, "Trials? Like... Those crazy fuckin' things we see on TV? Riding up glass hills, and slaying dragons and shit?"

Louise looked at Todd as one might regard a diseased dog. "Yes, sir. Those sorts of trials. It's customary, once a Princess enters her Trial Phase, for Princes to compete for her hand. The onus of hosting these trials always falls on the owner of the-"

"Premises the Princess conks out on," Ethan surmised.

"In the cases of Magically Induced Comas, yes," Louise agreed.

"So you're going to roost a dragon in my SHOP!?" Ethan roared.

"There's no need to become excitable," Louise huffed, "Any and all damages you suffer will be compensated for. Honestly, most people are delighted to host Trials. It can be quite lucrative, you know."

"Lucrative?" Todd mumbled.

"Indeed. If you so choose, many Media outlets are happy to televise the proceedings, and pay a handsome fee for the privilege."

"No," Ethan replied firmly.

"Are you sure? It's quite routine nowadays," Louise replied airily.

"No. No media, no money, no... No trials! I don't want this! Take the girl but leave me alone!" He cried.

A look of frosty severity crossed Louise's face, momentarily contorting it into something that appeared not entirely human. Both he and Todd backed up a step. "You Don't Have A Choice Mr. Green," She intoned, every capital crisp.

"But... But this is my shop! It's my family's shop, it's been ours for generations!" Ethan protested.

"From the minute that girl fainted on your floor, for all intents and purposes, this shop became property of Fate, Mr. Green," Louise insisted.

"You can't..."

"I can. I will. You have very little choice in the matter. What choice you do have, I suggest you exercise wisely." She put firmly. Ethan felt the argument close like a pair of iron doors. "Now, as I said, you can still make a fine profit from this venture-"

"No, I still stand by what I said. No cameras." Ethan pressed. She was right. If this was the only choice he had, he was going to make the proper one. The Greens did not indulge in spectacle. The Greens didn't caper for money. The Greens did not seek fame. These were truths Ethan understood as firmly as his own name.

"Suit yourself," Louise dismissed, "It's not required. All that is required is that you don't impede the process. Do what you like with the Princess' body. Whatever is most convenient. I warn you though, lest you get visions of glory, that kissing her would be ill advised. Or any other kind of... miscreancy with her body, but kissing will have the most adverse effects."

"I... What!? No! God no! I'm not kissing a girl in a coma!" Ethan exclaimed. 

"Fuckin' right! That's creepy as balls!" Todd nodded.

"Good. See to it you maintain that attitude and I think we'll have a very amicable partnership." Louise declared cordially.

Ethan was less than reassured. He looked around his shop and fervently began to wish he really had told the Princess to get the hell out, customer service be damned.

"Oh cheer up," Louise pronounced. She sported something that it took several seconds for Ethan to realize was supposed to be a smile. "You're about to be aiding in the pursuit of True Love." 

She pronounced the last two words in such a fashion that Ethan almost saw the letters TM floating after them.

"I... Okay?"

"Don't worry, dear," The endearment came off more than a little scripted, "I'll take care of the particulars. All you have to do is sit back and stay out of the way. Who knows, you may even find it entertaining."

"I... But... Okay?"

"Good lad. Now then. I have a lot of business to attend to. We must get cracking as soon as possible, very eager to wrap this case up. That being said, how does tomorrow night, around nine o'clock fetch you?"

"For what?" Ethan asked numbly. 

"Well the trial of course!" Louise exclaimed, "Honestly, do keep up."

"Uh, well, it is after close," Ethan reasoned lamely.

"Lovely. Works for both of us. Good to see you're becoming more agreeable." Louise flashed another dubious smile. 

"I... Yeah, no problem," Ethan replied dazedly.

"Well, if that's all that sorted, I'll be on my way. You can expect the Dragon sometime around Eight, I expect."

"The... wait, what, seriously!?" Ethan exclaimed.

"Good day!" Louise replied brightly. There was a slight flash, a small sound like rushing air, and then she was gone.

He and Todd stood stock still for what must have been minutes. When Todd finally released his grip on Ethan's arm, he left sweaty fingerprints on his shirt.

"Dragon," Ethan muttered absently, "She said Dragon."

"And you said this shit doesn't happen here!" Todd replied with a faint laugh.

"Why Dragons? Why here? Why... Why me?" Ethan whispered. He looked to Todd frantically. "Did I like, murder someone and forget about it? Kick some kittens? How did my luck get this bad!?" 

"Well, you did get this chick zonked," Todd chuckled, prodding the girl with his foot.

"Don't kick her! God, what do we do with her? We can't just leave her here," Ethan moaned. Looking at her, sprawled on the hard floor, he already felt a bit guilty he'd ignored her as long as he had. 

"We could prop her up in the corner, tape her eyes open, scare the shit out of shoplifters."

"Todd!"

"Alright, dude, just kidding."

"It'll have to be the couch I guess," Ethan sighed, "Come on, help me move her."

Awkwardly, Ethan bent and slipped his hands under her arms, and Todd obligingly gathered up her legs. Lifting her, Ethan found she was actually rather light. He guessed that Todd could have lifted her on his own, but it would have hurt his pride to admit he himself likely couldn't. Together, they shuffled her into the living room. 

"She's not really breathing, Eh?" Todd ventured quietly.

Ethan had noticed the same thing. She looked still as death, but her skin was warm, her face rosy. "Yeah... It's creepy," He grunted as he struggled.

"Fuckin' creepy," Todd echoed.

Gesturing with his head, Ethan guided Todd over to the low, green couch set flush against the stairwell. "I don't know if her heart's beating either," He said as they laid her down.

Todd looked down at her, shook his head. "Nope. Nope I don't think it is."

Ethan shuddered. "So creepy."

Todd nodded, then considered a moment more. "Hey so... Hopefully that means she doesn't have to pee, right?" 

"Oh jeez. Oh wow that's gross but, yeah."

"Or eat. Or drink or anything..."

"God, where is that stupid Fairy Godperson when you need her?" Ethan hissed.

"More like Fairy Godbitch. What a cu-"

"Todd!"

"Country fried fool, as my grandma used to say," Todd recovered. 

Ethan shot him a smirk, but looking down at the stranger on his couch, he began to get the sensation that he was sliding down a very steep ravine. In actuality, it was a feeling he'd had for a very long time now, but the pace of his descent had gotten markedly faster.

"Bro? You okay?" Todd ventured quietly.

Ethan looked up, aware he'd been staring into space. "Yeah… I mean, well no, but yeah."

"I hear you. Weird fuckin' day, right?"

"Yeah, no kidding," Ethan laughed softly.

They fell into silence again for a minute. Todd seemed to become aware of his surroundings all of a sudden. 

"Hey. I just realized. I haven't been back here in like, years. Man, nothing's changed," He remarked.

"Yeah," Ethan replied vaguely. He knew Todd hadn't. No one had, except for a few well-wishing aunts, uncles, cousins, but even they'd stopped visiting months ago. The Princess was the first person to make use of the couch in ages. It always felt too big to sit on alone.

"So what now man?" Todd asked hesitantly.

Ethan shrugged. "I guess... We just close up. Go to bed, right?"

"That's it? You sure I can't do anything else?" 

"No. Wait, yeah," Ethan considered, "Can you... Can you get rid of that stupid spinning wheel for me? Just wrap it in a tarp and stick it in storage or something?"

Todd gaped openly, "Wait, for real?"

Ethan nodded wearily, "Uh, yeah. If it's not too much trouble."

"Hell no! I'd cart that fucking thing to an active volcano if you asked me, bro! But, I mean, I thought you wanted to keep it around. Because of... You know..."

Ethan knew. Some part of it felt like a betrayal, even thinking about discarding it. It was a piece of his memories, something his mother had been fond of… But he HATED it. The thing had stretched his tolerance just by hulking in the corner, but now it seemed it was actively trying to spite him. No more. It had to go.

"Yeah, Todd. I knew I said we should keep it around but... Well that's before I knew the thing was a friggin' Princess trap.," He laughed.

Todd chuckled in return. "It was like a freaking predator man! Waitin' for nubile young Princesses to wander into its clutches. It was probably practicing on you all these years."

"I don't look like a Princess," Ethan pouted.

"Sure, whatever you say, bro." Todd laughed. Turning, he strode on his heel, whistling cheerfully.

Chapter 3

The store closed and the spinning wheel properly squared away, Todd left, and Ethan found himself alone in his silent house. 

Well not quite alone. 

Standing in the living room, he caught himself staring at the Princess again. It was embarrassing, but in truth it was hard not to. Not because of her extraordinary beauty, though that was a factor, but because Ethan couldn't shake the eerie, unnatural sensation she engendered in him. His eyes fixed on her hair. It seemed... Longer somehow. He could have sworn it was just an inch when she'd walked in, but now it seemed long enough to brush her earlobes. That was impossible right? 

Confounded, he let it go. He'd already been through at least four or five things he thought impossible today. What was a few extra inches of hair compared to a half-dead girl on your couch?

Wearily, he fixed himself a haphazard supper before wandering off to his bed. Slowly, he went through his morning ritual in reverse, struggling with the knot on his apron, shuffling off his shoes, combing his hair, culminating with a brief, despondent look in the mirror. Finally, he threw himself down on his bed.

Ethan's nerves were frazzled, his mind racing, but the benefit of a long day of hard work was that it was nearly impossible to suffer insomnia. Ethan had never once in his life had trouble falling asleep, and tonight was no exception.

It began the same way.

He glided into the living room, drenched with light, radiant, warm.

He headed for the doorway, eager, hopeful.

He heard their voices. Thunder and birdsong. So close and so familiar it made his heart bleed.

He reached out a hand for the doorknob and...

Suddenly, discordantly, the door flew open. A small figure pushed its way through it, walking so briskly they bumped into Ethan's chest, giving a small squeak of surprise. Baffled, Ethan looked down.

It was her.

The Princess, in all her uncanny glory. She stared up at him with her vivid blue eyes, her honey hair cropped short over her brow. Ethan stared, open mouthed at her for a long minute, his bleary mind scrabbling to understand.

"Y-you!?" He exclaimed at length.

The girl scowled up at him. Roughly, she pushed him backwards a few steps, shutting the door behind her. "Hey, douche," She replied scathingly.

Ethan tried once or twice to speak, but words wouldn't come. He grasped at his hair, frustration, panic, confusion all battling in his chest. 

"What are you doing here!?" He cried, when his voice finally decided to show up.

She shrugged, avoiding his eyes.  "I got bored I guess. Saw this was open. Decided to snoop." 

"But... What!? How are you here, you... you're unconscious on my couch!" 

The girl rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Which is why I'm stranded in fucking dreamland, isn't it?"

"D-Dreamland?"

"Limbo, purgatory, the veil, whatever you want to call it. I got bored cruising around in the dark, figured I'd come crash this dream. I didn't know it was yours," She said with a note of disgust.

"A... a dream," Ethan murmured dazedly.

Suddenly, he heard it again, the bass rumble of his father's laugh. It drew him like a magnet. Instinctively, he tried to shift around the girl, but she noticed his maneuver and leaned against the door, arms crossed.

"Move," Ethan demanded.

"Yeah, I'm not done talking to you," The girl snorted.

Ethan began to feel frantic. "You need to move."

"Why?"

"Because I need to be out there! Move!"

"You don't need to be anywhere, it's a dream," She dismissed with another roll of her eyes.

"Move!"

"So have you tried to kiss me yet?" The girl replied, her voice casual, but her glance cutting.

Ethan paused, becoming aware that his breathing was galloping away from him. "W-What?"

"Well, you were hitting on me before. I figured you probably tried to get lucky right?"

Ethan could feel himself flush scarlet, though from indignation or humiliation he didn't know. "I was NOT hitting on you, I was... offering assistance. And no, I don't kiss girls in comas, but y'know, thanks for assuming!"

"Oh, seriously! You expect me to believe you didn't try to cop a feel!" The girl shot back. There was a ragged edge to her voice, something verging on tears, but Ethan barely noticed through his rage.

"No! Jesus, no!" He shouted, throwing up his hands.

"I know how it is! You get a pretty Princess in your shop, she passes out, is totally at your mercy. Figured I was public property anyhow!? Thought it was your lucky day!?"

Even high and screaming her voice was aggravatingly lovely. Her flushed face and teary eyes were still picturesquely perfect. It only threw fuel on Ethan's anger.

"LUCKY!?" He roared. A few tight, hysterical laughs bubbled out of his chest. "LUCKY!? You think it's LUCKY when a stranger passes out in your store!? You think it's LUCKY when some psychopathic fairy-lawyer from hell tells you she can do whatever she likes with your home!? You think it's LUCKY when... when everything you love could be burned to the ground tomorrow!? Is THAT your idea of LUCKY!?" Ethan buried his face in his hands, and took a few, sharp breaths before continuing. "I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask for you, or your curse, or any of this... So just... God, will you please just leave me alone and get out of the way?" 

He looked at her face for the first time since he'd begun his tirade. She stared back, wide eyed, lips pursed. Her bitterness was gone, but she still remained frozen in place.

"Why do you want to get back there so bad?" She asked in a small, blank voice. "It's just your storefront. It's barely even different from when I saw it."

Ethan's patience had dissolved. Roughly, he pushed her arm aside, grasped for the doorknob.

"I need to see them," He answered flatly.

"See who?" She still stood stubbornly in the way. Ethan turned the knob, tried to prop it open. 

"My parents," Ethan continued, an edge of desperation entering his voice.

"But it's just a dream-" 

"I need to see them before they disappear!" Ethan cried, wrenching at the door.

He heard the girl give a small gasp, and suddenly she sprang away from the door. Ethan flung it open, heart beating wild with anticipation, but...

There was nothing.

The doorway opened into darkness. A complete and unending void.

"I... What... What happened?" Ethan whispered.

He reached out a tentative hand, pawed at the abyss beyond. He felt only dry, empty cold meeting his touch.

"They... They're gone. It's gone. Everything's gone," He intoned.

"It's just a dream," Came the girl's voice, meek, soft. 

"They're gone," Ethan repeated, choking over the last syllable.

Ethan slowly backed away from the door, shut it. The endless blackness was more than he could bear. He felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and shakily raised his hand to cover them. He stood in silence for what must have been a very long time, grappling with the void that swelled inside him, the echo to that dark and empty doorway.

"They aren't gone forever," The girl chimed in.

Ethan took a quick, gulping breath. "Yeah. Yeah they are," He replied thickly. 

The girl didn't reply, but her silence was answer enough.

There was another long pause, as Ethan tried to collect himself, tried to just breathe. Eventually though, he couldn't ignore the feel of the girl's eyes on him. Wearily, he straightened up, turned to face her.

"What do you-" 

"I'm sorry!" She blurted.

Ethan blinked.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry!" She cried. Perfect, crystalline tears began to roll down her cheeks, and Ethan dimly considered that it was almost unfair how prettily flushed her face was, compared to his doubtlessly blotchy, red eyed one. "I'm sorry about your house and your shop, and your parents... I'm sorry I was such a fucking bitch back there... I just... Oh god, I'm really, really sorry about everything!" She sobbed.

Ethan found himself in the odd position of immediately feeling guilty. Instantly all his rage and pain were forgotten as he scrambled for a way to make things right.

"Hey, no, it's okay. It's alright. I, uh... I don't mind." He stammered.

She gave a small, tinkling laugh, between gasping breaths. "You don't mind? I've fucked up your life!" She exclaimed.

"No, I mean... Kind of. But it's not your fault, and I mean... I'm sorry?"

She gave another, louder laugh. "You're sorry? Wow, Jesus, why on earth are you sorry?"

Ethan paused, trying to puzzle out an answer, brow furrowed.

"Uh, I'm sorry... that you're sorry?" He ventured.

The girl laughed again, and suddenly, like sun peeking out from behind clouds, something new, something genuine slipped out. Her laugh started musically, but a surprising, brash note snuck in, and then a small snort. It was jarring, but oddly refreshing. Ethan found himself smiling without exactly knowing why.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh at you." She began, misinterpreting Ethan's curious stare, "It's just... You really don't like crying people, do you?" 

Ethan returned with a laugh of his own. "No, they kind of freak me out." 

The girl smiled, and sniffling, began to swipe away her tears. "Sorry. I just... I really am sorry. About everything."

"Noted," Ethan replied with a smile.

She sighed, and the two of them regarded each other for a suddenly painfully awkward minute. Ethan cast about for what one said to a half-dead dream Princess. A question leapt into his head and he couldn't stop himself from asking it.

"Do you eat?" He blurted.

"What?" The girl looked up at him, smiling bemusedly.

"I mean, like... If you don't eat, in the real world, will you die? I should have asked the fairy god-lady or whatever but-"

"Oh. Oh no. I don't. I don't need water or anything. It's like... Magic stasis? I should be fine." 

"Oh, okay, thank god. That... that would have been weird."

They both paused for a moment, no doubt musing over the undignified scenario of trying to feed a passed-out stranger. Ethan tried to push it out of his mind. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Well anyhow, uh, your body is good - I mean it's okay! It's fine. It's uh, on my couch," He supplied.

"Oh, yeah, thanks. That's nice," The girl replied hurriedly, "One of... one of these?" She queried, pointing around the room.

"What? Oh! Yeah... uh, that one." Ethan answered, gesturing.

"Huh." The girl crossed over to the couch in question. Stiffly, she sat, bounced on it a few times. "Seems comfy enough. Thanks," She added with a smile.

"Yeah, no problem," Ethan smiled back nervously. Hesitant, but feeling gawky standing over her, he crossed to the couch and sat as well, taking care to seat himself on the far opposite side. "I mean. It's not exactly... uh... fit for a Princess or anything," He muttered.

The girl gave a loud snort of derision, another strange, fascinating slip of her veneer. "I would sleep on the lumpiest couches on earth if I could stop being a fucking Princess."

Ethan smiled at her nervously. "What, seriously?"

The girl nodded, her shoulders slumped. "Yeah, seriously."

"But I mean... I thought being a Princess was every girl's dream?"

The girl gave a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, for some girls it must be. I've seen ones that seem happy enough. I mean, money, fame, a handsome husband... It sounds pretty great. Maybe I'm weird for thinking it's not, but... Jesus, it's not." 

"What do you mean?" 

"What do I mean!? I mean it's... It's... It's a trap, you know? It's a perversion, it's a violation, it's... It's a fucking nightmare."

"A violation?" Ethan gulped.

The girl nodded vigorously. "Yeah, you have no idea. I mean... Where do I start?" She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, and seemed to be struck with inspiration. "Okay," She said, holding them up, "First of all. This isn't me."

"Oooo...kay?" 

"This, all this," She pressed, circling her finger around her face, "This isn't what I look like. I was made to look like this."

"How do you mean... you used to look different?"

The girl nodded. "My mom tells me that when I was born, I looked like her. I had freckles, and a bigger mouth, and a different nose... But then the fucking godpeople came." She sighed.

"The fairy ones?"

"Yeah, those ones. So... Okay, you know how Princesses used to be a monarchy thing?" She enquired.

"Uh, yeah, vaguely," Ethan nodded.

"Well now it's just a random thing. Maybe because of the march of democracy or something, I don't know. All I do know, is that one day, a few months after you're born, fairy godparents just zap themselves into your fucking nursery and decide you're a Prince or a Princess. There's nothing your parents can do, nothing anybody can do, they just decide it, and that's that."

"So... just for giggles? Why do they pick who they pick?" 

"I don't know. I think they have some reasoning behind it... I mean, they're like magical lawyers, you're right, they've got all these rules and regulations, they've got to have a reason, but... I don't know. Anyhow. So they decide you're a Princess and then you get blessed."

"Blessed?"

"Uh huh. You get some kind of special gift. Three of them usually. So Princes get stuff like Courage, or Strength, or Dashing, or something like that. With Princesses though, it's junk like Grace, or Poise, or Good Posture."

"That last one sounds annoying," Ethan observed.

"I know, right? At least I didn't get saddled with that one," She laughed, gesturing at her slumped frame, "And of course they're never anything useful. I could be happy with, like, Good at Math, or Tells Good Jokes or... I dunno... Remembers Birthdays Really Well."

"Talented Beekeeper," Ethan offered. 

Another laugh, another slipped note. Ethan smiled.

"Yeah, why not? Anything like that. But no. Useless bullshit. And then with Princesses, one of the gifts is always Beauty." She sighed bitterly.

"Seems kinda... subjective," Ethan muttered. 

"Yeah, well not to the Godparents, apparently. When a girl is gifted with Beauty, she doesn't just become a prettier version of herself, or just stays the same and everyone thinks she's beautiful... She actually physically changes. I changed. I used to look different. I used to look like my mom. Now... Now I don't know how I really look anymore. I just look like what the Godparents think is beautiful. Like... like the most baseline kind of beauty they could come up with."

"Wait... So your face-" 

"Not my face. Not my original one at least."

"And your eyes?" 

"Not blue. Mom thinks they might have been Hazel... I don't know." She shrugged defeatedly.

"Oh man, that's a relief!" Ethan blurted.

The girl looked at him, startled. "A relief?"

"Well, yeah, I mean..." Ethan stammered, "I just... There was something odd about you, and it was kinda freaking me out - Not that you're freaky, it's just... You looked... Uh, a little... off?"

She stared at Ethan, face unreadable. "You don't like the way I look?" She asked flatly.

"Yes! I mean no - well wait not no, but..." Ethan could almost hear the sound of a shovel pitching dirt out of his grave.

"It's okay, seriously, do you?"

Ethan gave a small, high laugh. "Uh... Well, I mean yeah, you look pretty... and everything... but it's kind of... Uh... boring? Oh wow, that came out wrong. Just not... Interesting. Wow, still wrong!" 

"No no, it's okay!" She replied. Ethan was flabbergasted to find her smiling.

"I-I like your hair though. The cut I mean," He offered.

"Oh," Her smile grew, "Thanks. I cut it myself. Every day."

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah. Turns out when they make you beautiful, they want you to stay beautiful, according to their standards. So, wounds don't scar, piercings fuse up, tattoo ink beads up and falls off. And your hair just grows and grows and fucking grows."

"Holy cow, that's weird," Ethan breathed. 

"Right!?" She exclaimed. "I once tried to put on purple lipstick and it melted in the tube! Doesn't do that with pink or light red. Such bullshit."

"So, you cut your hair and wear uh, Un-Princessey clothes because..."

"Because it's the only way I can be myself," She murmured quietly.

Ethan was silent for a moment. He looked at the beautiful face that wasn't hers and saw a sorrow beneath it that she seemed to own all too much.

"Jeez, that sounds... Bogus," He offered lamely.

She laughed. "Understatement of the year, but yeah. But I mean, that's not really the worst of it. Not by a longshot."

"Oh?" Ethan ventured.

"It's not enough to take your identity, they fucking own your life. From the moment you're Princessified, you belong to them. You don't get to choose where you live, where you go to school, what you want to do with your life. No, you're as good as a slave from that point on."

"Seriously?"

The girl nodded. "On your fourteenth birthday, right? The godparents show up, and give you a Curse. Something to begin your trials. Maybe you bite a bad apple, maybe you run into a vindictive goblin, maybe you drop candle wax on a bear..."

"What?"

"Don't ask. Anyhow, they give you this curse to hang over your head for the rest of your life. Once it gets activated, you're locked in. The contest for your hand starts, and congratulations, you've lost any control you had over your life. You're just fucking Prince bait from then on."

"Okay, wait, but... Why? I've been thinking this since you passed out on my floor... Why? Why bother, why all the trouble and magic and rules? Why marry off Princesses? What's the point?"

"I don't know. It seems insane, right? All this pageantry. They practically devote themselves to forcing this weird routine... Again, I mean... there's gotta be a reason. If you ask them they'll tell you it's all about True Love."

"Trademark," Ethan added absently.

"Oh my god, you got that too!?" The girl exclaimed. "It's like they own the patent on Tru Wuv or something. So fucking annoying. It's always True Love this, and True Love that. Which is bullshit. I mean, my parents met when they were in college. They both liked bad horror movies and jazz music. They traveled the world together on like, five bucks and a prayer. Dad proposed with a twist tie ring. That... That seems like True Love to me. I don't get any of that. I can't even date!"

"At all?" Ethan asked, very conscious of trying to sound casual.

"Nope. Do you know what happens if you try to kiss a Princess if you aren't a Prince?"

"No. I get the feeling it's ominous though." 

"You get turned into a frog. No fucking kidding. An actual frog. One of my childhood friends found that out the hard way, got an inch away from my lips and suddenly he's hopping. I cried for like, six days before the godparents showed up and changed him back." She'd begun to talk very fast, her face flushed. Ethan began to get the sensation that she'd forgotten she was even talking to anyone else. "If anyone tried to cop a feel, my clothes go all rigid. Like steel. No matter what I wear. They refuse to come off. For like, an hour. You know how hard that makes doctor's visits? Even though Princesses never really get sick... And even when I'm naked? Anyone who comes within eyeshot is left blind and paralyzed, and it doesn't wear off until I put clothes on!"

Ethan gulped, his face burning. "Uhhhh...."

"Because GOD FORBID anyone take my chastity! No! Gotta save that for our Princes! Gotta be pure, and demure, and fucking CHASTE. I'm twenty two years old dude, and I still haven't lost my...!"

She trailed off. Ethan heard her breath go out in a little dwindling squeak. He felt her eyes on the side of his head, but he stared devoutly at the floorboards.

They sat. They fidgeted. Ethan coughed twice.

Eventually, Ethan couldn't resist sneaking a look at her face. She looked embarrassed, yes. But also a little... Worn down. A little defeated. And more than a little scared.

"Hey," Ethan said quietly, breaking the silence, "I'm, uh... Sorry. About this. That all sounds really, really awful."

She looked up, a small smile tracing her face.

"I'm sorry about your hair," He continued, "And your life, and, uh, you know... your chastity." He finished with a slight break of his voice.

She burst into giggles, and Ethan was strangely delighted to hear her little snort crop up again. He found himself grinning.

"Thanks." She replied once she'd caught her breath. "And I'm sorry too. About all the stupid shit I said, and your shop, and all the trouble I've caused," She paused, looked towards the door, "And, um... Sorry about your parents."

Ethan's smile disappeared. "Why are you sorry about that? You didn't even know them."

"Yeah, but I mean... They're gone, right?" She asked quietly.

Ethan closed his eyes. Nodded.

"And that sucks, right?"

He nodded again.

"So... I'm sorry. And I'm really sorry I stopped you from seeing them," She added, her voice heavy with sincerity.

Ethan gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry about it. It's just a dream, right?"

Another moment's silence. This time broken by the girl.

"Hey. What's your name?"

Ethan looked up, smiled wryly. "Oh. I'm Ethan. Ethan Green."

The girl smirked, a strangely incongruent expression on a Princess's face. 

"Green? You own a Grocer's and your name is-?"

"Yeah yeah, hilarious right? Trust me, you haven't said anything my friend hasn't already. Repeatedly," Ethan replied with a sigh.

"Sorry," She giggled, "Uh. Well, my name's Penny."

"Penny," Ethan repeated, trying it out, "Penny what?"

She blushed. "Uh, Pierce," She mumbled.

Ethan laughed. "So wait, you're-?"

"Princess Penny Pierce." She groaned.

"Oh wow." Ethan chuckled, "And you thought my name was funny?"

"Would you believe I knew a girl whose last name was Prince? The godpeople referred to her as Princess Prince. Confused the hell out of everyone."

Both she and Ethan began to laugh, and kept laughing for longer than was truly warranted for such a small comment. They'd start to calm down, and then glance at each other and be set off all over again. On some level, Ethan understood that this was because they'd both reached a point in their stress and strangeness where they could either laugh, or cry. Laughter just seemed like the more enjoyable option.

As Ethan's giggles subsided, he looked at Penny, and suddenly saw in her... a person.

He'd seen a Pretty Girl at first, and then a Princess, and then a Pain in the Ass, but now, she was just a Person, and like that, all his awkwardness dissolved. 

"Well," He smiled, extending a hand, "It's nice to meet you, Penny Pierce," He said, purposely omitting the Princess part.

She grinned back, and Ethan thought there was something fantastically crooked about it this time. "Yeah, nice to meet you too, Ethan Green," She replied sincerely.

She stretched out her hand to meet his. He felt her fingertips brush his palm.

And then everything was tangled blankets and screaming alarms.

[letmebeyourcrrsh]

can't just forget Ⅲ

past bully!seungmin x reader

warnings: getting lost? if thats a warning

genre: enemies to lovers

summary: you are on a trip for a project. seungmin took his " proving you he changed " a little to serious. and in the end you even got lost with him.

Part 1 Part 2

the morning sun filtered through the trees as you, other students and the boys stepped off the bus at the edge of a forest. the air was crisp, and the smell of pine filled your lungs as you looked around at the towering trees that stretched toward the sky. this wasn’t just a field trip—it was a part of your college project on the environmental impact of forests, and the boys had been paired with you for the project. yes seungmin had apologized.. and yes some of the boys never even had anything to do with the bullying. and still you felt a bit weird. but you tried not to think too hard about it—after all, you were friends now.

you hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of his presence since the start of the trip. it wasn’t that you hated him—not anymore. but this boy really couldn’t give you some freedom…you and seungmin had gone through a lot to get to this point. he’d been your bully, making fun of you and constantly pushing your buttons. but after his apology, his action that proved how he really meant it and plenty of open, honest conversations, you’d grown close. in fact, you actually call each other friends now.

and seungmin seemed to be going out of his way to prove he had changed. well he did already.. but PROVE EVEN MORE. he was everywhere. if you took a step, seungmin was two steps behind you. if you stopped to take a photo of the trees, he was suddenly beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours as he peered at the camera. it wasn’t horrible, not at all. it was just... a bit much. he was constantly hovering, and honestly, you were getting tired of it.

“so, what do you think about the forest’s role in maintaining the local ecosystem?” seungmin asked, his voice too close to your ear as he peeked at your notes.

you clenched your jaw, trying to keep your cool. “uh, yeah, it’s important,” you replied, a little more curtly than you intended. “a lot of species rely on these forests for survival.. you know, the usual.”

seungmin didn’t back off. he simply nodded. “yeah, but the trees are also really beautiful, right? I mean, just look at them,” he said, his eyes glancing from the towering trunks to your face, his expression softer now. “it’s hard to imagine that something so beautiful is slowly dying because of humans.”

you stiffened, caught between appreciating his words and feeling uncomfortable at how close he was getting. “yeah, I guess,” you muttered, stepping away, but seungmin didn’t seem to take the hint.

one of the other boys, changbin, caught the scene and gave you a teasing smile. “you two are like an old married couple,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

you rolled your eyes. “we’re just friends, bin.”

changbin grinned mischievously. “right, sure, just friends,” he teased, glancing at seungmin, who was still hovering around you. “seems like you’re more than that.”

“changbin, shut up,” you groaned, resisting the urge to smack his arm. “it’s not like that and you know that.”

the rest of the group laughed, but you could see seungmin’s cheeks redden slightly, his gaze flickering to the ground. you felt a little guilty—he was genuinely trying to make up for his past, and getting really close to you, maybe actually fighting hard to get you to like like him.. but still, the constant closeness was starting to get you on the nerves.

as the group moved deeper into the forest, it didn’t get any better. you were all supposed to take different notes and pictures, but seungmin somehow kept finding excuses to stay close to you. whether it was holding the notebook while you wrote down notes, or stopping next to you as you examined a plant, he was always there, his presence just a little too noticeable.

you had to admit, though, he was making an effort. and that was the problem. you couldn’t exactly stay mad at him for being a little too considerate, could you? after all, he wasn’t the same seungmin who used to make fun of you. this was a new seungmin.

but why did he have to do it so... intensely?

“can you stop following me around?” you finally blurted out.

seungmin looked surprised, but then his lips curved into a sheepish smile. “i’m not following you,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just... I just thought you might like the company.”

you stared at him for a moment, “i’m fine. really. i don’t need you on my tail all the time, okay?”

seungmin’s smile faltered for a brief second, but then he nodded, taking a step back. “sorry. I get it.”

it felt wrong, though, seeing him step away like that. you knew he was trying, but he was trying way to hard that it had created a weird tension. still you couldn’t help but feel a little bad for snapping at him.

as you walked further into the forest, the rest of the group spread out. the sky had darkened a little, the leaves rustling in the breeze, but it didn’t feel too ominous—just peaceful.

seungmin eventually fell into step beside you again, though this time, he was careful not to crowd you. there was an unspoken understanding between you two now, the kind that only came from years of awkwardness, growth, and figuring out how to be friends despite the past. you had both learned how to navigate it, even if it wasn’t perfect.

“this place is amazing,” seungmin said, glancing around. “I never realized how much beauty was hiding in a forest.”

you couldn’t help but smile at his wonder. “it is,” you agreed, “but AGAIN. you don’t have to hover around me to appreciate it, you know?”

seungmin chuckled, giving you a playful look. “so you’re sure you don’t need me around to enjoy a walk in the forest?”

you gave him a half-smile. “exactly.”

a bit away from you, the rest of the boys were whispering to each other, clearly up to something.

“hey, Y/N,” hyunjin called out, waggling his eyebrows. “how’s the ‘romantic’ walk with seungmin going?”

you shot him a glare, knowing exactly where this was going. “stop it, hyune” you warned.

han, who was standing next to him, added with a teasing grin, “yeah, you really turned that man into a clingy loyal puppy yk?”

“stoooooop!” you covered your face, annoyed by the teasing. seungmin, however, once again seemed genuinely embarrassed. his face turned a bright red, and he scratched his head nervously. cute.

“you literally are making this so weird.. just shut up.” seungmin stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

you laughed. “ye! listen to seungmin. don’t make it weird.”

the boys erupted in laughter behind you as seungmin let out a dramatic sigh, looking up at the sky. “I’m going to start to regret trying to be nice.”

you smiled at him. “you’re doing fine. just... don’t worry. you giving me space wont make it worse or something, if that’s what you think. Its actually going to make it better.”

seungmin shot you a playful glare but then smiled, the tension between you finally easing.

“okay, now I promise that I got it. I’ll give you some space. “ he said.

a day passed.. the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting a soft, golden glow across the forest floor. you woke up, stretching your arms and yawning as you pulled yourself out of the sleeping bag. it didn’t take you long when you noticed something... strange.

the campfire was cold. the air was silent. you blinked and looked around, your heart suddenly racing.

the boys were gone.

you blinked again, trying to make sense of it. the campsite, which had been full of life the night before, was eerily quiet. there was no sign of the kids. their sleeping bags were abandoned.

“seungmin?” you called out. you hoped, at the very least, and actually knew he should be still around.

seungmin’s sleepy head popped out of his tent nearby, his hair messy from sleep. he looked just as confused as you.

“where’s everyone?” you asked, glancing around the now-deserted campsite.

“I... don’t know,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “I just woke up.”

you both stood there for a second, staring at the empty campsite, before your eyes locked and you asked "do you think they... left us?"

seungmin blinked, then a playful smile tugged at his lips. “well, if they did leave us, I guess it’s just you and me against the forest now.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but chuckle. “right. great.”

“well,” seungmin said with a mischievous grin, “we should probably find them.?”

you sighed dramatically. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“they can’t be that far from camp,” he said confidently, glancing at the dense trees around you. “let’s go.”

and just like that, the two of you ventured off into the forest. it wasn’t long before you realized that the forest, while beautiful, was a lot bigger and more confusing than you’d anticipated.

seungmin kept up a steady stream of chatter as you walked, a distraction from the growing unease. his jokes were lighthearted and sometimes a bit silly, but there was something so comforting about the way he filled the silence.

“did you know that forests are like the ultimate multitaskers?” seungmin asked with a smirk. “they take in carbon dioxide, produce oxygen, and still manage to look all mysterious and magical at the same time. I’m honestly jealous.”

you snorted despite yourself. “you’re such a dork.”

seungmin feigned offense, placing a hand on his chest. “hey! I’m just teaching you about the wonders of nature, okay?”

you couldn’t help but smile. his lightheartedness was contagious, and before long, you found yourself laughing along with him. the awkward tension you’d been feeling the day before was replaced with something easier. he was being so... seungmin.

“you know,” seungmin continued as you both stumbled over a particularly large root, “when I used to mess with you.. man I really was such an idiot- or worse.. I gotta say sorry again for that. for making you feel bad and stuff. like I truly feel horrible.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his sudden once again apology. you stopped walking for a second, glancing over at him. he wasn’t looking at you directly, his eyes focused on the forest floor as if trying to avoid your gaze.

“I know,” you said softly, your voice quiet. “it really took me a long time to trust you after that. thank you for changing seungmin.. no matter what you do now.. even if it might annoy me a little- I still really appreciate it, min.”

he nodded, his voice soft when he spoke again. “I get it. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things SOO right, you´d never have to worry I could be an ass again!  even if it means following you around for the rest of the trip.”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “please, no more of that.”

seungmin’s eyes sparkled, his grin returning in full force. “I’ll take that as a challenge, then. If I can’t follow you, then... how about I give you compliments instead?”

you raised an eyebrow. “compliments?”

“yeah,” he said, his voice dramatically serious, “I have to admit, you’re not just pretty—you’re clever, too. you always know the best way to get things done. like right now—who else could stay so calm when they’re stuck in the middle of the forest with a guy. and when they are probably lost too.”

your heart fluttered unexpectedly. clever? pretty?

seungmin was grinning widely now, clearly enjoying himself. “and you’ve got the kind of smile that can light up a room, you know that? It’s so distracting.”

you felt the warmth spread across your face. you had to look away quickly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “okay, okay, that’s enough,” you said, trying to hide your flustered expression.

seungmin chuckled, looking way too pleased with himself. “nah, I think I could go on. I mean, you’re also really kind. and brave! you’re handling being lost so well. most people would be freaking out by now.”

you couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. Despite yourself, you were softening toward him. “I’m not that calm. trust me, I’m starting to panic. and you are starting to scare me”

“oh, come on, don’t lie,” seungmin rolled his eyes, nudging your shoulder lightly.

you let out a long breath, a smile tugging at your lips.

seungmin flashed you one of those trademark goofy grins that you couldn’t help but adore. “the real adventure is just beginning. who knows? maybe we’ll find a hidden treasure in the middle of this forest.”

at that moment, a rustling sound broke the rhythm of your conversation. you both froze, listening closely as footsteps approached. a familiar voice called your name.

“Y/N? SEUNGMIIIIN?”

you whipped your head around to see bang chan emerging from the trees, a relieved expression on his face. “there you two are! we’ve been looking for you everywhere!!”

seungmin raised an eyebrow. “but you guys left us behind. man we were having such a romantic walk in the woods, you know?”

“ seungmin. “ you groaned but laughed right after.

chan blinked, then let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. “you two are impossible. we literally told you last evening we would wake up earlier to go to the lake that was near. You two were so dead asleep.. EVEN HYUNJIN WASN’T? so we left without you. and when we came back, you two were gone! anyways.. are you okay?”

“yeah,” you replied. “we’re fine.”

seungmin flashed you a playful wink. “It wasn’t so bad. we had a lot of fun, right?”

you laughed, feeling lighter than you had all trip. “yeah, I guess you’re right.”

as the group started to head back to camp, you felt a warmth in your chest that hadn’t been there before. this cant be it, right..? did seungmin seriously win? are you actually falling for him?

for sure there is no need in denying it… because yes you are. yes you are falling for him. you completely trust him now. there is no worry in you anymore. you know he changed and he will never be the bad seungmin again. you trust him.. you trust seungmin. you actually forgave him.. actually managed to forget.

forget the past, because the present is so much better now. and you promised yourself.. after this trip is over, you are surprising seungmin with an invite.. only you and him.. and an actual date.

I apologize that it took a little to long to post the part 3. I was very busy these days- and this part took way longer too, cause I made it longer then the other two parts.

I couldn’t end it here. because I want the next part to be the last one. so hope you liked this part and hope you will love the last part too.

I will post  it once this hit 150 notes

tag list: @chanchansgirly @velvetmoonlght @blueeeene @6demonica9 @mmarusa @v0mi1ts @jkoejfnew @sins-and-tragedies-since-03

[darlingsblackbook]

Start of something new

Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary : After admiring the blonde from afar for a long time, you two have finally been assigned a mission together. What happens when trying to impress him goes wrong?

Warnings : Ugly curse, Nanami getting hurt, reader getting hurt. Not a lot of angst ( for the first time )

AN : This was not what I had in mind, I wanted angst but my hands had other plans and wrote this instead.

°•♡○° Masterlist °○♡○°

Being a jujutsu sorcerer wasn’t a job anyone took lightly. It wasn’t like the flashy, glorified superhero stories you’d see in movies. It was brutal, unforgiving, and most of all, lonely. We lived with death breathing down our necks every day, knowing that one wrong step could mean the end. But somehow, despite the constant danger, I found myself thinking about something���or rather, someone—far more distracting than any curse I’d faced.

Nanami Kento.

He wasn’t like the others at Jujutsu High. He wasn’t playful or reckless like Gojo, nor was he filled with the raw energy that fueled some of the younger sorcerers. Nanami was calm, composed, and, in many ways, distant. He treated sorcery like a job—nothing more, nothing less. He showed up, did his duty, and left. Simple. Efficient.

And yet, there was something about him that drew me in.

Maybe it was his strength. Or maybe it was his quiet sense of integrity, the way he carried himself like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders but never letting it break him. I’d watched him from a distance for months, admiring how he handled every mission with precision and control. There was a certain allure to his predictability, his steadfastness in a world that often felt like it was crumbling around us.

But I’d never spoken to him beyond a few short exchanges. Nanami wasn’t the type to engage in small talk or idle chatter, and frankly, I wasn’t either. Still, I couldn’t help the flutter in my chest whenever he walked past me in the hallways, his sharp gaze always focused ahead, never lingering on anyone or anything that wasn’t important to the task at hand.

That’s why, when I was assigned to a mission with him, my heart raced for reasons that had nothing to do with the danger we were about to face.

The mission itself was standard enough on paper: locate and exorcise a curse that had been terrorizing the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t supposed to be anything out of the ordinary, just another day of risking our lives to maintain the fragile balance between the human world and the malevolent forces lurking in the shadows.

But there was something about working with Nanami that made the air feel heavier, like every step I took had more weight than it should.

“You’re unusually quiet today.”

His voice pulled me from my thoughts, and I realized I’d been staring at the ground as we walked through the city streets. I glanced up at him, trying to gauge his expression, but as always, his face was unreadable, his eyes hidden behind the thin frames of his glasses.

“I guess I’m just thinking,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. I wasn’t lying, though—thinking was pretty much all I’d been doing since the moment I found out we were going to be working together.

Nanami didn’t respond immediately. He rarely did. Instead, he kept his gaze forward, scanning our surroundings with the same meticulous attention he gave to every mission.

“There’s no need to overthink,” he said after a moment. “Focus on the task at hand.”

Of course. That was Nanami for you—always focused, always prepared. He probably thought I was nervous about the mission itself, which was partially true. But there was a different kind of tension bubbling under my skin, one I wasn’t sure how to handle.

We continued walking in silence, the city around us gradually thinning out as we approached the more desolate outskirts. The buildings here were older, crumbling in some places, and the air felt heavier, like it was saturated with negative energy. It wasn’t hard to see why a curse had taken root here—this place felt like it had been forgotten by the world, a perfect breeding ground for malevolent spirits.

“Stay close,” Nanami instructed as we neared the warehouse where the curse had been spotted.

I nodded, gripping the handle of my weapon tightly. I wasn’t a rookie—I’d been through plenty of missions before, but something about this one felt different. It wasn’t just the ominous aura surrounding the area or the fact that the curse we were hunting was stronger than usual. No, what made this different was the weight of Nanami’s presence beside me, his calm demeanor both reassuring and intimidating at the same time.

The warehouse loomed ahead of us, its rusted doors hanging loosely on their hinges. A thick, oppressive energy seeped from the cracks in the walls, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Nanami stopped just outside the entrance, his gaze fixed on the dark interior.

“This curse is stronger than the ones you’re used to,” he said, his tone as even as ever. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Stay behind me and follow my lead.”

I bristled slightly at his words. I knew he meant well—Nanami wasn’t the type to put others in danger carelessly—but it still stung to be treated like I couldn’t hold my own.

“I can handle myself,” I said, a little sharper than I intended.

Nanami glanced at me, his expression unreadable as always. He didn’t argue, but the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t convinced. Without another word, he pushed open the door, and we stepped into the dim, musty interior of the warehouse.

The air inside was thick with cursed energy, so heavy it felt like it was pressing down on my chest. Every breath I took felt like it was dragging through tar, and my pulse quickened as we ventured deeper into the building. Shadows danced along the walls, shifting unnaturally, and the faint sound of something wet and slimy echoed through the space.

Nanami moved with the same steady precision he always did, his cursed energy barely rippling the air around him. Meanwhile, I could feel my own nerves starting to fray. This place was wrong—every instinct I had was screaming at me to leave, to get out before it was too late. But I couldn’t back down now. Not with Nanami here. I couldn’t let him think I was weak.

“Over there,” he said, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade.

I followed his gaze to the far corner of the warehouse, where a figure was slowly emerging from the shadows. The curse was massive, its body shifting and writhing as though it was made of a thousand different parts stitched together. Its eyes—if you could call them that—glowed a sickly red, and its gaping maw was lined with rows of jagged, uneven teeth.

It let out a low, guttural growl, the sound vibrating through the floor beneath our feet. I tightened my grip on my weapon, steeling myself for the fight ahead.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. With a single fluid motion, he unleashed his cursed energy, his blade slicing through the air with precision and force. The curse let out a roar of pain as the attack connected, its body writhing in agony.

For a moment, it seemed like we had the upper hand. Nanami’s attacks were sharp, calculated, and I moved in sync with him, following his lead just as he’d instructed. We were making progress, slowly chipping away at the curse’s grotesque form.

But then, something shifted.

The curse’s body began to regenerate, faster than I’d ever seen before. The wounds Nanami inflicted sealed up almost instantly, and the creature’s energy surged, filling the space with a suffocating pressure. I felt it latch onto me, a cold, suffocating weight that wrapped around my chest like chains, making it impossible to breathe.

Before I could react, the curse lunged. Its massive form crashed into me, slamming me against the cold, hard concrete of the warehouse floor. Pain exploded through my side, and I gasped, struggling to regain my footing.

“Y/N!” Nanami’s voice cut through the haze of pain like a lifeline, but I could barely hear him over the blood rushing in my ears. My vision swam as I tried to push myself up, but my limbs felt heavy, unresponsive. The curse had pinned me down with a force that knocked the air from my lungs. I could feel the weight of its energy pressing into my skin, suffocating, burning.

This wasn’t just an attack—it was feeding off my fear.

I tried to summon my cursed energy, to push back against the overwhelming force, but nothing happened. My body wouldn’t cooperate. Panic clawed at my throat as the reality of the situation sank in—I was helpless.

No. I couldn’t let it end like this. Not like this.

I forced myself to focus, to pull what little strength I had left to fight back, but the curse was relentless. It loomed over me, its grotesque form shifting and writhing, as if it was made of pure darkness. Its red eyes burned into mine, mocking my weakness. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe.

Was this how it would end? Was this how I would die—trapped beneath a monster, unable to fight back, while Nanami was forced to watch?

Nanami.

I turned my head, searching for him through the haze of pain. He was still fighting, his cursed energy flaring as he slashed at the creature with precision, but the curse wasn’t giving him an opening. It regenerated faster than he could inflict damage, its body reforming almost instantly after every attack.

I knew he was strong. Nanami was one of the most skilled sorcerers I’d ever seen, but even he couldn’t fight something like this alone—not with me dragging him down.

“Stay behind me.” His words echoed in my mind, a bitter reminder that he’d known this would happen. He’d known the curse was stronger than anything I’d faced before, and yet I’d been too stubborn, too desperate to prove myself.

I should have listened. I should have stayed out of his way. Instead, I’d made things worse. Now, I was nothing more than dead weight, lying here useless while Nanami risked his life to save me.

The curse moved again, its massive body shifting as it turned its attention back to me. I could feel its energy surging, growing stronger as it prepared to strike. Fear twisted in my gut, paralyzing me.

I was going to die.

“No.” The word slipped from my lips, barely a whisper, but it felt like a scream in my head. I wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet. Not like this.

But my body refused to move. Pain radiated through my chest with every shallow breath, and my vision blurred as the edges of my consciousness began to fade.

Suddenly, a blur of movement crossed my field of vision, and before I could process what was happening, Nanami was there. He stood between me and the curse, his back to me, his body tense with determination.

"Stay down," he ordered, his voice as calm and controlled as ever, but there was something different this time. Something that almost sounded like urgency.

I wanted to argue, to tell him I could still fight, but I couldn’t get the words out. The weight of my injuries held me down, and all I could do was watch as he faced the curse head-on.

Nanami’s cursed energy flared brighter than I’d ever seen it, golden and fierce, as he raised his blade. He moved with a precision that took my breath away, every strike calculated, every movement exact. There was no hesitation, no doubt—only the sheer force of his will.

But even as he fought, I could see the strain in his posture. The curse was relentless, its energy growing more erratic with every second. And Nanami, despite his strength, was starting to falter.

I tried to push myself up again, my hands shaking as I braced against the cold, hard floor, but the pain in my ribs flared, sharp and unforgiving. My breath caught in my throat, and I collapsed back down, gasping for air.

Nanami didn’t turn to look at me. His focus was entirely on the curse, but I could sense the urgency in his movements. He was running out of time—we were running out of time.

The curse lunged at him, its massive form crashing down with a force that shook the entire warehouse. Nanami blocked the attack with his blade, but the impact sent him stumbling back, his feet skidding against the concrete.

I could see the curse’s grotesque form shifting again, its body warping as it prepared for another strike. This one would be stronger, more devastating. I knew, deep down, that if Nanami didn’t find a way to end this soon, he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

Desperation clawed at my chest, mixing with the pain that had already taken root there. I couldn’t just lie here and watch him die. I couldn’t let this happen.

With a surge of adrenaline, I forced my body to move. I didn’t care about the pain, didn’t care that every breath felt like knives in my lungs. All I cared about was reaching Nanami before it was too late.

“Nanami!” I screamed his name, the sound raw and desperate, as I pushed myself to my feet. My vision swam, the warehouse tilting dangerously, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

The curse struck again, its claws swiping through the air with deadly precision. Nanami dodged, but I could see the exhaustion in his movements, the way his breath came in short, sharp bursts. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

And then it happened—so fast I barely registered it.

The curse’s clawed hand lashed out, and Nanami wasn’t quick enough to avoid it completely. The blow connected with his side, sending him flying across the warehouse. He crashed into a stack of old crates, the impact shaking the ground beneath my feet.

“Nanami!” I screamed again, panic surging through me as I stumbled toward him.

He didn’t move.

The curse let out a low, rumbling growl, its red eyes glowing brighter as it turned its attention back to me. I froze, my heart slamming against my ribs as I watched it move, slow and deliberate, toward where Nanami lay.

No. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. Not Nanami. Not like this.

I forced my legs to move, pushing through the pain as I ran toward him. My body screamed in protest, every muscle burning, but I didn’t care. I had to get to him. I had to—

A blast of cursed energy rippled through the air, and suddenly, the curse was thrown back, its massive form crashing into the far wall of the warehouse. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat as I stared in disbelief.

Nanami was on his feet again, his cursed energy flaring like I’d never seen before. It surrounded him, lighting up the dim warehouse like a beacon.

He stood tall, his shoulders squared, his grip on his blade steady, despite the blood that dripped from the wound on his side. His expression was as calm as ever, but there was a fire in his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine.

“Stay back,” he said, his voice low and commanding. There was no room for argument.

The curse let out a guttural roar, its body shifting and writhing as it prepared for another attack. But Nanami didn’t give it the chance.

With a single, swift motion, he surged forward, his blade cutting through the air with lethal precision. The curse barely had time to react before he was on it, his attacks landing one after the other, each strike more devastating than the last.

The curse screeched, its body writhing in agony as it tried to regenerate, but this time, Nanami didn’t stop. He pressed forward, his cursed energy crackling through the air, overwhelming the creature with sheer force.

And then, with one final, devastating blow, Nanami brought his blade down, slicing clean through the curse’s core.

For a moment, everything was still. The curse let out one last, pitiful wail before its body dissolved into a cloud of dark, inky smoke.

It was over.

The warehouse was silent, the oppressive energy that had filled the space dissipating like a bad dream. My legs gave out beneath me, and I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. The pain in my side was almost unbearable now, but I didn’t care. All I cared about was the man standing in front of me, his form silhouetted against the dim light.

Nanami stood there for a moment, his shoulders heaving with the effort of the fight. Then, slowly, he turned to face me.

His eyes met mine, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I saw something in them that I hadn’t expected.

Relief.

Without a word, he crossed the distance between us, kneeling down beside me. His hands were gentle as they carefully checked the wound on my side, his expression focused, but there was a softness in his gaze that made my heart ache.

“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice low and steady.

I tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “So are you.”

Nanami’s lips twitched, just barely, before his expression returned to its usual stoic calm.

“Can you move?” he asked, his hand hovering over my shoulder as though he wasn’t sure whether to help me up or not.

I nodded, though the truth was, every part of me screamed in protest at the idea of moving. The pain was sharp and constant, radiating from my ribs and making it hard to breathe. But I refused to show weakness. Not in front of Nanami.

“I’ll manage,” I said through gritted teeth, forcing myself to sit up. My vision swam for a moment, and I bit back a groan, determined not to let him see just how bad it was. I didn’t want him to think I was a liability—not after everything.

Nanami watched me carefully, his eyes scanning my face as though he could see through the lie. “You need medical attention,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

I shook my head. “I’m fine.” The words tasted like a lie even to me, but I wasn’t ready to admit just how broken I felt. There was a deep sense of guilt gnawing at me. I’d nearly cost us the mission. If Nanami hadn’t been there, I might have been dead.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, his eyes softening just enough to make my chest tighten with something that wasn’t pain. Without a word, he extended his hand to help me up. I hesitated for a split second before placing my hand in his, allowing him to pull me to my feet. His grip was firm, steady—everything about him radiated strength and control.

But underneath it all, I could sense his exhaustion. His breath came in quiet, measured paces, but the way his shoulders sagged ever so slightly didn’t escape me. He was hurting too, no matter how composed he seemed.

“Nanami, I—" I started, but the words caught in my throat. What could I even say? I’d nearly gotten us both killed. “I’m sorry.”

Nanami’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t speak. Instead, he glanced at the ground, then back at me. There was no judgment in his expression, only a quiet understanding that seemed to weigh heavier than any scolding ever could.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “Right now, we need to get you to safety.”

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Despite the lingering pain, I nodded and fell into step beside him as we made our way out of the cursed warehouse. Every step felt like fire lancing through my side, but I pushed through it, focusing on Nanami’s steady presence beside me.

The cold night air hit us as we exited the building, and I sucked in a deep breath, wincing as my ribs protested the movement. My body felt like it was going to collapse any second, but I kept walking. Nanami didn’t speak as we left the area, but he stayed close, his gaze flickering toward me every few steps as if to make sure I was still standing.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached a quiet, secluded area where the oppressive energy of the curse couldn’t reach us anymore. Nanami finally stopped, turning to face me.

“You need to rest,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

I opened my mouth to protest, to insist that I was fine, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was a weariness there, something deep and unspoken that made my chest ache. He wasn’t just talking about me—he was talking about both of us.

I nodded silently, sinking down onto the ground with a sigh of relief. The pain in my side flared as I sat, but at least now I wasn’t on my feet anymore. I leaned back against a nearby wall, closing my eyes for a moment as I tried to steady my breathing.

Nanami stood in front of me, his arms crossed as he looked out into the distance. For a long moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching between us like an invisible barrier. I wanted to say something—anything—to break it, but the words felt stuck in my throat.

Finally, Nanami turned his head slightly, glancing down at me. “You’re not weak, Y/N.”

The words caught me off guard, and I looked up at him, my eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“You’re not weak,” he repeated, his voice as steady as ever. “Today was difficult. But you didn’t back down.”

I blinked, trying to process what he was saying. “I almost got us killed.”

Nanami shook his head, his expression softening just enough to let me see the truth behind his words. “You did what you could under the circumstances. That’s all anyone can ask.”

The weight of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d been so focused on my own failure, on the guilt that had been eating away at me, that I hadn’t even considered the possibility that Nanami didn’t see it that way. He didn’t blame me. He hadn’t written me off as weak or useless.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion. “I just didn’t want to let you down.”

Nanami’s gaze softened further, and for the first time since we’d started the mission, I saw something like warmth flicker in his eyes. “You didn’t.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with understanding, with a shared experience that didn’t need to be explained with words. Nanami wasn’t someone who gave praise lightly, but when he did, it felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest.

I took a deep breath, the pain in my side still present but more bearable now that the worst was over. “Thank you,” I said quietly, meeting his gaze.

Nanami nodded, his expression unreadable once more, but I could feel the sincerity in his silence. He didn’t need to say more—his presence was enough. In that moment, I knew that despite the horrors of the mission, we’d made it through. Together.

And that, somehow, was enough.

All Rights Reserved © 2024 DarlingsBlackBook

[a-spes]

T H E D O G ' S F A L L - One shot.

Words count - 5,2k.

Tags & Warnings - mob boss!Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader, angst, harm/comfort, manipulation, mentions of blood/past abuses, human trafficking.

Summary - Anyone that can beat her in a fight will earn her, and Natasha intends to be the one, working hard to get what she thinks is hers. A dog can't fight for eternity, can it?

Moodboard here.

N/A - It's the longest os I've wrote so far, took me a lot of time but it's enventually here so I really hope you'll enjoy it! If it's the case, don't hesitate to let me know by interacting with the post :)

It is at the back of that popular night club that everything is happening, where no one can see your distress except the one that enjoys it, where everyone is too busy having fun to pay attention to the veritable purpose of this building. On a dark corner that light never reaches, a man is guarding the most important secret of that place, and very few are the people he lets through; only rich and influential men and women get their ticket for this special spectacle that takes place here every night.

Down there, the loud music is replaced by the shouts of excited men that makes her sigh; why do they have to scream like animals? If she gets a few glances, no one dares to say anything as the infamous Black Widow is walking through the crowd to get to her place. She has blood on her back, people are whispering, some from admiration, others from fear, but no one stays indifferent - how could they? One of the most important mafia bosses of the city, but also one of the most discreet, is here. She has her reputation and, even if she is rarely seen, she is well-known, so none of the men dares to protest when she decides to take place in their lodge, chasing them out of the room. 

From here, she has a perfect view of the cage and, most importantly, of the Dog.

It is obvious that there is no way out of the ring, that you are trapped in that cage until one of these men’s victory - or your last breath - but, somehow, you still believe that defeating them will lead you out of that basement. So, not caring about how many of them are daring to step in your cage, you beat them, one by one. You watch the man you just defeated being escorted out of the cage so the next one could take his place - it gives you a few seconds to catch your breath. 

The world is spinning, you can’t even see the faces of your opponents, but you don’t give up. Even if the only thing you want is to curl up in the corner, crying for your mom, you can’t. You can’t because it will mean giving them your life. No, you need to be stronger than them, to pretend that you don’t feel the pain inflicted by their blows, to pretend that you are not bothered by the metallic taste of the blood in your mouth, they need to believe you could do that all night. But you are not foolish and you know damn well that you won’t last long. 

It is hard to focus on anything, even on breathing, because you are overwhelmed by a crew you can't even see, blinded by the lights; you are the spectacle. They all came to see the Dog fighting, hoping to witness its fall. They are shouting, mostly insults in Russian, whistling and clapping everytime something exciting is happening during a fight, but it won’t be enough to save you from that place. 

Oh, at first, they were cheering for you, but it slowly changed, people getting tired of seeing your pretty face every night. They thought you would be easy to break and hated to be proven wrong, and you perfectly know that the stakes have changed. It is no longer about giving them what they want, entertainment, it is purely about surviving and you noticed how the attitude of your opponents changed over the weeks, becoming more aggressive.

You were a champion, now you are just a little bitch they need to get rid of. 

The organization that threw you in that rat hole understood that as much as you did and, tonight, they changed the rules. Tonight, it'll be only you against the world, until they are tired of it. No break, no help, everytime one leaves, the next one is already stepping in the ring, as an endless torture. 

Tonight, she will be one of them. She has been looking at you hungrily since the first time she came here, and she knows that you will be hers by the end of the night, after all she came just for that, to take you home.

Even if she is here every night, you never had a chance to notice the woman. She was always sitting in the last row, observing you from her balcony, where she is hidden by the shadow, but she noticed you for sure. The time she came, it was only because of one of her associates that wanted to meet here specifically, she never left since. From the moment her eyes landed on you, she was unable to think about anything else, the way you were looking so innocent but so feroce at the same time got her heart. 

She sent a few of her best men, knowing they would lose, as a test, waiting for the moment it would be her turn to enter the cage. She never expected them to win and she would have killed them if they had the audacity to: she is the one that is supposed to defeat you, the only one that has the right to own you. The urge to possess you only grew stronger over the weeks, being deeper every time she came here, she wants to see you as you are breaking under her effect, to control every aspect of your life. 

So she patiently waited for the right time to come, she always liked a bit of challenge anyway, having a soft spot for things that are hard to get. She worked hard to get you, spending weeks observing every of your movements: she learned how you are fighting and your habits, she learned to read your body and face as if she was on your mind, and that’s the difference with the others: if you are a game for them, for her, you are a goal she must reach at all costs. 

As soon as your eyes laid on her, you knew she wouldn’t back up, somehing in the way she stepped in the cage already made all the difference. It is her confidence. It is the smirk on her face, a cocky one. It is the way her hands are stuck in her pockets while she is observing you. It is the slight sigh as she gets rid of her leather jacket. It is all these details that give the impression that she is just here to settle a formality, already certain of her victory.

Even the way she is moving has something unrealist. Every step, every look, is calculated and almost imperceptible. Usually, you would step forward, ready to fight even before they entered the cage to show them you are not afraid, but this time? You can’t help but instinctively step back when she enters. The movement was slight, as you were already leaning the grid but she noticed it, the way her aura is pressuring you, and she loves it.

As soon as the door was closed, your fate was sealed.

It all happened really fast because she knew exactly what to do, she prepared for that moment. You quickly realized that you were right: the woman had nothing in common with the men you were fighting against earlier, you never stood a chance to win that fight. The realization is more painful than the blows she is currently throwing at you. Every punch you try to land, she knows exactly how to dodge it. As if she was on your mind, she knows exactly where to hit to get you weak, stealing your breath and your strenght, having you on your knees then laying on the floor in less than a few minutes. 

At first, you tried to get up, to fight, but she is faster than you are, and wiser, and stronger, and more trained. She is being pretty much better in everything. Soon your vision is so blurry that you can’t see anything, you are feeling so weak that even moving your fingers or keeping your eyes open is just too much. 

"Stay still,” she quietly ordered when she noticed you were struggling against her grip - she had you pinned down on the ground by pressing her foot on your back and grabbed your hair to lift a bit your head. "You're going to be mine no matter what, so don't make things harder for yourself, honey." 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

You hear the countdown but, this time, it is not your victory that is announced, it is hers. As soon as her name is shouted by the crew, her grip releases your hair but you simply don't have the strength to move, the news leaves a void in your chest. The pain, but mostly this feeling of emptiness, is keeping you frozen in place. She owns you, and this simple idea is sending shivers through your whole body. You don't realize yet what is happening, thinking that, maybe, it is just a cruel joke on you, and it explains the lack of reaction when she asks you to get up; she needs to grab your arm and lift to get you on your feet. 

You stumble, fighting the urge to vomit. Your brain can barely process what is happening, especially when you realize that your feet are not touching the ground anymore. In her arms, you are nothing more than a rag doll, silent and motionless, barely having the energy to keep your eyes open. 

"She is not for sale,” she coldly said, her voice bringing you back to reality. As she was on her way to get out of the night club, some men were offering the woman outrageous amounts of money in the hope of getting you, they all backed up once she coldly glanced at them. "No one will ever take you away from me, do you hear that, love? You are safe as long as you’re with me," she then whispered in your ears. 

You drift into unconsciousness as soon as the car starts, despite the woman that kept begging you to keep your eyes open, the way she was cadling you not helping. You just had enough time to notice the men sitting at the front of the black van, both armed and intimidating, before falling into darkness. 

You opened your eyes again when the car stopped in an alley. It is late, the sun gave its throne to the moon a long time ago and, even if you can't tell what time it is, you know it is the middle of the night. How many hours did you spend down there, fighting for your life? The question makes you sick because the only answer is too many. All these hours for nothing because, no matter how hard you triee, you loose. You were never supposed to win their twisted game, you never got a chance and you slowly realize that the promised freedom was just a lure. For weeks you believed them, you played along their rules, thinking it was the only way to get your life back.

And here you are, in the arms of your new owner, a woman you know nothing about but that now has every rights on you, even if you will live depends exclusively on the redhead's choices. The fear twists your stomach, the humiliation clenches your throat and the exhaustion makes your eyes burning, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, you repeat in your head, but you don't know for how long you will be able to keep your tears for yourself.  

The woman is not looking at you at all, she is concentrating on not falling as she is walking to the house, barely seeing where her feet are landing. You, however, can't help but observe every detail of her face, noticing how serious her expression is. You are trying to guess how your life is going to be by her side, but you can't, she is a complete mystery and you hate that.

A part of you wants to go back in that basement. It may have been a living hell, but you had your habits, you knew how to survive, now you will have to learn everything again. 

You notice that two armed persons are guarding the front door and, when you pass by them, they exchange a few words in Russian. You can't understand a word of what they are saying, but you guess they are greeting the woman, beside some insults, you don't know a lot and only because that's how they used to call you.

The inside of the penthouse is exactly as you imagined it: expensive, tidy and minimalist. You never felt comfortable in that kind of environment, it always reminded you that you will never have a place in that sphere, you are nothing more than their animal, a dog that does everything they want. 

Once inside, you almost expected her to drop you on the floor but she didn't. Her grip is strong, as if she doesn't want to let you go, that's because she is scared too. She exchanged a few words in Russian with a woman before heading upstairs. 

Your eyes closed because of the light, you don't see much more of the house, nor of where you are going. You can feel that she climbs the stairs, takes a few turns and walks through a door before she eventually lets you go. It is with care that she sits you on the floor of the bathroom. 

"Here we are," she whispered, "you can open your eyes, love," she added when she noticed they were still closed. If you can't see her smile, you can feel her hand brushing your cheek. 

For weeks you didn't see anything else than pitch darkness and the dimmed light of the basement where you were fighting, it is great to eventually be able to see something else. She even made sure to not turn the big light on, only a small one in the corner that diffuses a subdued light. Somehow, she knows exactly what to do to make you feel comfortable. 

"Let me help you," she said, coming closer to kneel in front of you when she realized you couldn't take your bath alone.

On the way home, she sent a message for one of her maids to run a bath for you to enjoy when you arrived. The mirrors fog up and a scent of jasmine fills the room, but even if the idea of taking a bath sounds good, you don't move. You are curled at the exact place she left you in, your knees against your chest.

You are like a dog, but nothing like a fighting one, she thought when she saw how you tried to back up when she reached for your shirt.

"I am not going to do anything," she quietly said, trying to sooth you by using a gentle tone and caressing your cheek with her thumb. "I am going to help you to get rid of those rags so you can get a bath, okay? Then, we can clean your wounds and have a good meal, does this sound good?" she asked and you slowly nodded. 

She helps you to get rid of your clothes that are closer to rags honestly as they have holes in them, the fabric being soaked in dirt, blood and sweat, sticking to your skin. You never felt so vulnerable than right now, under her serious gaze, what is she thinking about? It is impossible to guess but you can feel her eyes on your body as she looks you up and down. A quick glance which allows her to take a mental note about all your injuries.

"What are you doing?" she chuckled, when her eyes didn’t land on your chest but on your crossed arms - you were trying to hide, how cute. "How silly you are,” she whispered when noticing you didn't seem to understand what she was talking about, "thinking you can hide like that."

Her tone sounded too sweet for it to genuinely be and there is something behind her gentle tone that is rigging alarms in your head. You can't tell what it is exactly, but there is that weird feeling, your instinct screaming at you to be careful when your body just wants to give up and be in her arms, ‘cause what could go wrong?

She takes your hands to pull them away from your chest so you can’t hide from her anymore. Her grip is firm, just a little too strong so you understand that, despite her sweet smile, she won't hesitate to be harsh with you if you don’t behave. However, she still seems to be extra careful while moving you, as if you were a porcelain doll, because for nothing in the world she would hurt her fragile princess. She  slowly takes your arms away so she can give a glance at all your injuries. What she sees makes her sigh, she seems about to say something but keeps her words for herself ; you should have been more careful. 

She helped you to get in the bath and it was a nice moment, a few minutes you got for yourself because, surprisingly, she let you bathe yourself alone. Oh, she wasn’t far away, just at the other end of the room, keeping a close eye on you at every time, but dealing with something on her phone. She would occasionally comment on the way you were doing things, talking you throught it so you can shower the proper way, her way. Once you are done, she wraps you on a soft towel, bandages your wounds and gives you clothes that are hers, a hoodie and a short, and you can’t help but notice how good they are smelling, how comfortable you are feeling in these.

"Did you say something?" she genuinely asked, turning to you because she was sure she heard you mumbling a few words. 

She was talking about your life here, talking almost alone as you weren’t really talkative, but thinking she would miss the words you whisepered was a mistake because she never misses anything.

"Nothing important," you replied, but this answer doesn't seem to please the woman, something twitching in her eyes, coming from soft to sharp.

"When I ask you a question, you reply to it, am I clear?” she said, immediately leaving what she was doing to come close to you and grab your chin.  “You are not the one that gets to decide what’s important, your small brain can't handle big decisions and that's why I am here. I mean, see how it got you to be by yourself …" she continued, looking at you with disdain, as if she was thinking that it is only your fault if you ended up in that rat hole, caught in human trafficking. “I am here to give you a second chance and you better take it ‘cause it may be the last… so don't talk to me like that ever again, did I make myself clear enough?"

The only answer you are able to give her is a whining accompanied by a sniffle and she obviously doesn’t like that. Even if you tried your hardest to not let those tears rolling down your cheeks, you can’t help it, her harsh words only making things worse because you are already hating to disapoint the woman. 

"If I knew you would cry, I would've sold you ..", she sighed in annoyance, her nails digging into your skin, "I hate cry-babies, understand?" she asked, but it wasn’t not a question: it was a warning. "The fighter I saw in that ring must be here when I am back," she coldly added before releasing the pressure she was exerting on your face.

She leaves, slamming the door shut so you easily understand that she is upset with you reacting that way. She has done everything she could in order to help you to be comfortable here : she gave you a bath and clothes, cleaned your wounds, promised you a meal and a bed, even gave you comfort but it still doesn't seem to be enough because you were crying as if she was some sort of monster, and she can't bear that vision. She tried to repeat to herself that you are just tired, that things are going to get better with time but it doesn’t calm her down. Whether you want it or not, she will make sure that, one way or another, you will accept her and she won't hesitate to use the hard way if she has to. 

When she comes back, she notices that didn't move an inch, scared by what the woman could say and impressed by the bedroom. But it didn’t prevent your eyes from wandering around the room. It is really minimalist, there is nothing that could give you a hint about the person she is, everything is exactly where it should be, not a speck of dust and no personal objects. It feels like a hotel room more than hers.

When you hear the door, your gaze settles on the woman. Your knees are bent against your chest as if it could protect you from all the dangers of the world. She probably left you for only five minutes, but they felt like hours. Your thoughts had time to run while waiting for her : what about trying to escape? But it never worked, it’s always a dead end, a path to regrets because they always find you, making sure you won’t even think about doing it again and, if they do not find you, it's someone else. You learned that there is no escape and gave up on going back to your old life a long time ago. It is not even the fear of the armed men that is keeping you here, it's the void in you when you think about what you would do if you were free again, nothing. Nothing because you forgot how to live on your own. So you didn't move, not even a finger because she didn't ask you to do it, only being a dog that lives for its masters' will.

But what piques your curiosity is more the tray in her hands than anything else. As soon as she enters the room, closing the door behind her with her foot, a pleasant smell spreads through the room. You can see many things on the tray she brought back : a glass of water, some pills, a bowl of steaming soup with bread and a plate with rice, vegetables and chicken. When was the last time you ate a real meal? Long enough for you to not remember what it was.

"Eat." she said as she put the tray on your knees.

It smells good. That's the first thought that crossed your mind when you saw the plate. For a moment, you forget about the past hours; when was the last time you got a real meal? You can't remember, not even a fragment of a memory. 

You would eat what your owners give you, eat quickly before they come back, never knowing what you are eating nor when the next meal would be; you learned to not ask too many questions. At first, it was difficult to accept such a fate: you would refuse to even taste the food they were giving to you, but it didn't last long. Eventually, you started to eat - inhale - anything you were given without thinking twice about it.

Tonight, for the first time in years, you are going to eat something else than the leftovers of someone you don't even know. Tonight, you won't have to be scared about your food being stolen. Tonight, you can even see the smoke, a sign that your meal is still hot, freshly cooked and maybe homemade.

"I-," you started, but she didn't let you finish your sentence, your lips barely had time to move that she already cut you, leaving no place for an argument.

I am not hungry, you were about to say, and she somehow knew it. She also knew it was a lie, your stomach has been painfully twisted because of that sick feeling for days, but the knot is also caused by your fears. 

It all feels a bit too perfect. It feels like a trap, a way to encourage you to let your guard down only to break you after, making the fall harder. Some did that in the past, why not her? She doesn't look less cruel than the others. Yet, when she is talking, she seems more genuine, you could believe her when she says she only wants what's best for you, that she cares, she just has a twisted way to show it. 

"Yes, you are, so eat, now," she ordered you with such a cold tone that you don't dare to argue. There are all these warnings she doesn't say out loud but you can read in her eyes: just do whatever I tell you, pretty girl, they say. 

And, for sure, you don't want to face the consequences of your insubordination. So you slowly take the fork, not glancing away for one second, your eyes into hers. You are looking at every detail of her expression as if it would change, telling you that it is a trap, except it doesn't and her expression stays stern. It is impossible to read anything on her face, not even a hint of how she is feeling.

You take the first bit, carefully swallowing and… nothing happens. You don't feel weird, it doesn't taste bad and she doesn't snap at you for a small imaginary mistake you would have made. It is the complete opposite. The food is really good, melting on your tongue, and you start to eat quickly, not because you have to, but because you want to. For the first time in years, eating is a pleasure. 

She sighed when she noticed that you were inhaling your food, but she didn't say anything; she will have all the time later to change that habit of you. So she just stood there for a few seconds, observing you in silence, with her arms crossed, before sitting next to you - that's when you broke eye contact, once she was sure you would eat everything. 

As you are eating, she is barely paying attention to you, at least that's the impression she is giving. One of her arms wrapped around your shoulder, her hand is absently drawing circles on your skin while she is on her phone, dealing with something serious - you can hear her frustrated sighs from time to time.

Except she sees everything and your mistake was to not be careful enough around the woman. A little because of your clumsiness, mainly because of how fast you were eating, you dropped a bit of your food on the floor. You didn't think it was a big deal, picking it up to put it back on the plate. Three seconds rules, dropped on a clean floor, you don't have very high standards anyway - but she does. She turned to you the moment she felt you were moving, a curious, but disgusted, look on her face.

"What are you doing?" She asked, her hand grabbing your wrist before you could drop the bit of food on your plate. She moves your hand on the side of the tray, far from your plate, before you even get a chance to reply. "Drop it," she ordered to you, "that's gross, hope you weren't going to eat that." 

You shake your head, too scared to do anything else, but she knows you are lying; of course you were about to eat it. You spent the past years living like a fighting dog, you would eat anything she would give you, you might even eat directly from the dirty floor if she asked you to. She winces in disgust, not letting your hand go.

"Give me that," she snarled and you can feel how her grip tightened on your wrist to force you to give the fork away.

She then takes the tray that was in front of you to put it on her side of the bed, you are looking at her, scared she would definitely take your meal away. You are about to protest when she notices it and glances at you, daring you to say a word, you don't. 

"Come here," she said, gesturing you to come closer, she even grabbed your arm to guide you when she noticed you were hesitant to move.

She sits you between her legs and you are clearly uncomfortable, wiggling, but if she notices it, she doesn't seem to care. She is so close to you that you can feel her breath tickling your skin, but she keeps acting like nothing is weird here. When she leans to cut your food, you can feel her chest pressing against your back, the contact making your heart races. Too focused on how close you are to the woman, you barely noticed when she approached the fork from your mouth, waiting for you to open. It takes one more second for you to understand what she is waiting for and, when you do, you blush in embarrassment. She takes advantage of you opening your mouth to say something to feed you, and you don't dare to push her away. 

"Can't even eat alone, hm?" she whispered in your ear while you were chewing the bit of food she just gave you, "but that's fine, I am here now," she added, and there is something in her tone that makes you shiver.

Once she made sure you ate everything, she wrapped her arms around you, laying a kiss on your temple. It is strange how safe you are feeling in her embrace: for a few seconds you forget she is the one that beat you earlier. Right now, she is just someone that cares for you, with whom you feel at peace. You can't remember the last time someone made you feel that way, you can barely remember your life before entering the human trafficking circuit.

You don’t really know when you fell asleep, but your eyes were quick to close under the effects of her fingers running on your hair and of her voice whispering sweet words in your ears. At some point, a maid came to take the empty tray away and the woman layed the both of you in the bed, under the covers, trying her best to not wake you up. This night, you slept in a comfy bed, feeling protected in the arms of the woman despite the things she did, not even thinking one second about pushing away her hands that found their way under your sweatshirt, resting on your stomach. 

The Dog fell right into the Black Widow’s web.

[delulufortoji]

HOW MANY TIMES? - toji fushiguro

pairing: toji x fem!reader

summary: you and toji have been together for over a year, but every time you say you love him, he never seems to be able to say it back…

word count: ~3k

content: 18+, modern au, established relationship, oral, overstim

notes: i was sick, tired, suffering from jjk brain rot, and it was like 1 in the morning when i wrote this so it might seem like some straight bullshit 😅 and this is like the first jjk fic i’ve ever written, so yeahhh

You still remember the night you two met, the memory ingrained clearly in your mind: it was a stormy afternoon, nature raging outside with branches scratching against your windows and leaves beating on the glass. The sky above darkened, the warm drizzle mixed with the humid breeze. Gray clouds drifted overhead, bringing a sudden chilling wind and shower with them, causing water to flow down the pathways and pool into puddles. The air itself carried an earthy scent, and the wilting leaves from the trees gracefully descended to join the wet ground. The soothing sound of rain trickling down the window added to the enchantment of the moment.

And then, there he was, behind your door, a strikingly toned and towering figure, utterly drenched, his hair clinging to his face, hands tucked in the pockets of his pants, and a subtle, intriguing smile playing on his lips. “Hey, can I stay here for a couple of days until the storm blows over? I ain’t got anywhere else to go.” He asked, his voice low and laced with a hint of vulnerability.

You could feel your jaw drop, your cheeks flushed with a mixture of shyness and amazement. This man…he was undeniably handsome—his bold and quiet confidence, his voice, his charming smile, all of it made your heart throb. “S—Sure…” you muttered, “ you can stay here.”

“There’s no need to be shy,” he chuckled, “I’ll be gone and outta your hair in a couple of days.”

The blush in your cheeks deepened. “Yeah, okay,” you replied shyly, avoiding his icy gaze, “go sit by the heater to warm yourself up. I’ll go get you a towel so you can shower.”

“Alright, then.” The man said with a sly grin.

You don’t quite recall how, but somehow “warming up” took on a different meaning than intended: you soon found yourself entangled with him, your body sweating underneath his touch, his hips meeting yours in monstrous thrusts. The room resonated with the sounds of your moans and his grunts, the intensity of the moment overwhelming both of you.

“F—Fuck Toji…slow down…” you gasped amidst the pleasure.

“Shh,” he whispered, silencing you by plunging his digits into your mouth, “the only sound I wanna hear is the sound of your pussy purring.” Toji's pace intensified, his grip on your hips growing more possessive. You couldn't contain your ecstasy, climaxing as fire surged through your body. His thrusts grew erratic, and his breath quickened in tandem with your movements.

On a high of both pleasure and euphoria, you did as Toji said—you let your pussy talk for you, breathlessly blurting out: “I love you, Toji.

“...Heh, do ya really?” A response less than what you expected. But the wave of pleasure that coursed through your body was too much for you to inject, to express your dissatisfaction at his answer.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Toji's presence became a permanent fixture in your life. He moved in, sharing the burdens of rent and groceries with a part-time job, allowing you to take more breaks. Yet, amidst this peaceful coexistence, there remained a lingering issue—those three words you so desperately wanted to hear repeated. Each time you uttered "I love you," Toji's response fell short, often met with laughter or a casual "Okay," leaving your heart yearning for the affirmation you craved.

You glance at him now from where you are: in the dimly lit room he sits, his eyes stuck on the dull glow of the phone in his hand. On instinct, you make your way over to Toji, settling into his lap, your fingers delicately toying with the fine ends of his hair.

A soft chuckle escapes his lips as he meets your gaze, curiosity dancing in his eyes. “What’s wrong, doll?”

You offer no answer, instead, you continue to run your fingers through the strands, captivated by the finely sculpted features of the man before you: his features seem meticulously crafted, each detail carefully considered in the making of Toji’s face, from the angular lines of his cheekbones to the gentle slope of his chiseled jawline. His pale, pink lips curve perpetually in a sly smirk, and his dark eyes hold an untamed intensity that ensnares your attention. You can’t help but be enamored, can’t resist the urge to confess, "I love you."

Another light laugh escapes his lips. "I know."

A heavy silence envelops you, leaving you taken aback by his lackluster response. Toji, still engrossed in his phone, finally asks, "Is there a problem?”

You can't help but press further, frustration building. “How many times do I have to say it before you say it back?”

"Say what back?"

You scoff. "You know what I meant." A hint of frustration colors your tone as you shift in his lap, turning away from him.

Toji pauses for a moment, carefully considering his words. "Baby, you know how I feel about you," he eventually concedes, though it seems more like a half-hearted attempt to soothe your emotions.

He doesn’t mean to be disingenuous, doesn’t mean to hurt you with his lack of a response. You know him well enough to know he isn’t one to verbally express how he feels, nor is he one to blurt “I love you’s”, but part of you had hoped that would change after a year of being together.

A frown etches itself into your features as you stand up, turning to the door. "You don't mean that."

“Where are you going?" He calls after you, a slight layer of concern evident in his voice.

"To sleep."

Determined not to let you go, Toji follows you into the room, pulling you closer by your waist. “C’mon baby. You know I ain’t mean to make you mad.”

“But you did.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he croons, resting his forehead on the nape of your neck, pressing light kisses to your skin. “My bad.” He turns you around so that you’re facing him, arms crossed.

“What do you want?” You ask.

A slight smirk plays on Toji’s lips as he inches closer—by now, you two are stuck in an intimate proximity, his breath tickling your face. Just being this close to you is enough temptation for him to pull you into a deep, passionate kiss, his rough hands cradling your face. “Let me make it up to you.” He whispers, his warm breath mingling with yours.

His lips curve into a smile on yours as he presses you down onto the bed. Toji positions himself between your thighs, his lips never leaving yours, not even for a second. His touch ignites a passionate fire as he explores your body, his tongue tracing a scorching path from your lips, down your neck, and further, leaving you breathless with desire.

“Toji…keep going…” As your pleasure mounts, you can't help but moan his name, encouraging him further. His hands explore your inner thighs, spreading his warmth, his kisses become more insistent. His tongue moves lazily down your panties, the subtle friction from the stubble on his chin heightening the sensations. Your breath quickens, and your thighs quiver as he slowly slides his thumb over the moist fabric of your underwear before deftly moving it aside.

Toji's breath, hot and tantalizing, teases your sensitive flesh, his lips hovering mere inches from your core. His eyes, heavy with desire, meet yours for a fleeting moment, and a mischievous smirk tugs at his lips. "Still shy, even after all this time?" he teases, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "C'mon, girl, put it on me."

“Stop talking,” You say, dropping yourself down his face, wrapping your legs around his neck, “just make this quick.”

“I’ll make it anything but.” His response is a wicked promise in itself. You barely manage to hold back a whimper when Toji dives into his task, latching his mouth onto your pussy, his tongue exploring every inch of your pulsating walls.

“Toji…” you moan, gripping his hair, pushing his head further down.

You lose yourself to the sensation, clenching from the pace of his tongue. Your hips begin to move on sheer instinct, riding his face—your fingers are tangled up in his hair, your fists tugging on his soft locks. You’re grinding on him, your body craving every sensation, every touch, every flick of his skilled tongue, and twitching every time something grazes your folds—Toji is so damn ruthless with his tongue that it has you feeling high, like you’re on cloud nine. His every touch, no matter how brief, drives you to the brink, leaving you in a blissful state of disarray.

“To–Toji…more…” Toji’s nose-deep now, the tip of it rubbing against your sensitive clit. He brings his head up, taking a moment to breathe. He’s gasping for air, his face is slick with your essence. He swallows and then after a couple of seconds, he goes right back to sucking.

He’d almost forgotten how good you tasted—a few minutes was enough to get him hooked on you all over again, getting hard at the sound of your whines echoing through the room. His tongue is running laps like a track star, only gaining in speed with each moan you emit. Each gasp, each whimper only pushes him closer to the brink of his desire.

He needed more of your moans, more of your sweet taste, more of you—he had lost himself in his cravings, only desperate for you. His strong hands trace your inner thigh, savoring the taste as he lavishes your pussy with his saliva, worshiping your wetness with his mouth. He laps at your cunt like a starved man–like the taste of you is all the nutrition he needs.

“I’m—I’m gonna…” you gasp, but he ignores you and just keeps going, his tongue working your clit, just the way you like it. He let his eyes close in ecstasy, feeling you as your hips bucked up into his mouth, groaning at the sensation. “Toji, please…” you whimpered, your need reaching its peak. He’s still going, making you wait until he’s finished eating, until you’re a fucking mess—until you’re quivering, reduced to incoherent pleas just to come. After a couple more minutes of teasing you, of edging you, he finally grants you the release you crave. As he lifts his mouth from your pulsing core, you can only grip his hair tighter, gasping his name until you can finally come down from the intense high.

He slides his mouth up to your lips, his mouth smooth and buttery on yours—the sheer thought of tasting yourself on his tongue right after he had just eaten you out was disgusting, but you can’t be bothered when Toji feels this good.

He stares at you, a grin playing on his lips. “You forgive me now?” he asks, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

You shake your head, huffing out the words: “Sh–shut up, Toji.”

He looks at you with a cocky smirk, his hair matted to his face, his breathing heavy, but his dark blue eyes, normally cold and distant, are now aflame with longing and desire—he said without words what he rarely admitted with him.

“Open wide.” He says, his voice a low, sultry rumble.

You take off your shirt and lie down on your back, legs spread out—you look so fucking hot for him, sprawled out like this, your pussy soaking wet and on full display. You’re an irresistible vision of his desire, every curve of your form a masterpiece in his eyes. God, he can almost feel himself stretching you out and you clenching, tightening around him, and he’s not even inside you yet.

He can’t bear to wait any longer, can’t bear to hold it in—he’s throbbing, desperate to plunge into you, to be buried deep within your warmth. He needs to be balls deep inside of you, right fucking now. Toji brings out his cock with a groan, and god, is he full and aching to be inside you—only you could ever get him this hard.

He pulls your hips closer to him, dick poised at your entrance. “C’mon girl,” he says with a slight grunt, a hint of impatience in his voice. That’s when he slowly begins his descent into you, inch by inch—he’s not even fully in, but his tip alone is enough to steal a small gasp from your lips.

You stare at him and whimper, feeling him as he forces himself deeper. He is so big—his thick, rigid shaft glides within your velvety folds, leaving you trembling and powerless to resist. You bite your lower lip to stifle your cries, completely lost in the waves of lust that crash over you. “To…Toji…” You’re already babbling as he buries himself balls deep into you. Toji’s hips slap against yours once—a single thrust already has you moaning, salivating at the sensation, arms wrapped around his neck.

With your hand pinned above your head, fingers interlocked with his, Toji rocks into you with an intensity that borders on primal. His forehead is nestled in the crook of your neck, his ragged and hot breath caressing your soft skin, his free hand claiming every inch of your skin as his own. He’s pistoning his hips with a purpose, stretching you open with each thrust, the physical sensation and the raw intimacy between you both like a potent drug. Toji focuses on the tight heat of your walls around his cock, the way your hips meet his rhythm, the delicious way you clench around him as his dick stretches your pussy out. It should be illegal how good you feel to him right now.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Toji murmurs in your ear, his voice a husky, sensuous melody that rings through the room. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’.”

His words are so provocative, so disgusting, yet so fucking hot—they make you want to continue, to keep teasing him with the way you feel to the point where his cock is twitching, throbbing inside of your wet heat, to the point where he can’t thrust into you anymore.

“M-More.” Your whining intensified—his movements are becoming sloppier, his thrusts beginning to lose their pattern as he loses himself in the melody of your cries and the intoxicating sensations you provide. His tip is just attacking your sweet spot, stealing those beautiful noises out from your mouth. Toji can’t focus anymore, can’t maintain his rhythm—you’re just too damn loud for him to think about anything else but you: the way your lips part each time you moan, the way your nails dig into the muscles on his back, the way you writhe under him.

The pace of his hips quicken, the beautifully lewd sound of his balls slapping against your ass and your moans filling the room. “Fuuuckkk—” Toji grunts. Just one round with you has him in disarray—his black strands are a mess, drenched with sweat, his ruffled hair obscuring his vision with how it fell over his eyes. But even in this fevered state, he’s fucking you like there’s no tomorrow, his relentless thrusts making your throbbing core scream for more.

“Toji…Toji…” His dick throbs each time his name falls from your beautiful lips in breathy cries, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth. His lips find yours in fervent kisses, his navy blue eyes locked onto yours as his hips meet yours with increasing urgency.

He’s so damn rough with you, but he can’t help it, especially when you feel like a slice of heaven—he’s ruthlessly fucking you into the bed, grunts escaping his mouth every time he does so. You’re stuck in a passionate trance, each strike to your core, vigorous and accurate—fuck, it’s got your throbbing pussy yearning out for more.

“Goddamn, Toji—” You stammer, rendered incapable of finishing your sentence, shuddering with the hypnotizing movement of Toji’s hips, with the intoxicating feel of him inside of his body. His thick cock is being engulfed by your sheer warmth, each pulse only stretching you out more. “S–so good.”

Toji grumbles, and you whimper as his base repeatedly strikes you, his every thrust taking you deeper. You're lost in the heady pleasure, your core gripping him tightly, refusing to let go, making him push harder and faster.

The repeated sound of his skin slapping against yours becomes a relentless symphony of pleasure: slap, slap, slap. He’s losing himself even more, completely drunk off of you—he just can’t help himself. You’re like a drug. And fuck, did you look pretty beneath him, giving him the most spectacular view of your body. Tits on full display, your eyes rolling back each time he hits your sweet spot. He can’t help but breathe heavily when he looks down at you naked under him. Bites and hickeys cover your flawless skin, and shit, did the sight of those marks drive Toji wild.

Toji’s brows furrow together, and the pace of his hips begins to slow for a brief moment. He chuckles softly and brushes a strand of hair from your eyes, his voice carrying an unexpected tenderness. “Hey–I love ya. I really do. Our feelings are mutual.” It’s not the confession you were hoping for, but still, it was his own unique way of confirming what you had been longing to hear—his own way of confirming that he had never felt for anyone the way he felt for you.

With a contented sigh, he releases a thick load, and you feel it deep within you, your inner walls stretching to accommodate his passion. You laugh lightly and pull him closer, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your nails digging themselves deeper into Toji’s back. "F–faster, Toji... k–keep going..."

“So needy.” He obliges, pounding his cum deeper into you. He sighs gently, his lips curling up into a smile against the curve between your neck and shoulder. “Anything for ya, baby.”