#thank you ghost y toast y

[lowresxisuma]

[fayes-fics]

To All, A Good Night

Parings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome), modern AU

Summary: 'Twas the night before Christmas at Bridgerton House, and many things are stirring...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, no incest. Dom/sub dynamics, brat taming, spanking, mild restraint, dirty talk, voyeurism/exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, masturbation, edging, vaginal sex, handjob, hair pulling, verbal degradation, orgasms, creampie, aftercare.

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Happy Holidays, everyone! Have a filthy Christmas threesome. This is a sequel to Driven To Distraction, which I've been meaning to write for over a year. Best to read that first if you haven't already. This immediately follows that eventful car ride. Thanks to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta. Enjoy! <3

As Benedict pulls the car up outside their impressive London family home, all you can think is that it looks beautiful, the foliage clinging to its handsome facade bedecked with lights. 

It’s also the last place you expected to be tonight: a spirited spat with Anthony turning into something else entirely on your journey to London, with Benedict as an eager voyeur. Now, here you are with both Bridgerton boys—a flutter behind your ribs as to what awaits you behind those imposing doors.

Anthony rounds to your side of the car and chivalrously opens the door, offering a hand to help you out as Benedict retrieves the night bag you stopped at your place to grab from the boot of the car. Anthony doesn't let go as you walk up the steps to the front door.

“Welcome to Bridgerton House, y/n,” he smiles, entering a code onto a glowing keypad as the door silently pops open, revealing a grand hallway decorated so festively. 

“This is beautiful,” you gasp, the hallways almost fully lit just by the huge twinkling tree and lighted garlands hanging from every rail.

“I think we should all have a nightcap, don't you?” Benedict offers smoothly, a warm hand landing on your lower back.

“Excellent idea, brother,” Anthony concurs, offering an elbow for you to take and leading you down a corridor from the grand hallway.

You are swept into a wood-panelled games room, a large billiards table taking centre stage, a bar across one side of the room and collections of wingback leather chairs arranged in clusters. Another Christmas tree makes the room glow. You wonder idly if they have a tree in every room.

“Your very own private club,” you jest lightly, impressed.

“Indeed,” Anthony chirps, releasing your hand to round behind the bar and grab an expensive whiskey bottle from one of the glass shelves. Benedict slides closer behind you as you watch Anthony pour out three generous helpings.

“No one really comes in here except the two of us and Colin,” Benedict assures. “And Colin is off in South America on his travels.”

“So this is a private space. Devoid of interruptions?” you smirk, leaning backwards into his warm body, unmistakable in your intentions, his hand curling possessively around your hip. You doubt anyone else is awake in the house anyway, seeing as it’s almost 2am on Christmas Day.

“Very much so,” Benedict rumbles, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.

You all grab a glass each and raise them in a silent toast. The caramel smoke of the drink is exceptional as it slides over your tongue.

“A game?” Anthony suggests, gesturing to the table.

“I'm terrible at it, but sure,” you shrug, thinking it an excellent excuse to have both teach you the correct technique, ideally close up.

“We will help,” Benedict chuckles as if he knows where your thoughts have slid before releasing his hold on you and moving to set up the table.

Within a few minutes, you have had both men instructing you. But you are not paying a jot of attention to their guidance, just enjoying the warm, solid press of their bodies as you line up each shot. It's Benedict’s second turn assisting you when Anthony throws out a statement that kicks things up a notch:

“I meant what I said in the car...” his words echoing into the crystal glass he sips from.

Anthony’s offer for you to fuck his brother while he watches rings in your mind as Benedict's hand slides over yours, guiding your placement. 

“I just have one other condition,” Anthony appends, his stare intensifying.

“What’s that brother?” Benedict queries, his breath warm on your shoulder as you retract the cue from the ball, aiming as best you can.

“You fuck her right here, over this table,” Anthony breezes, making you miss the shot entirely, the ball spiralling way off to the left.

“That was sabotage,” you decry, even as molten heat settles low in your stomach at the very thought. 

“Think of it as a Christmas gift for me,” Anthony quips, ignoring your indignation.

Benedict is still leaning over you, even though there is no reason for him still to be there, the warmth of his torso seeping through his shirt. You watch as Anthony stands, picks up his cue and bends over the billiards table directly opposite you to assess his shot. 

“I warn you though, brother, this one is a handful,” he advises coolly, looking at Benedict over your shoulder as you stare at Anthony’s mouth, wanting to kiss him so bad your lips tingle. “You saw how she was in the car. She is a brat who needs to be brought into line. Isn't that right?” he taunts, snapping his gaze to you.

“Only to you, Bridgerton,” you challenge, your heart quickening as he raises an eyebrow. “If your brother is nice to me, I’ll be a good girl. Just for him,” you goad, a craving to push both of their buttons, tilting your pelvis a fraction into Benedict’s, an insistent swelling brushing your bum.

“But what if I'm not inclined to be nice either?” Benedict queries dangerously, his teeth grazing your earlobe. A depth charge of lust as you realise they are cut from a similar cloth.

“Then I’ll rebel against you too,” you murmur, stuttering as the hand on your hip suddenly slides over the round of your buttock and yanks up your dress, exposing your flesh and scrap of underwear to the air of the room.

“Will you now?” he dares, fingers swirling promisingly on your bare bottom.

Anthony chuckles again, seemingly uncaring he cannot take his shot with you still bent over the table, Benedict bearing you down onto the slightly ticklish green felt.

“Most certainly,” you vow, twisting to look coquettish over your shoulder, your core burning hot already.

He grabs your jaw so your mouths almost touch, and there is a sharp, stinging slap to your bottom cheek. It makes you moan over his lips, adding to the inferno between your legs.

“Behave,” Benedict warns in a tone that makes you want to slide to your knees before him.

“Never,” you challenge, your lips hovering on his, as out of the corner of your eye, you see Anthony withdraw, abandoning his cue, the game apparently over. He rearranges a chair to face you directly. 

Well, he did say he wanted to watch…

“Her safeword is pineapple,” Anthony calls out nonchalantly as he settles into the wingback. “But she never uses it,” he smirks, the leather creaking slightly as he shifts his hips.

Benedict huffs a bemused noise over your lips; you taste the warmth of the whiskey on his breath.

“Kiss me,” you murmur.

There is another stinging slap to your bare bum, and again you groan.

“Only good girls get kisses,” Benedict teases, his chest rumbling against you. “Earn it.”

“How?”

He slides the billiards cue from your grip, standing upright.

“Hands behind your back.”

You follow the clipped order immediately, your chin resting on the felt. The cool, polished wood of the cue is fed between the crook of your elbows and your ribs, essentially pinning you down.

“If this moves, I stop,” his warning portentously, your stomach suddenly roaring with butterflies, on tenterhooks about what he might do.

He kneels behind you, large hands rounding your hips, tugging at your underwear, easing it over the globes of your bottom until it pooled around your heels. His breath is warm on your thighs as he taps your ankle to make you widen your stance, and then large hands pull your cheeks apart. You clench with excitement. To have one Bridgerton brother eat you out in an evening was wonderful; to have two seems miraculous. But instead, two long fingers trail down your slit and, with a force that robs your breath, hook into your leaking pussy. He groans as your walls cling hot and wet around his knuckles as he pumps in a rocking motion, his teeth grazing your bum.

“Come silently, then you earn a kiss,” he commands, and his fingers graze a spot inside that makes you want to scream, dragging harshly, making every hair on the nape of your neck stand on end.

Fuck, he knows precisely what he is doing too.

Your eyes lock with Anthony’s, who smirks at you across the room—making a show of toying with his straining fly. You want to kneel between his splayed legs and pull the metal tab open with your damn teeth. 

Benedict’s fingers are merciless inside you, the air filling with wet, cloying suction sounds. Your hands flex, pinned in place, needing something to grasp onto, toes scrunching into the satin footbed of your strappy heels. Wanting to call out, moan, or make any kind of noise but knowing it’s forbidden. Instead, you curl your lips under your teeth and whimper as silently as you can to the onslaught.

‘Say my name,’ Anthony mouths exaggeratedly, as his zip relents and his cock springs forth. Your eyes ping greedily between his fist, which starts to pump his cock lazily, and his face.

You know what this is. Even as his younger brother is taking you apart, he wants you to call out his name—a fraternal competition that just adds a delicious thread of tension. You shake your head, not wanting to break Benedict’s silence rule, needing to come.

‘Who is the best you’ve had?’ Anthony pushes the topic, mouthing slowly, overenunciating even though no sound comes out, his face arrogantly handsome, a bead of precum glistening on his knuckles.

‘Bridgerton,’ you mouth in return, just as Benedict twists his fingers, and your eyes roll, face planting into the felt, uncaring of the drool escaping the corner of your mouth as you fight the urge to scream. His thumb swipes between your cheeks and begins to massage your other hole. Not pushing in, just a circular surface motion that makes you shiver; it feels so good.

Benedict laughs richly as his little finger spears forward and catches your clit. You can't help it; you scream into your mouth, so much overlapping sensation at once, your thighs shaking, your body tensing, so close to breaking.

“You’re close now, aren’t you?” Benedict smugly assesses, his fingers moving so fast inside you, and you nod enthusiastically, your forehead rubbing harshly over the baize.

As you begin to circle that blissful edge, lungs and clit burning, he withdraws and stands up behind you. You can sense his victorious, lopsided smile as he looks down on you, writhing and squealing behind your teeth, the frustration of being denied at the last minute too much.

“Oh, you’re right, brother,” he sounds winded, “she’s glorious.”

You know your face is flushed and your eyes wild as you try to twist and look pleadingly at him to do something, anything, to nudge you over the edge.

“Shh shhh,” he hushes your quaking, moving to one side of the table but placing a firm hand on your lumbar, your skin dewy under the sequin dress gathered there. You stop moving but twist your neck to pout up at him, a trickle running down your inner thigh as you do.

A long, elegant pointer finger, scented heavily with your arousal, traces your chin and then lips.

“Don't pretend this isn’t exactly what you want,” Benedict withers, dripping with conceit.

“Please,” you mewl.

“Oh dear, you spoke before you came,” Benedict gloats. “No kiss for you, my girl.”

“I don’t care, just please let me come,” you plead, the cue a solid yoke across your back as you note Anthony, still idly pumping himself, in the periphery of your vision.

“How have you not married this one?” Benedict calls casually to Anthony, but he doesn’t turn to look at his older brother, his gaze holding yours blisteringly. “I would have her tied willingly to my bed all day.”

Your insides flip at the very thought. 

“She’s too wild to be a Viscountess,” Anthony responds laconically, cock still in hand.

Benedict’s thumb rubs around your ear, almost petting you like a cat. And you lean into his touch, desperate to do anything that will compel him between your thighs again.

“Hmmm, true,” Benedict hums, and you cry out as his other hand slaps your bottom. “Luckily for me,” he crows victorious and rounds out of sight again. 

You writhe in excitement as you hear the sound of a zipper being pulled down behind you, a thronging need to be thoroughly fucked.

Your eyes meet Anthony’s, and he twists his mouth into a bemused pout as you cry out with the force Benedict ploughs into you with one forceful thrust. He’s just as sizeable as you recall Anthony being: split open in just the same way, your channel clinging to him. 

Benedict curses and holds still. “Exquisite…” he groans, then his hands roughly grasp the cue looped into the crook of your arms, and he immediately withdraws and snaps back in. Your whole body rolling with the force of it, your hips slamming into the wood edge of the table. 

“Fuck her so hard she can’t walk,” Anthony growls through gritted teeth, making you tilt your head up to see him roughly tugging on his cock now.

“It’ll be my pleasure,” Benedict grunts, spearing into you again, the smooth wood cue rolling over your skin as he uses it as leverage.

You cannot look away from the sight of Anthony’s cock, red and angry, leaking over his knuckles as he tugs himself almost violently. A vein in his neck pulsing in sync with his motions.

Benedict bears his weight onto you and changes angle, glancing that place deep inside that few are able to reach, but when they do, it has you babbling nonsense. Panting ragged, begging words you’d never admit to, if not strung out on a vicious tide of hormones

“What was that?” Benedict menaces, looming close to hear your hoarse, desperate words.

“Please make my pussy yours…” You repeat in a whisper, throwing your head back to look up at the underside of his string jaw, eyes rolling, tongue feeling thick in your mouth. 

Benedict curses, and his hands grab the dip of your waist, clutching so strong you squeak, your forehead lolling back down onto the felt.

“I fucking will,” he growls, his chin pressing into a notch high on your spine. “Look at him while I destroy you…” he gruffs hotly into your skin. You do as commanded: tilting up to stare at Anthony as your body is slammed over and over, silently telegraphing that he now has to raise the bar next time he fucks you. 

As if he picks up on your provocation, Anthony rapidly jumps to his feet, stalking up to you, his rigid cock bobbing out of his fly as he does, still otherwise fully clothed in shirt and trousers. He pulls up beside you, the hand that was wrapped around himself sliding into your hair and grasping, a touch rough. 

“Release one of her hands,” Anthony barks. “One cock isn’t enough for this greedy slut…”

As with earlier in the car, that derogatory term - something you’d slap anyone for calling you usually - just rockets you higher in this context. Aglow with the idea you have both of them utterly feral for you now.

Benedict manhandles your arm that’s nearest his brother out from under the cue, and instantly Anthony grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock, his other hand still holding your hair, your cheekbone pressed into the green felt.

“We will all come together, do you hear me?” Anthony instructs in a non-negotiable tone.

“Yes sir…” you demure, loving the feel of his heated, girth pulse in your palm as you say it.

“Lord,” he clips, “you can call him Sir…” he nods towards Benedict, not looking away from you for a second.

“Yes, Lord,” you correct, tongue sliding into your cheek and defiantly cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Fucking brat,” Anthony scolds, but it's breathy and commendatory; a little groan as you squeeze him, a bead of precum wetting your thumb as you swipe his head.

One of Benedict’s hands releases its vice grip on your waist and slaps your buttcheek so acutely you stutter an involuntary moan, the wind knocked out of your lungs temporarily.

“I want to tame this one in a hundred ways…” he grits out.

“And she’d love every single one, wouldn’t you?” Anthony prompts, his eyes wordlessly ordering you to respond.

“I’d like that, sir,” you enthuse, craning to look back at Benedict even with Anthony’s grip on your scalp.

“Fucking hell…” Benedict gusts, his cock rippling in response to your words, and you can tell he is getting close, his punishing pace wavering a touch as he closes his eyes and tilts to look up at the ceiling, needing to look away to last a little longer, his strong neck bulging as he swallows heavily.

“Come inside me,” you incite, needing him in your thrall. For him to paw at your skin, leave finger marks on your hips, handprints on your bum.

He tilts to look down at you, eyes ablaze. “I will. And you will take it all,” he warns, low and savage.

You nod, and your hand squeezes around Anthony’s cock, jerking him roughly towards his peak too.

“Please give it to me,” you entreat to both of them, burying your face into the table, pushing your hips as much as you can into Benedict’s pelvis, a febrile quake in your entire being, so strung out and close to ecstasy for the second time tonight. 

He is ruthless, almost brutal now, his steely tip glancing at your hilt with every deep thrust he takes, your toes lifting off the ground. Anthony’s hands slide to your shoulder blades and press your breast into the table harshly, nipples abraded by the sequins of your dress. Your mind supplies images of how things could be: you naked for days as they make you orgasm so often you feel detached from reality. Countless hours of visceral bliss, one debauched moment bleeding into another.

“Whatever you are thinking about, we need to hear it,” Benedict stutters out. “Your pussy is a fucking vice of fire right now… fuck!!” He exclaims, and you sense he is at the point of no return. 

His thrusts become erratic, and he unhooks the billiards cue from around your remaining arm, tossing it aside and grabbing your hand, lacing your fingers with his and hovering over your back, hot mouth open on your neck as he almost howls. He suddenly stills, then pulses deep within you. A warmth coating your walls that sends you over the edge, following him, your hand spasming around Anthony’s cock in time with the ripples of your pussy, floating away blissfully just as Anthony yells out, an arc of cum shooting across the table, landing in a glistening steak across the green felt.

For a few beats, there is nothing but heavy breaths; Benedict slumped over you. Anthony bent forward over the table, grasping the edge.

“Fucking hell…” he stumbles out, both you and Benedict puffing in agreement. 

You whimper as Benedict slides out of you, a slick of juices down your legs, your folds puffy and tender from his thorough treatment. A delicious ache you know you will still carry tomorrow.

“I guess you’ll need this rebaized…” Benedict remarks drolly, nodding to the table, and you all share a giggle. 

Tenderly, they both help you back up to standing, rearranging your dress and righting their own clothing, then pulling you into a sandwiched embrace. Soothing hands run over your form, one brother kissing your cheek, the other your shoulder. The room bathed in the soft, warm glow of the Christmas tree, the scent of the spruce pine needles and smokey whiskey competing with the smell of sex lingering around you.

“Thank you for our most wondrous gift,” Benedict plaudits sweetly. 

“I can’t think of a better present that simultaneously orgasms,” you admit wryly, snuggling into them, enjoying the way their chests vibrate against yours as they both laugh.

Anthony cups your face, drawing your attention to him wholly. “You will stay, won’t you? For Christmas Day?” His tone is so hopeful it melts something behind your ribs.

“Yes,” you confirm quietly. 

“I know you and I may play-act as if we are foes, but you are quite the most captivating, singular woman I have met.” His sincere tone is laden with respect and admiration. “And I do believe my brother now feels the same.”

Benedict turns you around so you face him in the joint hug, “Like you wouldn’t believe...” he murmurs fervently, his hazy eyes shining.

“So I hope you don’t mind having two Bridgertons devoted to your pleasure,” Anthony breathes, nuzzling your hair as you finally kiss Benedict for the first time—a sweet denouement to this thrilling evening.

What a Merry Christmas indeed. 

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Lights divider by @/saradika [x]

[pandapetals]

ong i love your writing! can i please get a x1 logan fic where the reader is a ballerina? she’s been alive for a long time just like logan with the same regeneration ability. they meet when she is invited to the x mansion for something. but he walks in on her dancing swan lake? if not i totally understand. a girl can dream 💗✨

Hi! Thank you so much and sooo sorry for how long it took. I’ve been busy finishing school and sleep-deprived. Hopefully, i did it justice. Idk what this is lol but i ran with it. It turned into a mini fic....anyway, I always wanted to be a ballerina when I was a kid so this lowkey fulfilled my dreams.

logan howlett x fem!mutant reader - angst, minor fluff, reader has established relationships with x-men especially hank, slight reader description, no y/n used, reader has met logan before but he doesn’t remember, timeline sort of follows X1 & X2, ballet references

You stood in the middle of the mansion’s wide, polished hallway, the faint smell of waxed floors and old books swirling around you. The hum of distant voices, laughter, and the occasional crash of something breaking echoed deeper within the sprawling mansion. You smoothed your palms over your thighs, fingers brushing against the soft cotton of your dance tights beneath your coat. This place hadn’t changed—well, not in the ways that mattered.

Storm walked beside you, her silver hair catching the sunlight spilling through the grand windows, while Scott trailed just behind, his arms crossed in his usual no-nonsense stance. You saw your reflection in one of the hallway mirrors—unchanged. Despite the weight of decades, your skin was still smooth, and your body lithe. This place carried ghosts for you, but not the kind that faded with time.

"Still feels the same," you murmured under your breath, your voice almost swallowed by the mansion's high ceilings.

Storm turned, a small smile pulling at her lips. "The kids grow up, and new ones come in, but the mansion stays the same."

"Right down to the same smell of burnt toast from the kitchen every morning," Scott added, his tone dry. He gave you a sidelong glance, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his stoicism. "You'll fit right in again. Hank’s been talking about your return for weeks. I think he's been counting the days."

Storm chuckled softly, her voice lilting like the whisper of wind through trees. “You’d think he was the one with a photographic memory.”

As if summoned by your name, a deep, rumbling voice boomed from behind. “Is that—no, it can’t be.”

You turned just in time to see Hank bounding into view, his blue fur almost shimmering in the light. His tailored blazer looked comically out of place over his hulking, beastly form, but the warm smile on his face was the same as you remembered.

"Hank!" you exclaimed, your smile splitting wide as you stepped forward. His massive arms enveloped you in a bear hug, lifting you clean off your feet.

"My dear, you haven’t aged a day!" he declared, setting you back down but keeping his enormous hands on your shoulders as if to confirm you were real.

“Well, you know me. Perks of the trade,” you said lightly, but his words brought a pang you quickly shoved aside. You tilted your head up at him. “You, on the other hand, look fluffier than ever.”

Hank laughed, the sound rolling through the hallway like thunder. “You flatter me.” He released you with a fond pat on the back. "Though I must admit, it’s wonderful to see you again. It hasn’t been the same without you."

Scott cleared his throat, his voice tinged with impatience. “As much as I enjoy a good reunion, we still have the tour to finish.”

You smirked. “Still as serious as ever, huh, Summers? Don’t worry, I won’t let Hank hold us up too long.”

As the group moved down the hallway, your footsteps were light against the polished floor. A gruff voice cut through the air, stopping you in your tracks.

“Who’s the new recruit?”

You froze. You knew that voice—low, gravelly like it had been dragged across gravel and left to smolder. Turning slowly, you locked eyes with Logan. He leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand resting on the frame, the other holding a cigar he hadn’t bothered to light. His eyes raked over you, sizing you up with an air of detached curiosity.

“Logan,” you said, the name tasting familiar on your tongue, like a song you hadn’t sung in years.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do I know you?”

For a second, you almost told him. The memories of a fight decades ago—the clash of claws and fists, the way his grin had split his face after every victory—flashed through your mind. But his blank stare reminded you he wouldn’t remember. Not this version of him. Not after what they’d done to him.

“Not really,” you replied with a shrug, masking the ache behind a practiced nonchalance. “But I’ve heard of you. Big fan of the ‘snikt-snikt’ routine.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners. “Cute.” He pushed off the doorframe, his boots thudding against the hardwood as he walked closer. “What’s your story?”

You mirrored his casual stance, crossing your arms as you looked up at him. “I’m here to teach ballet. Figured the kids could use some culture.”

“Ballet?” Logan snorted, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be real useful in a fight.”

You smirked back. “You’d be surprised. I could take you down in three moves.”

“Three, huh?” He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re confident. I like that.”

“Is that your way of saying you’d like a demonstration?”

Before he could reply, Storm cut in, her voice carrying an edge of authority. “Logan, play nice. She’s here to help, not trade punches with you.”

Logan raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin never faltering. “Alright, alright. But don’t blame me if she ends up knocking one of the kids on their asses in the Danger Room.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. Logan might not remember you, but some things about him hadn’t changed.

As he walked away, cigar tucked back between his teeth, you turned to Storm, who was watching you with a knowing look.

“Well,” you said, “this is going to be fun.”

Storm chuckled. “Oh, I think you’ll fit right in.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

The room smelled faintly of lavender, likely from whatever freshener Storm had insisted on using, and the golden light of late afternoon streamed through the large windows. You sat cross-legged on the neatly made bed, hands resting on your knees, staring absently at the few belongings you’d unpacked. A duffel bag in the corner. A framed photo of you and Hank from years ago—his arm slung over your shoulder, your face mid-laugh. It felt surreal, almost too heavy to keep looking at.

You shrugged as if trying to loosen the weight pressing on your chest. It was nice to be back, even if it stirred old memories you’d locked away. Memories of laughter, battle, and the kind of losses that didn’t fade with time. But this was temporary. Just another stop along your endless road, you reminded yourself. You never stayed anywhere long enough to leave roots. You couldn’t.

A knock at the doorframe broke your reverie.

“Mind if I come in?” Hank’s familiar baritone rang out, warm and tinged with his usual politeness. He stood there, one hand resting on the frame, his blue fur catching the golden light.

“Course,” you said, a smile pulling at your lips as you waved him in.

He stepped into the room, his hulking frame seeming almost too big for the cozy space. But the way he moved—careful and precise—kept it from feeling intrusive. He glanced around, his sharp eyes taking in the bare walls and the sparse unpacking. “Travel light as always, I see.”

“Old habits die hard,” you said with a shrug. “Besides, I’m not planning on staying long.”

Hank’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he crossed the room and plopped into the chair at the small desk, the furniture groaning under his weight.

“We have a lot of catching up to do,” you said, your smile softening. “It’s been...”

“Ten years,” he finished for you, his voice quiet but firm.

Your smile faltered, and you looked away, the guilt settling in your stomach like a stone. “I’m sorry,” you said finally in a whisper.

Hank waved you off, the gesture almost as familiar as the amused twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, dear. I know you had your reasons for running off. It just would’ve been nice to know you weren’t, you know, dead in a ditch somewhere.”

That earned a small laugh as you rubbed the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve done better on the whole ‘staying in touch’ thing, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he teased, leaning forward and resting his chin on his massive hand. “I missed you, you know. Things have been... quieter without you around.”

You grinned. “Me? I think you’re confusing me with someone else.”

“Oh no,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “I distinctly recall a certain someone sneaking into my lab at three in the morning to swipe beakers for—what was it—homemade glow-in-the-dark paint?”

You laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. “In my defense, it worked! That mural in the attic was a masterpiece.”

“And I had to spend an entire week re-organizing my lab. You’re lucky I’m so forgiving,” he said, though the grin on his face made it clear he didn’t regret a second of it.

The laughter between you settled into a comfortable quiet, the kind of silence only shared between old friends.

Hank cleared his throat, his tone turning curious. “So, how are you feeling about being back? I know it can’t be easy.”

You leaned back on your hands, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s... weird. Good, but weird. This place has so many memories, you know? Feels like I’m walking through a time capsule. Everyone’s so familiar but different at the same time. Even Logan.”

Hank’s eyebrows shot up. “Logan?”

You nodded, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Ran into him in the hallway earlier. He asked who I was.”

“And did you tell him?”

Your smile faded slightly, replaced by something more wistful. “Just said I was here to teach ballet and that I’d heard of him.”

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “You’ve met him before, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice soft. You traced the edge of the duvet with your finger, eyes distant. “A long time ago. Before he lost his memory.”

Hank frowned. “And he doesn’t remember?”

You shook your head. “Nope. Not a thing.”

“That must’ve been... hard,” Hank said, his voice gentle, always the considerate one.

You shrugged, forcing a small, tight smile. “It’s not like I expected him to. Besides, it’s probably better this way. Less complicated.”

“Hmm,” Hank murmured, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. “Well, complicated or not, he seems intrigued by you. I caught him muttering something about ‘ballet instructors with an attitude’ after he saw you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Sounds about right. I think I annoyed him within thirty seconds of meeting him. New record?”

Hank chuckled. “Perhaps. Though, if I know Logan, that probably just means he respects you already.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure. Respect. That’s what I’m calling it.”

Hank grinned at your sarcasm, but his expression softened as he leaned forward again. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if it’s just for a little while. The place feels more like home with you in it.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve to avoid his gaze. “Thanks, Hank. That means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” he said simply, his sincerity cutting through any attempt to downplay his words.

The two of you fell into an easy silence again, but this time it was heavier with unspoken things. Things you didn’t have to say, because after all these years, Hank just knew.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Great work today,” you said gently, crouching to pat one of the kids on the head. The little girl beamed up at you, her hair still pinned into a slightly crooked bun from class.

“Thanks!” she chirped before bounding off toward the theatre entrance, where a gaggle of other students waited.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow, bright and early!” you called after them, your voice carrying across the empty rows of seats. A few of them waved over their shoulders, laughter spilling into the hall as they disappeared through the double doors.

The stage was quiet now, the faint scent of resin and sweat lingering in the air. You stood there staring out at the rows of chairs that stretched into a shadow. The polished floor beneath your feet caught the faint gleam of overhead lights, reflecting a ghostly version of yourself back at you.

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed, the stillness pressing around you like a heavy blanket. This place stirred something deep in you, something you hadn’t felt in years. You glanced down at your feet, your sneakers looking almost out of place against the elegant backdrop of the stage. Your eyes drifted, drawn to a battered old prop chest tucked just off to the side, partially hidden by the heavy velvet curtain.

Curiosity pulled you forward, and you crouched to flip open the lid. A cloud of dust puffed out, tickling your nose as you rummaged through its contents. Costumes, ribbons, bits of tulle—faded relics from long-forgotten performances. And then, nestled at the very bottom, you found them.

A pair of pointe shoes.

Your breath hitched as you lifted them from the chest, the ribbons cascading down like silk waterfalls. They weren’t yours—at least, not exactly—but they might as well have been. The scuffed toes, the frayed edges of the satin, the way the soles were worn down just so—it was all so familiar it made your chest ache.

Without really thinking, you sat down on the edge of the stage, untying your sneakers and slipping off your socks. The cool satin of the pointe shoes slid over your feet like a second skin, and your fingers moved on autopilot as you laced the ribbons up your ankles. The motions were muscle memory, older than most of the students you’d taught today.

You rose slowly, the faint stretch and pull of the shoes grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. A glance backstage revealed a small sound system someone had left behind, a phone still plugged into it. You scrolled until you found it—Swan Lake.

The haunting strings began to play, swelling and softening as if they were breathing. You stepped back onto the stage, your toes brushing the center mark, and let the music guide you.

At first, you moved tentatively, testing the feel of the shoes and the way your body responded. But soon, the hesitance melted away, and the steps came to you as naturally as breathing. A pirouette turned into an arabesque, which melted into a series of gliding movements that carried you across the stage.

The world outside the theatre faded, and all that existed was the music, the stage, and the rhythm of your own heartbeat. Each movement felt like slipping into an old memory, one you didn’t even realize you’d missed.

You were mid-leap when you caught the faintest creak of floorboards behind you.

The sound shattered your focus, and you landed with a jarring thud, spinning around instinctively.

Logan stood at the edge of the stage, one hand shoved into his jacket pocket. He leaned against the proscenium arch, watching you with an unreadable expression, though something about it wasn’t entirely unkind.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The soft strains of Swan Lake still played behind you, the violins aching as the tension in the air stretched.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked finally, your voice sharper than you intended.

“Long enough,” he said, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

Your eyes narrowed. “And you didn’t think to announce yourself?”

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Didn’t want to interrupt. You looked... focused.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rise to your face as you turned away and bent to tug the ribbons loose from your ankles. “Well, congratulations. You interrupted anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor. “You’re... pretty good at that, by the way.”

You paused mid-motion, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Pretty good? Gee, thanks for the glowing review.”

He smirked, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement. “Alright, fine. You’re really good. Happy?”

You snorted, slipping the pointe shoes off and flexing your toes. “It’s been a while.”

“Couldn’t tell,” he said simply. His gaze lingered on you even as you busied yourself with tucking the ribbons back into the shoes. “You used to do that, huh? Dance, I mean.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly, turning the shoes over in your hands. “A lifetime ago.”

The silence hung between while the faint hum of the violins still played in the background.

“You should do it more,” he said finally, his tone softer than you expected.

You looked up at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. The rough edges of Logan’s demeanor didn’t usually leave much room for softness, and it caught you off guard. But before you could respond, he was already turning away, heading toward the wings, his boots thudding softly against the stage floor.

You just sat there, the pointe shoes resting lightly in your lap. You stared after him, unsure whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or call him back just to yell at him for sneaking in. But something about the way he moved—slow, deliberate, almost hesitant—stopped you.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice carrying across the empty stage.

He paused, his broad shoulders tensing, though he didn’t turn right away. When he did, his expression was guarded, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from you.

“How long have you been here?” you asked, gesturing vaguely to the space around you. “At the school, I mean.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and for a second, he looked like he was deciding whether or not to answer. “A good while,” he said finally, his tone gruff.

It wasn’t much of an answer—not something you could work with—but you tried anyway. “Hank tells me you’re just… passing through.” You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “But you’re still here.”

Logan let out a soft huff, the corner of his mouth pulling into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but close enough. “He should mind his business,” he said, though there was no real heat in his words. He paused, stepping closer with a glint of curiosity in his sharp eyes. “You talking to Hank about me?”

You shrugged, the movement casual, but your heart was beating just a touch faster. “Me and Hank are good friends. We’ve—well, I’ve known the X-Men almost my whole life.” You hesitated, glancing down at the pointe shoes in your lap, your fingers idly tracing the frayed edges of the satin. “Been around a long time.”

Logan’s gaze lingered on you, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and searching. “Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You give off that vibe.”

You frowned, looking back up at him. “What vibe?”

“Like you’ve seen some things,” he said, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes that felt older than even his rough exterior let on. “Been through it. Same as me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could explain. Not easily, anyway. Instead, you offered him a small, wry smile. “Yeah, well. Time has a way of kicking the crap out of you if you let it.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound more genuine than you expected. “Ain’t that the truth.” He shifted slightly, his gaze dropping to the pointe shoes still cradled in your hands.

“You’re good at that,” he said finally, nodding toward them. “Dancing, I mean. I could tell. Not just talent—it’s in your bones.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What, you an expert on ballet now?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nah. But I know what it looks like when someone’s got somethin’ that keeps ‘em going. Something they can’t walk away from, even if they try.”

The words hit deeper than you wanted to admit as you stared at him, unsure how to respond. Finally, you said, “Yeah, well. It’s not exactly something you forget. Even when you want to.”

Logan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied you. Something was flickering behind his gaze, restless and uncertain like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t even know he had.

“You seem… familiar,” he said suddenly, the words rough, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

Your breath caught, and you stiffened, your grip tightening on the pointe shoes. “Familiar?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. I dunno. I get these dreams sometimes. Flashes of… people, places. Can’t make sense of ‘em half the time, but you…” He trailed off, running a hand through his dark hair. “You feel like one of ‘em. Like I’ve seen you before.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, even as his words pulled at something buried deep in your chest. “Well,” you said lightly, “maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Logan snorted, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Maybe.” But the way his eyes lingered on you made it clear he wasn’t convinced.

You stood abruptly, the pointe shoes dangling from your fingers as you moved to set them down on the edge of the stage. “I should probably get going,” you said, your voice a touch too bright. “Long day tomorrow. Lots of kids to wrangle.”

Logan straightened, watching you carefully. “Yeah. Sure.” He hesitated, then added, “Hey. If you ever feel like you need to talk… about all that time kickin’ the crap outta you…” His smirk returned, softer this time. “I’m around.”

You looked at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Then you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks, Logan.”

He nodded back, stepping away toward the wings. “Anytime.”

As he disappeared into the shadows, you found yourself standing there, staring at the space he’d left behind, wondering if he remembered more than he realized.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Leaving already?” Hank asked, his deep voice soft but tinged with disappointment as he leaned against the doorframe of your room. His sharp blue eyes swept over the half-packed duffel bag on the bed.

You turned to face him, zipping up the side pocket of the bag before offering him a faint smile. “Yeah,” you said, your tone light, though the ache in your chest betrayed you. “My job’s done. These kids learned pretty quickly. They don’t need me hanging around.”

Hank stepped into the room, his large frame taking up far too much space as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You could stay…”

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and you looked down at your hands, gripping the strap of your bag. The idea tugged at you, and you couldn’t deny it. A part of you did want to stay. It had been a few months—far longer than you’d initially planned—and yet leaving felt harder than it usually did.

Hank tilted his head, studying you. “I know he would miss you,” he said gently, his voice softening. “In his own weird way.”

Your heart gave a traitorous thud, and you swallowed hard, glancing toward the window. The late afternoon sun cast long golden streaks across the walls, the light catching the faint dust motes in the air. You knew exactly who Hank meant.

“Hank,” you said, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, his tone a mixture of teasing and sincerity, “it’s not every day Logan actually lets someone get under his skin.”

You couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up, though it was tinged with a bittersweet edge. “Under his skin? Pretty sure he’d describe me as an itch, not a friend.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, a knowing look on his face. “Perhaps. But even Logan doesn’t get that annoyed unless he likes someone.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway made both of you glance toward the door. A moment later, Logan appeared, his usual scowl in place as he leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with sarcasm, though his eyes flicked to your bag with something far harder to read.

“Not at all,” Hank said smoothly, stepping toward the door. “In fact, I was just leaving.”

You shot Hank a glare, but he only smiled innocently before brushing past Logan and disappearing down the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.

“So,” Logan said, jerking his chin toward the bed. “Packing up, huh?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah. Time to hit the road. The kids are in a good place, and my work here is done.”

Logan snorted, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “Work? Looked more like pirouettes and tutus to me.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t knock it, Logan. Ballet’s tougher than it looks. I’d like to see you last five minutes in a pair of pointe shoes.”

“Yeah, no thanks,” he said, the ghost of a grin flickering across his face. “I like my dignity right where it is.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you zipped up the duffel bag. “You wouldn’t know dignity if it hit you over the head.”

“Careful, darlin’,” Logan shot back, his voice teasing but low. “I might actually start to think I’m gonna miss you.”

The playful tone of the conversation faltered for a split second, the weight of his words landing heavier than either of you expected. You looked at him, your smirk fading as your eyes searched his face.

“Well,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off, “don’t get too sentimental on me, Logan. I’ll think I’ve broken you.”

Logan didn’t laugh. His expression grew more serious, his brows furrowing slightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not bein’ sentimental. I mean it.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden earnestness in his voice. “Logan—”

“I’ll miss you,” he interrupted, his gaze dropping before meeting yours again. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Before you could respond, Logan ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out a low huff. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “But you feel… familiar. Like I’ve known you before.”

You froze, your pulse quickening. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to piece something together. “I’ve had these dreams,” he said slowly. “Flashes of… I dunno, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression neutral even as his words sent a ripple through you. “Logan, that doesn’t mean anything,” you said softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “Dreams are just… dreams.”

He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “Maybe. But it feels real. Like I’m rememberin’ something I’m not supposed to.”

You took a shaky breath, gripping the strap of your bag like a lifeline. “Logan…”

He stepped back, giving you space but keeping his sharp eyes locked on yours. “I don’t know what it means, but…” He exhaled, the sound rough and frustrated. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

You managed a faint smile, though your chest felt tight. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Logan nodded once, his gaze lingering on you before he stepped back toward the door. “Take care of yourself, darlin’,” he said, his voice gruff again, though the softness in his eyes remained.

“You too, Logan,” you replied, watching as he disappeared into the hallway.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“He isn’t here,” Hank’s familiar voice rumbled as you stepped through the heavy oak doors of Xavier’s mansion.

You froze for a moment, your breath catching in your chest before you schooled your expression into something neutral. “Who said I came back for him?” you quipped, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe I missed you, you big fluff.”

Hank appeared at the top of the grand staircase, his blue fur catching the soft light streaming through the tall windows. He grinned as he descended, his heavy footsteps echoing in the quiet foyer. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said, his tone warm and teasing. As he reached the bottom step, he opened his arms, and you moved forward, letting yourself sink into the familiar embrace.

He pulled back slightly, his large hands resting gently on your shoulders. “My dear, I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

You gave him a faint smile, setting your duffel bag down by your feet. “Well, you were right. This place has a way of sticking with you.”

Your gaze wandered, taking in the grand entryway—the polished wood floors, the scent of old books, and faint traces of Storm’s jasmine perfume lingering in the air. It felt the same as it always had, and yet different, as if the mansion itself had shifted in your absence. It had been three months since you’d left, determined to put some distance between yourself and the memories this place stirred up. But the farther you went, the more you felt the pull to come back.

Something about being here this time had gotten under your skin, burrowed into the part of you that you usually kept locked away.

Hank seemed to sense your hesitation. His perceptive blue eyes studied you carefully, the teasing edge to his voice softening. “What brought you back this time? Missing the kids already? Or…” He trailed off meaningfully, giving you a knowing look.

You rolled your eyes, stepping away to avoid his gaze. “Don’t start with me, Hank.”

“Start with what?” he asked innocently, though the twitch of his lips betrayed him.

You bent to pick up your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you moved toward the staircase. “I just felt like it was time to come back, okay? No ulterior motives.”

Hank followed you, his footsteps were heavy but deliberate. “Hmm,” he murmured, and you could feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. “I see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gestured for you to follow him toward the sitting room. You hesitated, but the look on his face made it clear he wasn’t going to let this drop, so you sighed and followed him in.

As you stepped into the room, the crackling of a low fire greeted you, the warmth immediately chasing away the chill that had settled in your bones during your journey back. Hank moved to pour himself a cup of tea from the silver pot on the table and offered you one with a tilt of his head. You shook your head, folding your arms across your chest instead.

When Hank finally spoke, his voice was careful but direct. “Logan left shortly after you did.”

You froze, the words hitting you like a punch to the stomach. You forced yourself to stay still, to keep your expression calm. “Oh?”

Hank’s sharp eyes flicked to you over the rim of his cup. “He went to Alkali Lake.”

Your breath caught for a fraction of a second before you forced yourself to shrug casually. “Is that so? I guess he's still looking for answers.”

Hank hummed, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink. “Indeed. He seemed… restless. More so than usual. Charles sent him there.”

You shifted your weight, pretending to be absorbed in the crackling fire, but you could feel Hank watching you, his gaze pressing against the cracks in your carefully constructed mask. “Well, you know Logan. He’s not exactly one for sitting still,” you said lightly.

Hank didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, his voice was softer, more concerned. “You knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

You frowned, turning your gaze to him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded you with that gentle yet unyielding intensity that only he could pull off. “You care about him,” he said simply. “And don’t try to deny it. I’ve known you too long.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words died in your throat. Instead, you looked away, your fingers tightening into fists at your sides. “It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it,” Hank said gently.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “I think I’ll talk to Charles,” you said abruptly, moving toward the door.

“Of course,” Hank said, his voice soft and understanding. “But if you need to talk…”

You glanced back at him, offering a small, strained smile. “Thanks, Hank.”

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You found Charles in his study, the quiet hum of his voice reaching you before you even entered the room. He was finishing up a conversation with Storm, who nodded at you in greeting as she passed by on her way out.

“Ah,” Charles said, his warm smile appearing as he gestured for you to come in. “It’s good to see you back.”

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, closing the door behind you. “Why did you send him there?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained calm. “Logan?”

“Yes,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “Hank said you sent him to Alkali Lake. Why?”

Charles sighed, folding his hands in his lap as his gaze turned contemplative. “Because he was searching for answers. And I thought he deserved a chance to find them.”

“At that place?” you said, your voice sharper than you intended.

Charles’s gaze softened, his eyes piercing yet kind. “You know as well as I do that Logan’s past is complicated. He came to me, searching for guidance. I simply pointed him toward where I believed he might find what he was looking for.”

You turned away, pacing to the window as you tried to steady your thoughts. Memories of Alkali Lake clawed at the edges of your mind, and the idea of Logan going back there made your chest tighten.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” you muttered.

Charles was silent for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle. “He’s stronger than you think. And, perhaps, finding the truth is the only way for him to heal.”

You clenched your jaw, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for,” you said quietly. “He doesn’t remember.”

Charles tilted his head, studying you carefully. “And yet, it seems to me that you do.”

You turned to face him, your arms folded tightly across your chest like a shield, but you couldn’t keep the vulnerability from your eyes as they met his. He was right, of course—he was always right. You did remember. You remembered everything.

And that was the problem.

“Sometimes,” you said softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray you, “things happen for a reason. Sometimes it’s better not to remember.”

Charles’s expression softened, his piercing gaze never wavering. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his hands folding neatly in his lap as he studied you. “Perhaps you feel that way,” he said gently, “but Logan doesn’t. He wants to remember—he longs to, even if he doesn’t realize how painful the truth could be.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening against your arms. The lump rising in your throat made it difficult to speak. “You shouldn’t have sent him there,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “You could’ve just told him. You could’ve looked into his mind and shown him.”

Charles sighed, his expression tinged with a sadness that only came from decades of making impossible decisions. “I could have,” he admitted, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “But sometimes it’s best to let one discover the truth on their own. To take the journey themselves, rather than having it handed to them.”

You shook your head, pacing a few steps toward the window before stopping, your hands bracing against the ledge as you stared out at the sprawling gardens. The sky was painted with the fiery hues of sunset, the warm colors stark against the shadows creeping across the grounds.

“You don’t know what he’s walking into,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less strained. “Alkali Lake isn’t just some mystery to solve—it’s a wound that doesn’t close. Whatever he finds there… it’ll destroy him.”

Charles’s chair creaked faintly as he shifted, his voice still calm but tinged with something deeper, something more insistent. “Logan is stronger than you think. He has endured more than most men could even imagine. And while you may see Alkali Lake as a wound, for him, it may be the key to healing.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Healing? Is that what you call it? Ripping open the past just to bleed all over again?” You turned to face him, your voice rising slightly. “You think that’s going to help him?”

Charles remained unshaken, his steady gaze meeting yours. “I think,” he said carefully, “that Logan deserves the chance to decide for himself. To understand who he was, and who he could become.”

You looked away, your jaw clenching as the weight of his words settled over you. “He doesn’t need to remember everything,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Charles. “Some things… some things are better left buried.”

Charles regarded you silently for a long moment, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, he spoke, his tone gentle but resolute. “You could help him.”

The words made your heart jolt, and your eyes snapped back to his, wide with surprise. “What?”

“You could help him,” Charles repeated, his gaze unyielding. “You know him. You understand his pain in ways others cannot. Perhaps you are exactly what he needs.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you stepped back toward the door. “No,” you said firmly, though your voice cracked slightly. “That’s not my place. He doesn’t even remember me.”

“Perhaps not,” Charles said, tilting his head slightly. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the connection. And it doesn’t mean you don’t care.”

You froze in the doorway, your hand gripping the frame as you glanced back at him. “This isn’t about me caring,” you said quietly, though even you could hear the lie in your voice. “This is about you sending him to a place that’s going to tear him apart, and expecting someone else to pick up the pieces.”

Charles’s gaze softened, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m not expecting anything, my dear. I’m simply reminding you that you have a choice. Just as he does.”

You stared at him, your chest tightening as the weight of his words pressed against the walls you’d so carefully built around yourself. Without another word, you turned and walked out, the faint echo of your footsteps fading down the hall.

Later that night, you found yourself sitting by the window in your room, the pointe shoes you’d brought with you resting in your lap. The moonlight spilled across the polished floor, painting the room in silvery shadows.

You hadn’t danced since the day Logan had interrupted you in the theatre, but now, your legs ached with the restless energy that only movement could soothe. Setting the shoes aside, you rose to your feet and began to move, the quiet hum of your memories guiding your steps.

But no matter how hard you tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, his words echoed in your mind.

“I’ve had these dreams. Flashes of… I don’t know, a forest. Snow. And you. You’re there. You’re always there.”

You faltered mid-spin, your movements slowing until you stood completely still, your chest heaving with shallow breaths. The memories he didn’t fully understand were ones you couldn’t forget. The snow, the forest, the way his eyes—wilder, more broken than—had locked onto yours as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world.

You sat back down on the edge of the bed, resting your head in your hands. You had told yourself that coming back to the mansion was about the kids, about the familiar comforts of a place you’d once called home. But deep down, you knew it was about him.

And now he was gone.

You didn’t know whether to feel relieved or heartbroken, but one thing was certain—if Logan ever truly remembered everything, you weren’t sure either of you would survive it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You descended the staircase beside Hank, nodding absentmindedly as he launched into an animated explanation of his latest research—something about neural pathways and genetic mutations. It was fascinating, you were sure, but your thoughts had drifted. A week had passed since you returned to the mansion, and yet it still felt strange to slip so easily back into the rhythm of this place, like stepping into an old pair of shoes you’d forgotten you owned.

“Logan! You’re back!”

Rogue’s excited voice cut through the air, and you froze mid-step, your hand tightening on the polished wood of the banister. Your eyes darted to the entrance below, where Logan stood just inside the door, a worn duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as gruff as ever, his jacket unzipped and his hair slightly mussed, but there was a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as Rogue darted across the hall to embrace him.

You lingered on the stairs, watching the exchange with a small smile. Rogue stepped back, saying something too low for you to hear, and Logan responded with a grunt that made her laugh. The sight of it tugged at something in your chest—something you weren’t ready to name.

“Wonder why he’s back,” Hank said beside you, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You didn’t miss the knowing look he gave you, and you sighed, swatting his arm lightly. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice teasing but edged with a hint of nervousness.

Still, your heart raced, betraying the calm exterior you were trying so hard to maintain. The thought crossed your mind—fleeting and impossible—that maybe Logan had come back because you were here. But no. That wasn’t how things worked. You had left before him, made it clear you didn’t intend to stay, and Logan… well, Logan wasn’t the sentimental type.

As you descended the last few steps, Hank still at your side, Logan’s gaze lifted. His smirk faded as his sharp eyes found yours, and for a second, something flickered across his face. Surprise? Relief? It was gone before you could name it, replaced by his usual guarded expression.

“You… made it back,” you said, your voice softer than you intended as you offered him a faint smile.

Logan’s brow twitched, and he set his duffel bag down by his feet. “Looks like we both did,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying that familiar gravelly tone that always sounded like he’d just woken up.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, stepping off the last stair. “But, you know… this place has a way of dragging you back.”

“Yeah,” Logan said, his lips twitching as though he might smile. “Does that.”

There was a beat of silence, not quite awkward but heavy enough to feel like the air between you had changed somehow. Hank, ever the socially astute one, cleared his throat and patted you lightly on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll leave you two to… catch up. I have some experiments to check on.”

You shot him a warning look, but he just grinned and disappeared down the hall dragging Rogue along with him. Leaving you alone with Logan.

“So,” you said after a moment, folding your arms casually. “Alkali Lake. Find what you were looking for?”

Logan let out a low huff, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. Nothin’ there but snow and bad memories.”

You nodded, though your chest tightened at his words. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t let this get to you, wouldn’t let your emotions bubble to the surface. But it was hard. You knew what Alkali Lake meant, not just to him but to you as well.

“Well,” you said lightly, forcing a smirk. “Guess you can cross that one off the list.”

“Yeah,” he said, watching you carefully. “Guess so.”

There was a pause, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were working up to something. You shifted under his gaze, feeling the weight of it settle on your shoulders.

“What?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Had another dream,” he said suddenly, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it, something unspoken lingering beneath his words.

You froze, your smirk faltering. “Oh yeah?”

Logan nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You were in it again.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced yourself to play it cool. “You sure it wasn’t Rogue this time? Or Storm? Maybe I’m just a stand-in for all the women in your life.”

He huffed out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Nah. It was you.” He stepped a little closer, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, studying your face as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle. “This time you were… dancin’.”

The breath hitched in your throat, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. You broke eye contact, looking down at the scuffed floorboards. “Sounds like a weird dream,” you said, your voice quiet.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softer now. “Weird thing is, it felt… familiar.”

You looked back up at him sharply, your stomach twisting. “Familiar how?”

Logan shrugged, the movement almost too casual, but his brow furrowed as though he were trying to make sense of something. “Don’t know. I just… felt like I’d seen it before. You, up on some stage or somethin’, spinnin’ around. There was music. Somethin’ old… Swan Lake, maybe?”

Your throat tightened. The memory flashed in your mind—the theatre, the faint strains of Swan Lake, the way you’d let yourself get lost in the dance only to find Logan watching you from the shadows.

“Well,” you said finally, forcing a smirk. “Maybe you’re just jealous of my skills.”

Logan snorted, his lips twitching upward. “Yeah, sure. That’s it.”

He held your gaze for a second longer, and you thought you saw the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—something uncertain, almost vulnerable. But then he stepped back, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

“Good to see you back,” he said gruffly, his voice dropping just enough that you almost missed it. “Place is better with you here.”

Before you could respond, he turned and started walking down the hall, leaving you standing there, your chest tight and your thoughts swirling.

Logan might not remember everything, but the pieces were there buried just beneath the surface. And whether you liked it or not, it seemed those pieces included you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

“Charles suggested I… help him,” you said, your tone sharp as you leaned against Hank’s lab table. The polished steel was cold under your hands, grounding you as you tried to organize your thoughts. “Can you believe that? The old man won’t use his powers to look inside Logan’s mind, but he expects me to do it—in some weird, roundabout sense.”

Hank hummed thoughtfully, his attention divided as he adjusted the burner beneath a bubbling beaker. “Charles has his methods,” he said evenly. “Though I suspect he thinks you’d be a better help because you… knew Logan. From before.”

Your stomach tightened, and you crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze dropping to the tiled floor. “Hank, I’ve known almost everyone. I’ve been alive longer than any of you. It doesn’t mean I have all the answers.” You hesitated, then added in a softer voice, “And you can’t expect me to just… spill my guts to him. What if it triggers something in him? The feral side?”

That made Hank pause. He looked up from his work, concern creasing his blue-furred face. “I’ve heard about that side of him,” he said cautiously, “but I’ve never seen it in person.” His voice lowered. “Have you?”

The question made your chest tighten even more, your heart thudding against your ribs. You turned away, your eyes settling on a shelf of meticulously labeled vials, pretending to study them.

“We’ve seen it, haven’t we?” Hank pressed, his tone gentler now.

Finally, you nodded, the memory bubbling to the surface unbidden. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’ve seen it.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression shifting from curiosity to quiet concern. “My dear,” he said carefully, “you’ve always made it seem as though you knew Logan in passing… like acquaintances from a battlefield. But…” His voice trailed off, and he straightened, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. “You’re not telling me something, are you?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as if to dismiss the thought. “Hank, it doesn’t matter. It happened a long time ago. Just let it go.”

“What happened a long time ago?”

You gritted your teeth, frustration flaring in your chest. “It’s complicated,” you said, your voice low.

“I’ve got time,” Hank replied simply, leaning against the counter and folding his massive arms across his chest.

You threw him a look, but the patience in his gaze—the quiet, unyielding kind that Hank was so good at—made you falter. You pushed off the table and started to pace, running a hand through your hair as you tried to organize your thoughts.

“I met Logan decades ago,” you began, your voice tight. “During a war. A different one from the ones the X-Men are used to. He wasn’t like he is now. He was wilder, more dangerous. Barely in control of himself. A weapon, not a man.”

Hank’s brows furrowed. “Weapon X?”

You shook your head. “No. This was before that. This was… something else. Something darker.”

You stopped pacing, your arms falling to your sides as the memory gripped you. “I was passing through this remote town in the Canadian Rockies. Just trying to stay out of the way, you know? That’s what I did back then. I didn’t get involved. Didn’t put down roots. And then…” You swallowed hard, your voice dropping. “Then I heard the screams.”

Hank’s ears twitched, his expression unreadable as he watched you.

“There were bodies,” you continued, your voice distant now. “Shredded. Blood everywhere. And in the middle of it was him. Logan. He wasn’t himself—not the man you know now. He was… feral. An animal. He couldn’t even speak. Just growled and snarled like a beast.”

Hank adjusted his glasses, his expression turning grim. “And you fought him?”

You let out a dry laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I tried. I had to. He was killing anything that moved. I thought I could stop him, but… I underestimated him. He tore through me like paper.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “But your healing—”

“Exactly,” you cut in, nodding. “He saw me heal. Saw me get back up when I should’ve stayed down. I think it… confused him. Maybe even snapped him out of it a little. He stopped attacking me, but he didn’t calm down completely. He just… stared at me. Like he didn’t know whether to rip me apart or run.”

“And what did you do?”

You hesitated, your gaze drifting to the window. The late afternoon light spilled into the lab, casting long shadows across the floor. “I didn’t run,” you said softly. “I stayed. I talked to him. Calmed him down somehow. It was like he recognized something in me, though I didn’t know what it was at the time. I stayed with him for weeks after that. Helped him regain some sense of himself. Taught him how to fight his instincts. We… we bonded.”

The last words came out quieter than you intended, and you felt Hank’s gaze sharpen.

“You didn’t just know him,” Hank said slowly, as though the pieces were finally coming together. “You cared about him.”

You looked away, your jaw tightening. “I left when he got better. Disappeared. I thought it was for the best. And now he doesn’t even remember me. So, yeah, Charles wants me to help him, but I don’t know if I can. And even if I could… I don’t know if I should.”

The room was quiet for a long moment, the bubbling of the beaker the only sound. Finally, Hank sighed, his voice softer now. “Perhaps you underestimate how much of you he might still remember, even if it’s not clear to him yet.”

You shook your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down like an old, familiar burden. “He doesn’t remember. At least, not the whole picture. And honestly? It’s better that way.” Your voice softened, but a bitter edge crept into it. “He shouldn’t have to remember all the pain he caused. All the blood.”

Hank froze for a moment, his hands stilling over the set of vials he was arranging. The soft hum of the equipment filled the silence as he carefully chose his words. “I understand—”

“No, you don’t.” You cut him off, the sharpness in your tone surprising even yourself. You turned toward him, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Hank, if you had lived as long as we have… seen the things we’ve seen, done the things we’ve done… You’d want to forget too. You’d want it wiped clean, all of it. Trust me.”

Hank straightened, his broad shoulders rising slightly as he considered your words. “You’re speaking for Logan,” he said slowly, his voice calm but firm. “You’re deciding for him.”

Your eyes flicked away, focusing on the far corner of the lab. It was easier than meeting his gaze.

“It’s not like Logan was given a choice back then,” Hank continued, his tone softening but losing none of its weight. “And now he has one. A chance to choose for himself who he wants to be—what he wants to know. You’re taking that away from him by deciding for him.”

The words hit harder than you wanted to admit, threading a knot of tension through your chest. You opened your mouth to argue, to say something to push back against Hank’s steady reasoning, but no words came.

Instead, you closed your eyes, exhaling slowly through your nose. “I’m not taking anything away from him,” you said finally, your voice tight. “I’m just trying to protect him.”

“Protect him?” Hank asked, his eyebrows rising slightly. “From what? From himself?”

“From the truth!” you snapped, your voice rising before you could stop it. The words hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered, and you took a step back, shaking your head as if to banish the emotions bubbling to the surface.

Hank studied you carefully, his blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t believe he deserves the truth, do you?”

Your laugh came out bitter, almost hollow. “Deserve? What does that even mean? Deserve doesn’t matter when it comes to this. What Logan’s been through, what he’s done—he deserves peace. And that’s not something he’s going to find at the bottom of a memory.”

Hank tilted his head, his expression a mix of empathy and challenge. “You think peace is ignorance?”

“I think…” you said slowly, your voice faltering. “I think there are some things you can’t come back from. Some things you shouldn’t have to come back from.”

“And yet he keeps fighting,” Hank said, his voice quieter now. “Every day, Logan fights to be better. To be more than what he’s been through, more than what was done to him. But you… you’re standing in his way.”

His words struck like a blow, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not standing in his way,” you said finally, but the words felt hollow.

“Are you sure about that?” Hank asked, his tone gentle but unwavering.

You turned away, gripping the edge of the lab table so tightly your knuckles turned white. “He doesn’t need to remember me,” you said after a long pause, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what happened back then. He doesn’t need to carry that weight.”

Hank hesitated before stepping closer, his voice soft but unrelenting. “Maybe. But are you sure this is about what he needs? Or is it about what you don’t want to face?”

The question hung in the air like a loaded gun, and you couldn’t bring yourself to answer it.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹🦢⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Later that night, you found yourself sitting alone on the stage, the empty theatre shrouded in silence. Your legs stretched out in front of you, the ribbons of your pointe shoes loose around your ankles. Though the music had long since stopped, the soft strings of a violin still lingered in your mind, weaving through the restless thoughts you couldn’t escape.

Dancing used to help, used to be your escape when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. It felt like it only made things worse. The memories, the what-ifs, the fears you’d buried so deeply—all of it rose to the surface when you moved. Hank had been right, and you hated it.

It wasn’t just about Logan. It was about you. About the things you didn’t want to revisit, the things you’d worked so hard to leave behind. The terrifying truth was, if Logan ever pieced it all together—if he ever remembered everything—you weren’t sure either of you could handle it.

The quiet creak of the double doors opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You froze, your hands resting on your ankles as Logan stepped into the theatre, the dim light catching the sharp angles of his face. He looked more relaxed than he had when you first saw him after returning from Alkali Lake, like some of the tension he always carried had finally eased. Maybe his trip had given him some kind of closure. Maybe it had only left him with more questions.

You didn’t know which possibility scared you more.

You dropped your gaze to your pointe shoes, fingers fumbling with the ribbons as if untying them could somehow distract you from the way Logan’s gaze lingered on you.

He snorted, the sound soft but amused as he moved farther into the room. “Didn’t feel like dancin’ tonight?” he asked, his gravelly voice carrying a faint teasing edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at your lips. “What do you want, Logan?”

He shrugged, stepping farther down the aisle until he was close enough for you to feel the weight of his presence. His expression shifted, the smirk fading as his sharp eyes narrowed. “Figured I’d check in. You’ve been avoidin’ me since I got back.”

“I’ve been busy,” you said quickly, tugging your pointe shoes off and setting them beside you. The excuse sounded thin even to your ears.

“Yeah,” Logan said, his voice flat as he folded his arms over his chest. “Sure you have.”

You sighed, pulling your legs up onto the stage and crossing them in front of you as if the position could shield you from the intensity of his gaze. “What do you want, Logan?”

His gaze dropped to the floor before lifting again to meet yours. “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said quietly, stepping closer to the edge of the stage. “You’re keepin’ stuff from me.”

Your breath caught, and you forced yourself to laugh softly, shaking your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do,” Logan said, his voice low and firm. He stepped up onto the stage, closing the distance between you. “You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about.”

You looked away, focusing on the empty rows of seats stretching out into the shadows of the theatre. “Logan, I—”

“Cut the crap,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “Every time I get close to somethin’, you shut me out. Every time I try to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on in my head, you’re there, lookin’ at me like you already know the answers.” He paused, his voice softening just enough to make your chest ache. “You do, don’t you?”

Your hands tightened in your lap, your nails digging into your palms as you tried to steady your breathing. “It’s not that simple,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan snorted, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “Nothin’s ever simple with you, is it?”

“Logan, please,” you said, finally meeting his gaze. “Let it go.”

He shook his head, stepping even closer until he was standing right in front of you. “No. Not this time.” His voice was quiet but resolute, the kind of tone that left no room for argument. “I went to Alkali Lake and found nothin’ but ghosts. I keep havin’ these dreams, these flashes, and half the time, you’re in ‘em. You tell me to let it go? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I know there’s more? When I know you’re holdin’ somethin’ back?”

You stared at him, your chest tightening under the weight of his words. “You don’t want to remember,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Not all of it. Trust me, Logan. You don’t.”

His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’s not your call to make.”

“Isn’t it?” you shot back, your voice rising as the emotions you’d been suppressing finally broke free. “Do you have any idea what’s buried in your head? What remembering could do to you?”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. “What’s buried in yours?”

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and all you could do was stare at him. Finally, you looked away, your gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not about me,” you said weakly.

“Bullshit,” Logan said, stepping closer until he was towering over you. “This is about you just as much as it’s about me. You’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of what I’ll remember. Of what it’ll mean for you.”

Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, fighting back the sting of tears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Logan crouched in front of you, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were sharp, but there was something softer, almost pleading. “Then tell me. Tell me what I don’t know.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill over as you whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why?” Logan’s voice cracked, and for the first time, you saw the vulnerability beneath his gruff exterior. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“Because it’ll break you,” you said, your voice trembling. “And I can’t be the one to do that to you, Logan. I won’t.”

The two of you just stared at each other, the silence between you heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Logan stood, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back.

“I’m not gonna stop,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’m not gonna stop until I figure it out. Until I figure us out.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the determination in his eyes. “Logan—”

He shook his head, cutting you off, his tone low but firm. “No more runnin’, darlin’. Not from me. Not from this.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, blinking hard to fight the tears threatening to spill. “You—you can’t just expect me to tell you everything,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Why not?” Logan said, his gaze piercing as he stepped closer. “Is it a long story? I’ve got the time—we both do.” His voice softened slightly at the end, but the determination in his tone didn’t waver.

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your face with the back of your hand. “It’s not that simple.”

“All I hear are excuses,” Logan snapped, his frustration bleeding into his voice. “Excuses from Chuck about my mind bein’ too fragile. Excuses about how I’ve gotta ‘find the answers myself.’” He gestured toward you, his movements sharp. “And now excuses from you about dreams bein’ just dreams. Do you think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t deserve to know what the hell’s been bouncin’ around in my head all this time?”

“It’s not about what you deserve, Logan!” you shot back, your voice cracking as you stood suddenly, your body tense with emotion. “It’s about what you can survive. You don’t know the weight of it—the guilt, the anger, the regret. You think finding all the pieces is going to fix you, but it’s not. It’s just going to break you more.”

Logan stared at you, his jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides. But something in his eyes—something raw and pleading—made you falter. His voice softened, the edge fading. “Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. But it’s not your call to make. It’s mine.”

The truth of his words cut through your defenses like claws, and you sank back onto the stage, your hands gripping your knees as you tried to steady your breathing. The silence between you stretched, heavy and charged.

Finally, you broke it, your voice quiet but resolute. “Fine.”

Logan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tried to gauge your meaning.

“I’ll tell you,” you said, swallowing hard as you looked up at him. “But I can’t promise it’s going to be pretty. And I can’t promise it’s not going to hurt.”

Logan’s posture relaxed ever so slightly, and he exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he moved toward you. He sat down beside you on the stage, the movement slow and deliberate. His elbow brushed against yours, and the quiet warmth of his presence steadied the storm inside you, if only for a moment.

“I ain’t lookin’ for pretty,” he said quietly, his tone gentle now. “And I’m not afraid of hurtin’. Just… tell me the truth. That’s all I want.”

You stared at the floor for a long moment, your hands twisting in your lap as memories you’d buried for years rose to the surface, raw and unrelenting. Finally, you took a deep breath, your voice shaking as you began. “We crossed paths again a long time ago.”

Logan frowned slightly, his brows furrowing. “Again?”

You nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “It was…after everything happened when I first found you.” You hesitated, your voice dropping. “I thought I’d never see you again. Honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t. Not because I didn’t care, but because… because you deserved a fresh start. You needed one.”

Logan didn’t respond, but his silence was expectant, urging you to continue.

“I was in New York,” you said softly, a faint, bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. “Dancing. There was this small theatre, nothing fancy, but it was mine. I was performing that night—Swan Lake, actually. I remember being backstage, nerves eating at me like they always did before a show. And then the curtain rose, and I…” You paused, shaking your head at the memory. “I saw you. In the audience.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. “Me?”

You nodded, your smile fading. “You were sitting in the second row, staring at me like you’d seen a ghost. I almost stumbled through my first few steps because I couldn’t believe it was you. You looked… different. Cleaner. Put together. But the way you watched me—it was like you remembered something. Something buried.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped to the floor as if searching for the memory.

“When the performance ended,” you continued, “I went backstage, thinking you’d leave. That maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me. But when I came out, you were still there. Waiting. I didn’t know what to say, but then you said it first.”

Logan glanced at you, his voice quiet. “What’d I say?”

You hesitated, the memory sharp in your mind. “You said, ‘It’s you. You’re the one who helped me.’”

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as though trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle. “I remembered you?”

“Some of it,” you said softly. “Not everything, but enough. Enough to know we’d met before. Enough to know I’d helped you when you weren’t… yourself.” You exhaled shakily, your hands trembling in your lap. “We went out afterward. Got drinks at some dingy little bar down the street. You asked me why I helped you back then, and I didn’t know how to answer. So I told you the truth.”

Logan looked at you, his voice rough. “What truth?”

You met his gaze, your eyes glassy. “That I didn’t want to. That I’d seen what you were capable of, and it terrified me. But there was something about you, Logan. Something human buried under all that rage. And I thought… I thought if I could just reach you, maybe you wouldn’t be lost forever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your confession settling between you like a fragile thread. Logan’s gaze didn’t leave yours, his expression unreadable but his eyes impossibly soft.

“You were right,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

You blinked, your breath catching. “What?”

“You reached me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t remember all of it, but I know one thing: you didn’t let me go. You could’ve, but you didn’t. And that…” He shook his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “That’s somethin’ I won’t forget, even if the details are gone.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, wiping at them quickly. “I don’t know if I helped you, Logan. Not really.”

“You did,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for doubt. “You still do.”

The words hung in the air but they carried a weight that settled deep in your chest. Logan reached over, his rough hand covering yours briefly before pulling back. The touch was fleeting but enough to let you know he meant it.

[rainybubbles]

How do you meet COD Men ? - AU civilian

Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, König, Rudy, Alex, Nikolai

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written, mid or if they're OOC)

SOAP as a firefighter : 

-"911, how can I assist you today?"

-"I think there's been a break-in at my place!"

-"Could you describe the intruder, ma'am?"

-"It's... a turkey."

-"A turkey?"

-"Yeah, one of those gobbling birds! My neighbors use a live one for their Thanksgiving, and it somehow busted loose. It barged into my place through the door, gave me a real fright. I dashed into my bathroom, but it went all 'Rambo' on my door, and now it's busted. My handle is broken, I'm stuck in here!"

-"Don't worry, help is on the way."

-And that's when you met Soap. There he was, showing up at your doorstep in full firefighter gear.

-"Hey there ?" he greeted, axe in hand, ready to face off against the rogue turkey.

-You weren’t kidding, he thought.

-He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the havoc that bird had wreaked in your place.

-Your poor sofa was toast, and your table was in pieces. Slowly, he made his way to the damaged door.

-"Hey there, Ah’m a firefighter. I’m here tae break down the door. Please step back."

-"Oh thanks ! I was starting to think I'd be spending the night bawling in my bathtub."

-He chuckled.

-"Wouldnae want a lovely person like yerself spendin’ Thanksgiving solo."

-"Thanks," you replied.

-"I'll get started," Soap said as he began dismantling the door.

-"Here, it looks like the turkey's gone," he reported.

-But when he turned to you, he noticed something amiss.

- Normally, people were relieved to see him, not scared out of their wits.

-His gaze shifted back, and that's when he saw it—the monstrous turkey, ready to pounce.

-Without a second thought, he scooped you up, effortlessly carrying you despite whatever size or weight you were, and bolted past the bird.

-"Why's that thing so fast?" he exclaimed.

-"They're practically dinosaurs, I swear!" you cried from the safety of his arms.

-You both made it to the street. Soap dialed up a wildlife specialist to handle the feathery menace.

-"Ah’l swearin’ off turkey forever," he vowed.

-"I think finding a new place to live might be a good idea," you whispered, still trying to calm your nerves.

-"Aye, yer neighbors are some real characters for pullin’ a stunt like this."

-"Thanks again for this. I mean, I'm sure you've got more pressing cases."

-"No’ really. Usually, it's just family squabbles. Last time, Ah had a grandma tryin’ tae kill her son wi’ mashed potatoes," he joked.

-"Grandma can get wild," you chuckled.

-"Ye have no idea. Name's John, by the way. Sorry for forgettin’ ma manners."

-"Hey, a wild turkey trying to take me out can do that to a person," you quipped. "I'm Y/n," you added.

-He grinned.

-“I owe you big time, Soap," you said, finally stepping out of the bathroom. "Guess this Thanksgiving, I'll be giving thanks for firefighters and sturdy bathtubs."

-Soap gave you a reassuring smile. "Hey, it's all in a day's work. Plus, -it's not every day I get to play hero to a person in distress... from a turkey."

-After the turkey trouble was sorted, Soap bid his farewell. Little did he know, two days later, your new neighbor would be attempting to cook aluminum in his microwave. Maybe this time he'd find a moment to ask for your number.

-------

GHOST as a chef : 

-The poor waitress had asked you twice if you wanted to order by the time your date arrived. But it was painfully obvious. 

-You had been stood up.

 -You tried to ignore the looks, the sensation of your clothes feeling too tight, too constricting. You felt like a clown.

-Staring at your phone, you sent messages, hoping for excuses like traffic or an important matter.

-Maybe he had a flat tire, or perhaps his boss demanded he stay late. Yet, two hours later, you were still there, feeling like a fool.

-That's when the message came: "Oh, I was just joking, you're not my type, you know."

-Tears welled in your eyes as you felt the humiliation wash over you.

-How could someone flirt for two months just as a joke? He messaged you every night; how were you supposed to know it was all a farce?

-Biting your lip, you stood up.

-At this hour, you hoped there were still buses running.

-You couldn't afford an Uber. Yet, as you gathered your things, the waitress approached.

-"Excuse me, but your food will arrive."

-"I... I'm sorry, but I can't... I can't afford anything here, and my date stood me up. He was supposed to pay, and..." you rambled, feeling ashamed, but she led you back to your seat.

-You felt even more ashamed. This place was so luxurious.

-"I really can't afford it, madam," you whispered.

-"It's on the house. The chef offered it," she said gently.

-"Oh."

-You didn't know if you felt grateful or not. It felt like pity, but food from a Michelin-starred restaurant was still a luxury, so you ate. It was unbelievably good. You felt so thankful to the chef.

-"I... could I thank him?" you asked after finishing your dinner.

-"He doesn't speak to clients. That's why he opened his own restaurant — so he could remain unseen by his patrons and not be obligated to accept their thanks, As he says “I Ghost clients”" the waitress explained.

-"I see. His dishes are so precise, it's impressive."

-"Yeah, he's good with a knife."

-"Well, thanks again for offering me this. It was a crappy night, but at least I ended up in heaven," you said.

-She smiled, and you left.

-But you felt indebted to him. Dishes like that cost a lot.

- Even if you didn't doubt he could afford it, you felt like you had to do something in return.

-So the next night, you baked cookies.

-You felt ridiculous with your small Tupperware and homemade cookies.

-They'd probably taste awful to him, you thought, but you wanted to repay him.

-"Hi, I... wanted to give this to Ghost? He offered me dishes last time, and I wanted to thank him. I understand if you say no. I mean, it could have poison in it, but..." you rambled to the waiter.

-"No need, we'll take it," the waiter with a mohawk said with a smile.

-You felt like he knew something you didn't. As you were about to leave, a tall, blond man walked over, holding a cookie.

-"Thanks," he said with a gruff voice behind his mask.

-Shit. Ghost was... this man?

-This mountain of muscles made those beautiful dishes? Those meticulous details came from his hands? You were impressed.

-"Do you like it?" you asked, unsure.

-"Best cookies I've tasted."

-"I know you're lying."

-"Second," he admitted. "My ma's were better."

-You chuckled.

-"I can give you the recipe. I mean, you really saved me last night. It was so... humiliating."

-"It's not. The only one who should feel ashamed is the bloke who stood you up, love."

-"You're right, but still."

-"Come back again, Friday. With the recipe."

-"I can send it by email."

-"I want you to taste a new dish."

-"Oh."

-"Having someone honest is nice. It's a change from all the compliments."

-"Okay," you agreed.

-Little did you know, Simon would always find new dishes to make you come back.

-Of course, he could ask his sous-chefs or waiters to taste, but seeing your smile or frown after a taste was so much better.

-(I need a long fic about Simon being a chef, like this AU has so much potential, plus in kitchen you have “brigade” which could be like 141)

GAZ as a primary school teacher : 

-You were on your usual delivery route, this time dropping off packages at the primary school.

-As you made your way through the corridors, you spotted Gaz, the primary teacher, who greeted you with a smile.

-"I was waiting for you," Gaz said cheerfully.

-"Oh, am I right on time?" you responded, glancing at your phone in confusion.

-"Yes, but the kids are eager," Gaz explained.

-You furrowed your eyebrows. Eager for what? Seeing a delivery person? Or perhaps the contents of your package were something special, like paintings or other intriguing items?

-"I see," you said, still puzzled.

-"Follow me," Gaz instructed, leading you into his classroom before you could protest.

-As you entered, you were met with the curious gaze of twenty pairs of eyes.

-It dawned on you as you glanced at a piece of paper – Gaz had mistaken you for the guest speaker, an athlete scheduled to address the students.

-"Sir, I think there's been a mistake," you whispered to Gaz, but before you could say more, a child wrapped their arms around you.

-"I'm so glad you're here!" the child exclaimed, melting your resolve. How could you shatter their excitement?

-You couldn’t bear to crush their excitement. Besides, it was clear that the athlete wasn’t going to show up; it was already 10 AM, and they were supposed to be there by 8AM according to the schedule on the board.

-And so, you found yourself spinning tales to answer their questions, pretending to be the athlete they expected. 

-“Um, hey there ! Being an athlete is pretty cool, you know” you improvised, trying to sound convincing.

-“How does it feel to do sports all day ?” one curious kid asked

-“Well it’s tough but you know riding horse is fun”

-“I thought you were running”

-“RUNNING ! Of course, horse is just a hobby” you blurted out

-Despite your fibs, the kids beamed with admiration, hanging onto your every word.

-After a couple of hours, Gaz approached you with a knowing smile.

-"You're not the athlete, are you?" he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

-"How did you figure it out?" you replied sheepishly.

-"When you mentioned unicorns helping your coach – that was a dead giveaway," Gaz chuckled. "But I appreciate you playing along."

-"I couldn’t bear to disappoint the kids. Kids' dreams are important," you admitted, feeling a twinge of guilt.

-"Yeah, they are," Gaz agreed. "Thanks for going along with it."

-"It was more fun than my usual deliveries, anyway," you admitted with a grin.

-“Wait, your boss won’t be mad ?! I mean two hours, sorry you must be so late, no ?”he said worried

-“Don’t worry you were my last”

-As you prepared to leave, Gaz introduced himself properly.

-"Thanks against or helping out. And by the way 'm Kyle, but the kids call me Gaz – it's easier for them," he explained.

-"It was nice meeting you, Gaz," you said sincerely, touched by his kindness towards the children.

-As you left the school, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and contentment. And to your surprise, when you made your next delivery, there was Gaz, offering to lend a hand. 

-"Thought you might need some help this time," he said with a wink.

-Maybe it was repayment for your earlier assistance, or perhaps the kids had teased him about having a crush on you – either way, you were grateful for his company.

PRICE as an uni history teacher :

-It was about 10 PM, and there you were, sprinting in high heels, your wig dangling precariously.

-"Oh, for the love of all that’s good," you muttered under your breath.

-The situation was straightforward, yet utterly absurd.

- You, a university teacher, found yourself at a costume party with a Bridgerton theme.

- After hastily getting ready at your friend’s place, it dawned on you that you had forgotten your house key.

-Sure, crashing at your friend's was an option, but you had a furry friend waiting at home who needed your attention.

-So, off you went, driving back to the only place your keys could be: the teacher's offices at the university.

- Picture this: you, clad in an 18th-century outfit, a fake wig teetering on your head, and a petticoat swishing around, all the while cursing your luck and hoping no students would spot you.

-Finally, you reached the office, finding it deserted. You located your keys and—

-"Quite the accurate ensemble, I must say."

-You froze, turning to find a man with a rather impressive beard. "Um, I can explain?"

-"Are you a student?" he asked.

-"No need to butter me up; I know I don't exactly look like one," you confessed.

-He chuckled. "Sorry, I was just trying to give you an out. You know, student parties and whatnot."

-"Thanks, but yeah, I'm the… new teacher. Guess we haven't crossed paths yet. Been here about a month," you said, extending your hand.

-"Well, isn't this a fortunate coincidence?" he remarked.

-"How so?"

-"I’m John Price," he revealed.

-Your eyes widened. Oh, crap. You just met THE history teacher of the campus dressed as a Bridgerton character. What were the odds?

-He laughed. "Nice to meet my new colleague. Heard quite a bit about your work."

-"Likewise, and… sorry about the attire," you apologized.

-"No need. It suits you. Makes me feel like a proper gentleman seeing someone dressed like that," he said with a grin.

-You chuckled nervously. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Mr. Price."

-Little did you know, your next class for the first year was a shared one with him. Dodging him might not be as simple as you thought.

NIKOLAI as a F1 pilot :

-Your friend's desperate plea over the phone stirred something in you.

-"Alright, I'll come help with the shoot," you conceded, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension.

-As you arrived at the location, taking in the serene surroundings, you couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place among the bustling crew.

-Your specialty lay in capturing the untamed beauty of animals—dogs, cats, and the like.

-This commercial setup felt like a far cry from your usual stomping grounds.

-Engaging in conversation with the staff about the artistic direction, you couldn't help but notice the artificiality of the setting, with fake plants and trees surrounding you.

-Nevertheless, you settled in, adjusting lights and preparing for the task at hand.

-"The model is here," an assistant announced, drawing your attention to the center of the room where a man stood, completely naked.

-"Why is he naked?" you whispered in disbelief, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks.

-"It's for the charity event, featuring naked pilots for calendars," the staff explained casually, oblivious to your discomfort.

-Stunned, you turned to your friend, silently questioning her decision to involve you in this unconventional endeavor.

-"I photograph nature and animals, not... naked humans!" you protested, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

-"Well, technically, you photograph a big snake," she quipped, a mischievous glint in her eye.

-You rolled your eyes, suppressing a sigh. "Ugh, don't even mention his...thing, please."

-"I don't mind being called an anaconda," the man interjected with a smirk, his gaze lingering on you in a way that made your heart race.

-Caught off guard by his boldness, you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly hyper-aware of his proximity.

- "Sir, I'm sorry, but I wasn't warned about these... circumstances," you stammered, struggling to maintain composure.

-"I understand. If we need to reschedule, no problem, Солнышко ," he reassured, his voice low and soothing, sending shivers down your spine.

-"What did you just say?" you asked, unable to hide the hint of fluster in your tone.

-"Sorry, I meant no problem to reschedule, sunshine," he clarified, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

-"But you're... a star?" you questioned, feeling a mixture of confusion and intrigue.

-"I'm a well-known F1 pilot, yes. But I'm closer to retirement than those young ones. I doubt people would buy the calendar for me," he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle, his vulnerability tugging at your heartstrings.

-"I'd certainly buy it for you," your friend chimed in, breaking the tension with a playful grin.

-He laughed, his gaze lingering on you with a warmth that made your cheeks flush. "And you?"

-"I... maybe? Okay, we'll do it, but I can't guarantee anything. I'm more accustomed to animals, so..." you trailed off, feeling a rush of adrenaline at the prospect of working closely with him.

-"Let's get started," he suggested, his smile softening the edges of the room and easing your nerves.

-And so, the shoot commenced, with Nikolai proving to be a surprisingly adept model, effortlessly charming everyone with his wit and charisma.

- As you directed him through the poses, you couldn't help but notice the subtle tension between you, a magnetic pull that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

-"Thanks for today. Need a ride?" he offered, his gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

-"No, I came in my car," you replied, torn between the desire to stay and the need to escape the overwhelming atmosphere.

-"The red one?" a staff member inquired, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling between you.

-"Yeah, why?" you asked, feeling a knot form in your stomach at the thought of your car.

-"Sorry, mate, your car got impounded," they informed you, their words puncturing the bubble of tension that had enveloped you.

-You sighed, feeling a sense of defeat wash over you. "So, a ride?" Nikolai offered, his gaze softening with concern.

-"Yeah, I guess. What a crappy day," you muttered, cursing your luck.

-"Don't say that, it was great," he insisted, his voice gentle and reassuring.

-You nodded, feeling a rush of gratitude towards him for his unexpected kindness. In his car, as he drove you away from the chaos of the shoot, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace wash over you, a feeling that was only amplified by his soothing presence.

-"Not what you were expecting, huh?" he remarked, his tone playful yet sincere.

-"Well, I wasn't expecting a race car drive, but yeah," you chuckled, feeling the tension between you slowly dissipating.

-"I drive safely. Sometimes you need low adrenaline," he explained, his words resonating with you in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

-"Thanks again for the ride," you said, turning to him with a smile that felt more genuine than any you had worn all day.

-"No problem. I mean, you've seen me naked, so..." he trailed off, a mischievous glint in his eye.

-"Yeah, sure," you laughed, feeling a warmth spread through you at the playful banter.

-"If you want, you can still come to one of my races," he offered, his gaze lingering on you with a hopefulness that sent a flutter of excitement through your chest.

-"I'll think about it," you replied, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at your lips as you contemplated the possibilities that lay ahead.

ALEX as a lawyer :

-You couldn't believe your eyes.

-A client was after you for a cup of tea—yes, you heard that right, a freaking tea!

-The same tea you accidentally spilled during a chaotic rush, and she tripped you with her feet, claiming you scalded her with hot tea. The kicker?

-You knew it was iced tea.

- But it was your word against hers, and she had a squadron of lawyers ready to pounce, while you were broke. It was pretty clear how this would end.

-You sighed, resorting to searching for lawyers online, but all you found were scams.

-One promised to chase after dead people, another claimed you'd make thousands just by being pretty, and the rest boasted about defending infamous criminals with laughably bad Photoshopped images.

-Feeling desperate, you reluctantly agreed when your mom mentioned your cousin knew someone who knew someone. You certainly didn't expect a model-lawyer showing up at your doorstep with a bright smile and legal expertise.

-"Hi, I'm Alex," he offered his hand.

-"Hi, I guess you know about my... case?" you replied.

-"Yes, there's a high chance of her winning since similar cases have ruled in favor of people like her. Remember the McDonald's hot coffee incident?" he explained.

-"So I'm screwed?" you muttered.

-"Not necessarily. I can prove she's acting out of self-interest."

-"...before you say anything, you know, I can't... afford it?" you interjected.

-"Yes. I... I used to be a prominent lawyer. Perhaps you've heard of the Shepherd case?" he mentioned.

-"The CEO who got off the hook despite everyone knowing he committed tax fraud?" you recalled.

-"Yes, I was his lawyer," he admitted.

-"Oh," you murmured, taken aback.

-"I... I'm not proud of the people I've defended. I didn't realize the harm I was causing to victims. For me, everyone deserved representation, but when I saw what Shepherd did with his ill-gotten gains... I couldn't continue down that path. I signed up to advocate for people. Not evil," he confessed.

-"So you took on lost causes like me?" you mused.

-"You could say that," he smiled.

-"Well, it sounds like Daredevil. Maybe I'll catch you wearing a latex suit at night while fighting crime," you joked.

-"You might be onto something there," he replied, his expression serious.

-"Wait, you're joking?" you asked, but he didn't crack a smile.

-"Mr. Keller, you're joking, right?" you pressed, but he just smirked.

-"Let's focus on your case," he redirected.

-"You can't just dodge my question. I need to know—" 

-"Boxing. I box at night, nothing illegal. I train kids, and I've competed in the past," he confessed.

-"I see. Why do I find that hard to believe?" you teased.

-"I'm a damn good liar. I'm a lawyer," he retorted.

-"Fair point," you chuckled.”well at least I believe in the latex suit at night”

-“Kinky”he joked, you smiled.

-Alex got down to business, helping you devise a strategy.

-Maybe with this super lawyer on your side, you stood a chance. Yet, you couldn't shake the curiosity about his secrets. Who knows what uncovering them might bring?

KÖNIG as a baker :

-König had just opened his bakery.

- Eager to be neighborly, he sent some cookies to the local shops nearby.

- However, when his customers arrived one day, one of them expressed hesitation: "You know, I was hesitant to buy here because I heard you made the florist down the street sick."

-König couldn't believe his ears.

- Ashamed, he double-checked his ingredients, but everything seemed fine.

-So, he decided to switch things up and bake some croissants instead.

-Yet, the next day brought news that the florist had fallen ill due to food poisoning.

-Determined to make amends, König sent something different the following day.

-And the pattern repeated itself. After a week of this, he finally decided to confront the florist.

-Entering their cute shop, he whispered nervously, "Hallo."

-"Hi," you replied.

-"I'm König, the—"

-"The baker," you interrupted.

-He froze.

-Well, he certainly hadn't made a good impression.

-After seven incidents, he couldn't expect a warm reception, but he hoped you’d understand he hadn't done it intentionally. He wasn't a villain.

-"I'm sorry about the pastries," he began, "I swear I don't know what went wrong. Other shops ate them and had no issues. I—"

-"I know you're not trying to poison me," you interjected.

-"Oh, but... then why?" he asked.

-"I thought someone would have told you, maybe Horangi, the chef at the restaurant. But I'm lactose intolerant. I assumed you knew, so I ate your pastries thinking someone had informed you. Then, I realized that wasn't the case. But if I didn't eat your gift, you might have thought I was upset with you, so I still ate them, and—"

-"It was a misunderstanding," König finished their sentence.

-"Two anxious people overthinking things, but yeah," you admitted, laughing.

-"I promise to bake you something lactose-free," he vowed.

-"Thanks, it'll be appreciated. Your pastries were good, just not for my digestive system," you replied.

-He nodded and returned to his bakery, pondering the idea of introducing gluten and lactose-free versions of his pastries. Surely not because of the cute florist who seemed to visit more often now. Nah.

RUDY as a librarian :

-You were a young journalist, eager to dive into investigative reporting, but your editor relegated you to the local sports section since you were the new kid on the block.

- It wasn't exactly your passion, but you made the best of it. Your current assignment: write about Rodolfo Parra, a former boxer.

-Avoiding the internet due to its unreliable nature, especially for local stories, you opted for the library.

- As you searched for information on Parra, a man approached.

-"Need a hand?" he offered.

-You glanced at his badge, confirming his name as Rudy.

-"Yeah, I'm digging up info on the boxer Rodolfo Parra. I heard his early days were at the local club, so I figured the archives might have something," you explained.

-Rudy smiled. "Rodolfo Parra, huh?"

-"Yeah, you know him?"

-"You could say that, but I've heard he's not too keen on journalists."

-"Exactly why I couldn't land an interview," you sighed.

-"But why write about him? He retired two years ago," Rudy questioned.

-"My boss wants it, so here I am," you replied with a hint of resignation.

-"I've got some info, but can I trust you?" Rudy hesitated.

-"Absolutely, I'll respect his privacy. I just want to know his story, his struggles. I've heard rumors about a fixed fight where a coach, El Sinombre, forced him to lose," you shared.

-Rudy's expression darkened. "It was more than that. I'm surprised you know about it."

-"I've delved into El Sinombre's dealings before. I wanted to write for investigative reporting," you confessed. "I found it odd that a sports club had ties to a pharmacy."

-"They developed stimulants to win fights, and more... potent substances," Rudy revealed.

-"So Rodolfo lost to a doped-up opponent?" you concluded.

-"Yeah. Rumor has it, El Sinombre threatened his family if he didn't comply. Rodolfo vowed never to lose, so El Sinombre took matters into his own hands..." Rudy trailed off.

-"And Rodolfo ended up paralyzed," you finished solemnly.

-"Yeah, but with rehab, he's probably walking now. But he can't fight anymore," Rudy confirmed.

-"Having your dreams crushed like that must be devastating. A fighter silenced," you mused.

-"Maybe it was for the best," Rudy countered.

-"You think so?" you questioned.

-"Boxing isn't a lifelong career. Maybe retiring was a blessing," he reasoned.

-"I don't know, having your dreams shattered like that... it must take a toll. Imagine if someone burned down your library," you countered.

-"Well, this library was my backup dream, so I'd just have to find another," he quipped.

-You nodded, then realization dawned. "Your backup dream?"

-"Yeah," Rudy admitted. "Rudy for Rodolfo. Not the smartest move for a future investigative journalist, huh?"

-"Hey! You—yeah, I was naïve, but you could've given me a heads-up," you teased back.

-"Now, tell me about your boss. Things might be more complicated than we thought," Rudy suggested.

-"Do you think El Sinombre is after you?" you pondered.

-"We'll find out," he replied cryptically.

-Maybe your beat would evolve over time...

If you want more : my masterlist

I still need to write Alejandro, Lasswell and Farah, maybe in a next part with other characters :) !

[adelheidvonschicksal]

hey! Was just wondering, could you do a part 2 for puppy! Yuji x reader, where Yuji successfully breeds reader, (don’t ask how it’s possible lol) and reader doesn’t know she’s pregnant, so Yuji tries to tell her she is by rubbing her belly, or laying on it and always holding it. Also some smut if you still do that kinda stuff! I understand if you wouldn’t want to do it! But I would really appreciate it! Live your work btw! <3

Based off I Love Yu

Kind of a what-if since originally there was an implication that he couldn't breed Reader, but let's do it! <3 Thank you to Avy for beta-ing for me again.

AN: It's been a while since I wrote non-solo smut I think. I love Itadori he's already really sweet and cute like a pup! I tried to fit some smut in there so I hope this is something like you were thinking.

CW: NSFW, Smut, Oral (F!Receiving), Interspecies (Puppy Hybrid), pregnancy✨

Filter tags Notsfw, Adelssmut, tw: hybrids, tw: pregnancy

You didn’t understand what was wrong with you.

You’ve been feeling so rundown. No matter how much you sleep, the fatigue doesn’t break. It didn’t help that you could barely keep anything down either, surviving off nothing but toast over the last three days.

The only bright spot in your day recently is your precious puppy boy. Yuji is so sweet to you nowadays, well, he’s always sweet but even more so as of late. He constantly stares at you with big brown eyes and holds his arms around your waist while resting his head against your belly. The warmth of his full weight on you did wonders for the random waves of cramps that hit you after a long day on your feet.

This time when you get home from work, immediately collapsing on your bed with nothing but a towel on after a long shower, he’s there. His fingers tiptoe along your shoulder, a curious set of pokes against your steaming skin.

In a small burst of energy, you plant your hand between two furry ears and briefly pet his head before passing back out into the sheets, sparing no care that you were making them damp. The coolness of them felt too good right now.

Yuji presses a hand to the back of your head, mimicking your actions as he lays on his side to try to catch a glimpse of your face.

“Mad?” he asks.

“I’m not mad, sweetheart.” You work the energy to turn your head to face him. It isn’t the first time you collapsed into the bed in the same fashion. Usually, it meant you were burnt out at work by an assignment or a stupid co-worker. “I just don’t feel good today.”

Big eyes going soft in an apology, he frowns at you before having the excellent idea to squeeze the back of your ankles and shuffle you around. You never understand exactly where he finds this strength, even with all the muscles, but you don’t fight it as he wiggles you around to flip you onto your back.

His hands slide up the side of your legs, shifting your towel to expose one thigh before wrapping around your torso. He scrambles on top of you. His head pushes to your stomach, and he muffles a soft “love you” against it.

“Love me?” he asks, and it makes you wince. He never really asks that unless he did something that he thought would get him in trouble. He learned to get really good at asking once he figured out that buttering you up was an easy way to slip out of scolding.

This time, it concerns you that he might’ve taken your tiredness as something he did wrong, so you run a hand along his upper back. “Of course, I do.”

His tail wags and his face shines again with that smile you love as he cuddles against your belly again. It’s enough to make you ignore it when another cramp seizes, all save for a small whimper and wince that causes his ears to twitch.

Your puppy moves on his own before you can request him to get off your stomach. Warm, big hands hold down your hips and pull at your towel enough so he can pepper your lower belly with kisses. They progress slowly down the center of your stomach, crossing the border to ghost between your legs.

“Are you trying to make me feel better?” you breathe out. With how his tail increases its pace, swinging back and forth fast enough to create a light swishing sound, and how his smooth wide tongue flattens against your mound, you take it as a yes.

And oh boy does it work to make you forget everything when he sets to work. His nails scratch against your skin, biting into the meat of your thighs as his tongue laps at your clit.

You moan eagerly, gripping at your sheets and lifting your hips to greet his sloppy mouth. He makes out with your cunt, almost like he’s trying to devour it as his tongue slides between your folds and his upper lip brushes your bead.

“Sweetheart, do you still know how to use your fingers?”

Yuuji growls and places a kiss on your thigh, smiling against your skin at the wet stain he marks you with. He brings two fingers at your entrance, glancing back up to watch your crumbling expression as he curls them into you.

“That’s it. G-Good boy,” you praise, and he knows he’s struck the right spot that’ll have your pretty moans vibrating in his sensitive ears.

You smell heavenly when he finally flattens his tongue back out over your clit. He knows you’re his, all his, when your walls flutter and suck his fingers deeper into their spongy hold.

He sucks in a breath through his nose. Your scent makes his cock twitch and the swollen and firm feel of your clit tells him you’re feeling good now, and he’s so happy to return the feeling you give him when you constantly float around with the pheromone of his pups.

Yuuji wraps his arms tighter around you, holding you closer. It makes you force a hand down into his hair, praises of “good boy”, “keep going”, ”almost there, sweetheart” panting wetly from your lips until your legs quiver in his strong hold.

When he pulls away, his face is coated in your release, from his nose down, far beyond where his tongue can reach but he wastes no time sucking your taste from his fingers with a smile as he stares at your spent form.

You may be sweaty and out of breath, but you look much happier now. Yuuji crawls over you, sliding his hips between your legs. His hard length presses against your stomach as he presses kisses to the center of your neck, his soft ginger ears tickling the underside of your chin.

Your heart could almost hold the world when he forces his full weight against you to cuddle you.

“I love you.”

You coo at him, scratching fingers through the back of his hair. “I love you too, Yu Yu.”

When he hears your voice, his cock aches. He whines against your skin, wishing that this time would go faster so he could breed you again already. He guesses it doesn’t matter this time, he knows you’ll still at least feel better after he knots you, even if your body is already occupied.

And the whimper you make when he parts you with his cock proves him right.

When the morning comes, you don’t want to get out of bed. You’d rather spend all day cuddling Yuuji and smothering yourself into the sweet strength of his muscles. Alas, you force yourself to get up and go to the doctor’s appointment you made for yourself otherwise you’d never feel better.

You let Yuuji sleep, sliding out from under him, throwing on the first thing you see in your closet, and heading to the clinic.

You enter the building with the expectation of getting some antibiotics or confirmation of stomach flu at worst. Instead, you’re given a list of vitamins to take, a note with a list of symptoms at the bottom all culminating in a diagnosis that reads: pregnant, and a little baby badge to attach to your bag so people won’t hassle you for using the special seats on the subway.

You’re scowling the entire way back home, stopping briefly at a drug store to pick out a couple of different pregnancy tests. There’s no way those stupid doctors had it right.

When you return home, you slam the door behind you, spooking your puppy as you rush to the bathroom. You take the first test that morning and the second one that afternoon, and they both come back with the same result: positive.

Your heart is racing the entire rest of the evening as you sit on the couch and stare at that dumb stick for what seems like forever, thinking that maybe if you stare at it enough your result will change. The only thing that keeps you from going ballistic is Yuuji sitting underneath you, one leg shuffled between yours and the other on the outside of your right. His chin rests right on your knee as he watches you talk with your friend on the phone.

“Is it someone you met on that app?”

“I haven’t even gone on more than a first date.”

Yuuji starts to get impatient the longer your conversation goes on, and you ignore him. He shuffles up onto the couch and collapses his head against your shoulder, making you grimace and shift, so he doesn’t knock the phone out your hand.

“You don’t think that maybe—"

“No, it was only two, and one was for coffee and the other we didn’t ride together,” you add on, and you never drunk enough to where you think someone could have taken advantage of you. “Yuuji cut it out,” you scold when he starts to whine and pull at your waist. Sensing he wasn’t going to stop any time soon, you decide to hang up. “I’ll call you back.”

You put down the phone, turning to your pup to ask him what was wrong. He snuggles against you, rubbing his head against your shoulder and sliding an arm around your stomach.

He mumbles out your name and starts to weigh you back, just enough so your lower back presses against the arm of the couch and he can scoot down to place his head on your stomach and breathe in deep.

“Love you,” he mumbles and looks as though he could almost fall asleep against you. You almost repeat it before the unsettling realization crashes down on you.

That’s impossible, isn’t it? You’re not even the same species!

“Yuuji,” he snaps his head up, pinning his ears back at the rough sound of your voice, “Did you do this?” you ask him, showing him the pregnancy stick. He doesn’t seem to understand so you put it in words he can. “Breed?” you ask.

He senses that you finally get it and gives you the widest smile you think you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s almost enough to make you laugh. Almost.

“You’re downright proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

Happily, he buries his forehead against your stomach. “Good boy?”

You sigh but pet him anyway, seeing that this is very much your fault in the first place. Besides you can’t stay mad at that face. “Very good boy.”

[roanofarcc]

'TILL DEATH DO WE PART (KIND OF)

pairing. sasappis x ghost-bride!reader

summary. the afterlife wouldn’t have been too bad if you hadn’t accidentally killed yourself along with your no-good husband. now you were stuck with a bitter taste in your mouth and his voice in your ear. luckily, the band of ghosts at woodstone favored you over him. 

warnings. dead!reader, mention of murder, toxic previous relationship, the patriarchy :(

word count. 1k || masterlist

“Watch the wine. Don’t let the women near the glasses,” Matthew said, his words low and drawn out to make his point. You rolled your eyes, itching to kill him all over again. 

It wasn’t that you believed murder was a good solution to one issue. You, all of your life, had prided yourself on your good morals and ladylike ways of the time. But when your parents forced marriage upon you with a rich, horribly ill-mannered, terrible man, murder seemed like the only viable solution. Without a husband, you’d go nowhere in society, but as a newlywed window, you garner the sympathy of the town along with funds that your father would gain due to the terms and agreements of the marriage. He, while a stern man, certainly would have set you up for life with the inheritance and you could have lived the rest of your days reading in a garden happily. 

Unfortunately, you had forgotten which glass you had poisoned and poured some into your own, thinking it was his. When everyone toasted at your wedding, you and him took your final breath and joined the odd group of the fellow deceased at Woodstone. Fate had forced you into an afterlife listening to Matthew bitch and moan at every given opportunity. If you could kill him again, you would. 

“They seem rather in love,” you said, hands locked together on your lap. “I doubt we’ll have anyone else join us tonight.” 

When a wedding was thrown at the mansion, you felt bitter at the happy matrimonies. You understood that times changed and progression was a wonderful thing, but you wished for the ability to marry of your own choice back when you were alive. You would have lived longer, no doubt, and maybe even found someone who loved you beyond a business arrangement.  

“You know, you don’t have to be here,” Trevor said to Matthew, annoyance clear in his tone. 

Matthew shrugged and tossed you a dirty look. “I simply want to observe what I did not get, thanks to my wife.” The way he said the title made your skin crawl; he dangled it over your head, and talked about how that meant - even in the afterlife - that he owned you. 

Sam, the lovely modern woman she was, had dispelled that notion and told you that marriage was not about ownership but partnership. Even if it wasn’t legal, you had denounced your marriage to Matthew and it was known between all of the ghosts and Sam that you were not his wife in the afterlife. 

“Not your wife,” Sasappis muttered, seated at your side with his arms crossed over his chest. He often did that, defended you. You found it sweet. 

“Legally-” Matthew began but was swiftly cut off by Thor. 

“No law,” he said. “Only ghost-rules.” 

Alberta hummed in agreement. “As per ghost-rules, your sorry ass is divorced.” 

With a roll of his eyes, Matthew made himself comfortable in his seat, forever dressed in his tux that you hated but his mother had picked out. “Ghost rules,” he scoffed. “You all are horribly pathetic.” 

“And you’re a-” 

You swiftly cut off Hetty before she insulted him; not that you didn’t want that, but Matthew was not the kind to ever leave an argument be, blowing it way out of sorts. You simply didn’t have the energy for his nonsense anymore. It was easier to ignore him than humor him, you had found. 

“Until the ceremony, I’ll be in the garden. If you need me,” you looked around until your eyes fell on Matthew. “Don’t.” With that, you headed toward the backyard, where Sam and Jay had started to restore a small garden. 

The train of your dress tailed behind you and the strap on your heels forever pinched your ankle. You had gotten a say in your dress, which you were thankful for in the afterlife since you were stuck in it. At least it made you feel beautiful. 

“Wait,” Sass called from behind you, hurrying to your side. 

You furrowed your brows. “Yes?” 

He twisted his hands together in front of him, a coy smile on his lips. “Do you want some company?” 

From him, always. You hadn’t known many men in your life who listened to you the way he did. His attention made you feel like a person, real and important. Unlike Matthew, Sass enjoyed listening to you, even about the most trivial of things. And you enjoyed every aspect of him. 

“I would love some,” you said, smiling sweetly at the sparkle in his eyes. The outdoors suited him nicely, and he had a vast pool of knowledge that you were kept from as a little girl. He spoke eloquently of the swaying trees and budding flowers; you were happy to spend eternity with him, along with the other ghosts that inhabited Woodstone, aside from your ex-husband. You suppose you had gotten lucky there, that you weren’t alone with him in the afterlife. 

You looped your arm with his before you both began a quiet evening stroll, leaving behind the wedding preparation occurring inside the mansion.

“What he says, it doesn’t get to you, right?” Sass asked, a few minutes into your stroll.

“No, not as much as it once did.” When you were freshly dead, upset over the tragedy of your plan gone wrong, anything he said you to crash-landed, wounding your spirit form. But over time you gained friends with the ghosts and then in Sam. Now when Matthew spewed his hateful words, they rolled off of you. 

“Good,” he said, his arm comfortably pressed against yours. “Because he’s an idiot.” 

You laughed, warmly, leaning your head onto his shoulder. Something about Sass made you feel whole; whatever damage Matthew had done, Sass had filled the space with his presence that resembled a breath of fresh air after a winter trapped inside. It didn’t matter what had been, only what could be in your newfound life in the afterlife.

[muschiettistrashmouth]

Push, Push - Egon Spengler | Ghostbusters

Warnings: SMUT!!! There's some time since I last wrote some smut, so... yeah

Requested? No

Words: 1231

Summary: Reader is dancing and all Egon wanna do is fuck her right there.

For those who thought that Egon was not sexually active because he was so focused on the laboratory, they were completely wrong. Ever since he started dating the fifth member of Ghostbusters, he started to loosen up more. Going out with friends more to the bar, even though he wasn't 100% sure that it was something he loved doing, but if it made his girlfriend happy, he was happy too.

This was one of those nights, where Egon was at the bar table with the other ghostbusters, his hand was lovingly holding y/n's, and he was having a friendly discussion about how they were getting on with their individual jobs now that they weren't ghostbusting anymore.

The bar's radio was tuned to the 1986 charts, when a song by the band Cinderella started playing. Push, Push was a song that y/n really liked, whether to sing or to tease Egon with the completely suggestive lyrics. She got up from where she was and dragged Winston's girlfriend with her to dance nearby where more people were dancing. With each beat of the song, her hips moved sensually, making Egon swallow hard. It's not like he was paying attention to what Ray and Peter were saying at that moment.

Winston was drinking his beer while facing his girlfriend, Cinthia, across the bar, raised his glass in a sort of toast and smiled. The scientist swallowed again, his glasses were slipping down his nose and he felt his pants tighten more than they already were. Every moment the girl danced, the harder he became. It was like a spell.

“Egon has gone bye-bye, Ray.” Peter mocked his friend who kept his mouth half open still in shock.

“Spengz?” Ray passed his hand in the air in front of Egon's eyes, making the man shake his head to wake up from the trance and look at the smaller boy.

“Yes, Ray?”

“You’re drooling.” He mocked Egon with a laugh when the older man put his hand over his mouth to wipe away some saliva that obviously wasn't there.

The scientist rolled his eyes at the joke.

“You’re as funny as that comedian ghost we faced a few days after we saved the world from complete destruction.” He said in one breath before his girlfriend returned to the table, breathing heavily.

“What are we talking about?”

“About how funny Ray is, apparently.” Winston laughed, opening his arms to accommodate his own girlfriend.

“It’s a little late, don’t you think?” Egon asked, completely changing the subject. His girlfriend's hand was resting on his thigh as she used her free hand to bring her glass to her mouth, taking a sip of her beer.

“Okay, we have to wake up early tomorrow.” y/n he said innocently. “I have to visit my parents and Egon is going with me.”

Egon raised his hand to get the waiter's attention, mentally thanking the table for covering anything that could embarrass him at that moment.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡

When they entered the house, Egon wasted no time in pinning her against the wall, closing the door with his foot.

“Wow, calm down, big guy.” The girl's voice contained a tone of laughter in the background as Egon's mouth explored his neck. “What got you like this?”

“As if you didn’t know…” The brunette murmured against the her ear, leaving her with goosebumps.

“Was it the dancing?” She held back her laughter, this wasn't the time to make him think she was laughing at him. He just shook his head positively, he didn't trust his voice to speak.

She bit her lower lip, running her hands down Egon's chest to the waistband of his pants and pulling him impossibly closer.

“Do something about it then, Dr Spengler.” Now she was on tiptoe, speaking into the scientist's ear. The man picked her up and took her to the room they shared, with each step she took, she felt more and more how hard he was.

“Egon-” her voice was no more than a sigh. Anything the man did drove her crazy.

Egon took the heels off her feet with all the delicacy in the world, that was one of the things that the girl loved so much about him, the delicacy he had with her, even though he was as desperate as he was.

She spread her legs with her feet against the mattress, her skirt riding up and getting around her thighs, giving him a full view of her wet panties and thighs. The scientist held her by the thighs, leaving light kisses on the area, sometimes he left bites there, making her gasp.

“Please…” She pouted as she stared at him between her legs. That was her mistake, as he was looking her straight in the eyes when she ran her tongue over his soaked panties.

"Fuck!" He smiled sideways, holding the cloth to the side to access the wet intimacy more precisely. He might seem shy at first, but the man was a god in bed, all the anatomy books and magazines that Peter had lent him when he was in college made him understand the subject like no one else. The girl's moans filled the room, her hand pulling Egon's hair tightly as he devoured her like a starving man. When he felt that she was almost giving in completely to orgasm, Egon removed his face from where it was, getting up from the bed to quickly take off his clothes.

He threw all the pieces of clothing anywhere on the floor, his tomorrow self could take care of that alone, and climbed back onto the bed to help her take off her blouse and bra. His smile grew wider when he saw her breasts exposed.

He left a small hickey on each of her nipples and took off her clothes again, finally leaving her completely naked.

“I could live with this vision every day.” He commented before kissing her, letting her taste herself in his mouth.

The girl's hand crept between their bodies until she found the man's pulsing member and guided it to her entrance. He entered slowly so as not to hurt her, it was no wonder she called him big boy.

As he entered her completely, Egon pressed his temple against her neck, waiting until she told him to move when she was ready to do so. When she moved on the bed, he got the message, starting to move his hips quickly against her. They both moaned as if they didn't have neighbors, at this point it didn't matter.

“I'm almost there-” she was breathless, one of her hands grabbed the back of his head, while the other scratched his back. Egon thrust a few more times against her intimacy, his thumb moving against her clitoris as she liked best.

“Cum for me, baby.” He murmured against her ear with a completely hoarse voice, making her let out a little scream when he finally came. Egon spilled himself inside her almost at the same time, leaving a small bite on a part of her neck that he knew she could cover with her hair.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆₊˚⊹♡

When they were finally lying in bed, her head on his chest while he caressed her arm, she began to laugh softly.

“I need to dance to this song more often if this is going to be your reaction every time…”

[elliesmainhoe]

PLAYER TWO

Streamer!Ellie X fem!Reader

Summary: Ellie's introduces you to her stream

(Set early in their relationship and when Ellie's channel was still small 💙)

Contents: fluff, swearing/cursing, body shaming a cat lmao, sitting on Ellie's lap, kisses, references to social anxiety.

Part 2 - Part3

My Masterlist

It had been 6 hours since Ellie had disappeared into the abyss you called your guest bedroom and now Ellie's newly turned office. Her rooms grey walls were plastered in posters of a various games and bands she liked. LED lights ran around the ceiling, usually on the blue setting, sending the hue beaming out through the crack underneath the white paneled door.

Your small ginger cat was scratching irritably at her offices door. "Garfield stop it," you hissed at him, giggling at the ridiculous name Ellie chosen out for your chunky British shorthair.

"Garfield, I'm serious" you hushed at the creature, picking up the skittish chonk from Ellie's door. Garfield let out a loud, dramatic 'Yowww' throwing his head back. you sighed "You really want Ellie cuddles right now huh"

"meow"

"yeah, me too..." You looked at the beautifully majestic ginger chunk of a cat and sighed in pity for yourself. "Fine go in then..." You whispered at him, grabbing the brass handle and slowly nudging the wooden door ajar, letting Garfield scutter in enthusiastically, before shutting the door again.

Ellie was caught off guard as a fuzzy orange thing flung itself onto her lap, making her hands stop button smashing her keyboard angrily.

"Oh hey Garf"

User: Omg he's so cute 😭🥲

User1: Give me the baby. Now.

User2: Bro how did he get in here, didn't Ellie shut her door?

User3: Garf? As in garfield?

Ellie's hands grasped the cat turning him in a Simba like fashion towards the camera.

"This is Garfield, if you couldn't tell he has a super power to walk through walls" she joked, obviously realising that her chat was curious about how he got into the enclosed office.

User 4: He's fat

"Do not talk to my child that way." She snapped sarcastically, covering his ears with her palms "he's plump." She corrected before letting out a breathy laugh.

The cat began purring incredibly loudly, now laying across her keyboard vibrating the desk with every exhale of breath.

She picked up her phone discreetly, texting you a quick.

Ells: Gonna have to gaslight my chat into thinking our cat can phase through walls now.

Ells: Oh the things I do for you

You: He was being so annoying thoughhh

Ells: Garf is never annoying, he is perfect in everyway. You're just in denial.

You :🙄

User5: nah but how did it get in

User6: Ghostcat?!?!?

"Yes this is my ghost cat, it seems like he's going to chill with us for a bit.... Aren't you baby~?" she cooes at the purring creature scratching underneath his chin.

Just outside the closed office door, you were pacing back and forth. Shit... Why the fuck did you let the cat in her room, that was the stupidest shit you've ever done. Now everyone was going to know Ellie lived with someone. Then maybe they'll investigate, because some of her fans might be nutjobs. What if they dig something embarrassing up of you?!?

"shit, shit ,shit, shit, idiot, idiot, fucking idiot." Damn you and you're soft heart when it comes to cats.

"Y/N. Just forget it happened, go to bed sleep it off, yeah let's just... Sleep it off..." You mutter to yourself, sulking off to bed in defeat.

•••••

"Hey... Hey baby... Wake upppppp~~" she whines squishing your cheeks with her hand, stirring from your slumber. "Hmm hi Ells..."

At the confirmation you were awake she started peppering your face with kisses. "I made you coffee, I tried to make pancakes but I uh burnt them, so ughh toast?!" She smiles suspiciously giddy.

"oh thank you baby," you murmur back, slowly sitting up, back against the bed's backboard and begining to sip your coffee.

"I don't know how you can stomach that liquid, it tastes like shit."

"It is gross, but I can't physically function without it" you looked over at her, she was showing you puppy eyes. Suspicious.

"What did you do ells...?" You sighed

"Last night I may or may not have accidentally let it slip that uhh, I had a uh girlfriend." She stammered, smiling sheepishly at you " And I was wondering and you can obviously say no!! Like no pressure at all, but I was wondering if you feel ready yet to be introduced by my stream" she rushed out words practically incoherent, and if you didn't know her so we'll you wouldn't have been able to understand.

"you can even bring Garfield with you for emotional support!" She chirped happily.

"I don't know baby... I don't know if they'll like me, all my friends know me for being awkward on camera."

"Listen to me right now. You are the most amazing, beautiful, funny, charismatic and smartest girlfriend, person and mother to our fur baby to ever exist. If they don't absolutely love you then they're blind and have no taste. But they will absolutely love you! Because I love you!" She says enthusiastically, a stupid smile spread on her face as she wraps her arms around you, placing sloppy kisses onto your cheek.

"Pfft" you say, her enthusiasm and happiness seeping from her into yours "okay, I can do that...I think" "You will!!! You'll do amazing!" She squeals "I'm so excited!"

"Gosh, your like a puppy Ells" you chuckle, petting and playing with her hair. She let out a quiet 'hmph' as she nuzzled into your neck happily.

•••••

It was 6:55pm, Ellie had started her stream, the words 'STARTING SOON' sprawled across the monitor, blocking out the view of the viewers, It was unnerving, siting Infront of a camera, and one push of a button hundreds of people would see you. Ellie was sat next to you, swiveling on the dark blue gaming chair absentmindedly.

"y'know baby, you don't have to be so rigid, or quiet, they can't see or hear you yet."

"I can't do it Ells..." You mumbled out. "Hey babe, you absolutely can." she reassured you grabbing your hand, and squeezing it slightly. "How about this. You sit on the couch, out of view with Garfield, and once I've done the intro you can come say hi. Hows that sound?" She asked softly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Nodding in conformation you shuffled out of view for the camera sitting next to your curled up cat, petting him as he purred loudly, pushing up against your palm. You tapped your phone screen, it lit up revealing the photo of you and Ellie in a photo booth on your first date to an arcade.

Infront of your smiling faces, the time was shown.

06:59:55

06:59:56

06:59:57

06:59:58

06:59:59

07:00:00

"Hey guysssss!"

It took ten minutes for Ellie to finish the introduction, answering questions, thanking donators and talking to moderators.

"Right so, before we start I have a suprise for you guys" she spoke happily, eyes flicking towards you expectantly. You picked up Garfield, your heart immediately slowed and cradled him like a baby in your arms as you entered the frame.

Ellie had moved the extra chair from the frame, trying to keep the suprise as unexpected as she could for her chat. You stood somewhat awkwardly for a second or two saying a quick "hi" to the camera, you looked at Ellie eyes slightly wide with nerves.

She pats her thigh, gesturing you to sit down. "This chat, is my girlfriend"

User7: I ❤️ lesbians

User8: Ugh I'm jealous.

User9: Is Ur gf single?

User10: forget Ellie I want her gf 🤤

Your eyes everted the chat, trying to focus solely on your cat and to not read the comments, when a robotic voice, you recognized as a donators announcement, caught you off guard.

User11 donated $25 'Bro she's so pretty.'

"Oh um thanks *user11*" you hummed. "Told you they would like you" Ellie said, smirking in content.

"shut up."

"never."

---------

Here you go!!! I finally finished it. It's not great but it's done!

Part Two

Streamer!Ellie Headcanons

NOT PROOFREAD

[spooky-somewhere]

@ghost-y-toast-y thank you for voting cliande!

[d0youc0py]

Ummm I'm obsessed with your writing- I think I've gone through your blog more like a ravenous animal than a reader.. thank you for giving such beautiful angst to the starving ferals. A complete Soap stan but I definitely died over the Price extended fights and fast cars piece too shdfkajgf.

I'd love to see your take on Soap being himself and accidentally taking it too far. Not in a genuinely mean way- reader getting overstimulated/overwhelmed (just not in the mood) and it flying over his head. Accidental bully syndrome with a sad puppy combo? Can be a fluffy ending or angsty ending, whatever you feel is more accurate!

Anyways I will happily snort the alphabet in any order you deem appropriate and thank you for keeping us fed!!

Warnings: Soap being a butthead, reader gets their feelings hurt(totally valid), cursing, sad Soap, use of Y/N, GN reader

“Mac.” You groaned. You were currently trying to work your way out of a headlock. You usually didn’t hate being trapped by Johnny’s perfect arms but you just weren’t in a good mood today. You didn’t sleep good last night. You had been surviving off a piece of toast from this morning. You were late for training with Ghost causing him to rip you a new one. You wanted nothing more than to make a quick microwave meal and sleep for fifteen hours.

“Can’t even get out of a headlock? Bit of an embarrassment to SAS, kiddo.” Johnny teased, tightening his grip.

“If I wanted to I could kick your bubble butt.” You gasped, tapping out. He quickly let go, patting your shoulders. He tsked his tongue shaking his head in disagreement.

“Johnny eat your food.” Ghost grumbled, taking a bite out of his own food. You watched patiently as your food spun around in the microwave, ready to grab it as soon as the neon green read end. You probably should’ve just grabbed it and gone to your room, but you plopped down at the kitchen island. “You did good today Y/N.” Ghost broke the silence. You looked up at him with wide eyes. “When you finally did show up.” A small smirk across his face.

“How come Y/N always gets compliments?” Johnny interjected before you could thank your Lieutenant. “If I was late you’d write me up.”

“Because they’re improving and putting in work. The only thing you put work into is that landing strip on your head.” Ghost chuckled, pushing Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny gave a fake chuckle and slapped his hand away.

“I still don’t buy that.” Johnny continued through a full mouth. He hopped up from his seat, beginning to wash his plate. “If it wasn’t for that big brain Y/N would be as useful as a rock.” He quipped. Your stomach dropped. It’s true you weren’t the strongest on the field when it came to combat, but you were a modern day Sherlock Holmes - able to find a way to get the team through any mission no matter the circumstances.

The pit in your stomach caused you to toss your dinner in the trash, retreating into your room without a word.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Ghost growled. Johnny set his dish on the drying rack, turning to face Ghost.

Then he realized you were gone.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Johnny stumbled quickly. A wave of guilt washed over him. You knew he was kidding right? Did he tease you- of course, but he always made it obvious he thought the world of you. Constantly spewing out compliments and praises your way.

“You called ‘em useless you arse.”

“As a joke.” Johnny pressed, cringing himself at his words. “Shite.” He growled. He took note of your barley eaten dinner in the trash, grabbing bread and cheese from the fridge. He hoped a grilled cheese would be a decent peace offering.

“Y/N?” Johnny tapped his knuckles against your door gently. He didn’t hear a response. He took it upon himself to slowly open your door. You threw the covers over your head, wanting to hide from him and the light seeping into your room. “I’m sorry for what I said Kiddo. Y’know I didn’t mean it that way.” He apologized softly. He placed the plate down on your nightstand, siting on the edge of your bed. “We both know I couldn’t do what you do. I’ve toasted too many brain cells for that.” He chuckled nervously. He scratched at the back of his neck, growing more and more worried as the silence grew. “I made you a sandwich.” He rambled. “Come out and eat it please. I know I wrecked your appetite but you need to eat, keep your strength up.”

“Strength for what. Rocks don’t need nutrients remember.” It wasn’t your best comeback but you didn’t care. Johnny cringed.

“I was a bastard.” He apologized again. “I’ll let you sleep now.” He sighed heading towards the door.

After Johnny closed the door you quickly drifted off to sleep not waking up until your alarm went off the next morning. You instinctively braced yourself for your door to slam open and a heavy body tumble through it but that never came. You shut your alarm off, groggily pulling yourself out of bed. The cold grilled cheese on your nightstand brought back the memories of last night.

“Oh Mac.” You mumbled sadly. You grabbed the plate and made your way out to the kitchen. There was no sign of Johnny. You continued your morning routine hoping to bump into the Scot. You had no such luck. You were finally able to track him down in the training room. “Tavy!”

He swiftly placed his weights back on the rack sitting up to look at you. His eyes were red.

“Hey kid.” He smiled. Your demeanor seemed more like yourself. “I’m sor”-

“I know Mac.” You interjected. “You wouldn’t try to hurt me on purpose. Yesterday just wasn’t my day.” You explained, picking at your fingers. He gripped your hands in his.

“I know, that’s the worst part. I should’ve backed off but I pushed you. I won’t do it again, I promise.” He spoke sincerely. “I don’t think your useless either. If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be dead by now.”

“Probably?” You smirked. The familiar playful glint came back to his eyes.

“Definitely.” He corrected.

(Mac/Tavy)= nicknames for Soap. You can’t tell me that man wouldn’t gobble up any nickname thrown at him

I feel so bad this has been rotting in my drafts! Thank you for your kind words and love of angst🥰

[lowresxisuma]

[stonesilhouette]

Affections of an Apparition

Yandere Ghost England x GN. Reader

TW: Yandere Behavior | Character Death | England tries to kill (Y/n) more than a few times but then he becomes a simp | Magical Kidnapping | Imprisonment | Magical Induced Forgetting | idk if I forgor something

Uhhhhh I wrote this in literally a day, I don't want to talk about it okay :(

(There is technically one use of the world 'she' by another character but I'm pretty sure that's it. This was originally fem. reader and I don't want it to differ from my other publications so I'm gonna leave it)

Word Count: 5916

Perhaps you should have thought a little harder and dug a little deeper inside of yourself when deciding to buy a haunted house… But it was just so cheap!

Sure the shutters creaked during the frequent storms like a man in unpeaceful rest and the wind howled past the house, desperate to invade, but the view was beautiful… When it wasn’t completely enshrouded by a heavy mist so thick that you could get lost and find yourself in another realm altogether. But inside!... wasn’t much better; with winding corridors that created an inescapable maze and sharp corners filled with shadows. Every eave and crevice hid strange noises and eyes; some days you could swear that you heard the whisperings of a man rush by your ear, stiffening your hair to stand on end. You never found any evidence of rodents or even spiders, only a thin layer of dust that blanketed the entirety of the house.

Though there had been an attempt to add electricity to the estate, power surges and complete blackouts rendered it useless. All wiring would alight until it was charred and unusable and bulbs burnt out within days. Things often overloaded and it was a gamble whether or not the outlet you were using would choose to spark. There was a backup generator but it was in worse condition than the wiring and often didn’t work.

That meant that on nights like tonight, where the storm had knocked out your power –again– you had to rely on candles lit around the large manor. You were half sure that you contributed to most of the candle market in the small town.

The ancient Victorian home had belonged to an old noble family whose only surviving member had been assassinated. It had floated through many hands over the years, including yours. The house overlooked the nearby town, of course, that depended upon if the fog would break. The town itself was small and quaint, only a few hundred people and a few large families. Gossip spread fast and you did your best to click with the ‘in’ group. When your wi-fi wasn’t feeling spotty, you often texted with a few local people. They were in their twenties like you and were positively bored of the small amount of people that their hometown had to offer.

It was from them that you learned that the townspeople wholeheartedly believed that the restless spirit of the old manor lord haunted his home with a vengeance. At first you took it as a small town’s superstitions, nothing more than a fantasy or a spiraled rumor. You had lived there for about nine months but it was starting to get ridiculous.

Can you punch a ghost? Because if you can, you were totally going to. All you wanted was toast and tea. You were drinking tea because the ghost absolutely abhorred coffee and would spill your coffee grounds all over the hardwood floor. It didn’t matter where you put it or how tightly you secured it. Every morning you would come downstairs and find the brown powder spilled all over the floor like a crackhead had rifled through your cabinets. You thought, at first, that it might be the brand of coffee. But no, alas, it was the coffee itself. So you were now a tea drinker. Thanks, ghost.

Anyway back to the current toast issue. You had jumped back a split second before the sparks from the outlet would have reached your skin. Eyes blown wide, you could feel your entire body shaking. A second longer and you could have been dealing with multiple-degree burns. Unconsciously, you rubbed your bare arms over where the injury would have been. Suddenly the lights went out, encasing you in total darkness, save for the low silver light filtering through the windows, bathing what it touched in a blue tone.

You and this stupid ghost were going to have to have a chat.

Stomping angrily down the long hallway, you did your best not to huff the dust you were kicking up. You passed by countless amounts of old Victorian furniture, all in the same place they had been since being placed there over a hundred years ago. It was entirely in vain to try to move the furniture as any time you or any other previous owners had tried, you would just find it straight back in its spot the next morning. Save for the times that pieces would be moved just slightly so you would run into them or stub your toe.

A large portrait caught your eye even through your mad march. It was a painting of the lord of the house. Your current tormentor: Lord Arthur Kirkland. His toxic emerald eyes burrowed into your soul, curling inside and freezing you from the inside out. His shaggy blond hair framed his face, carved into a permanent scowl. Above his eyes lay two thick eyebrows. Oh great, the bane of your existence had caterpillars for eyebrows. He was wearing the ruffles and coats of the period but the tightness of the clothing had you gasping for air just looking at it.

Wait… Nothing filled your lungs when you tried to inhale. Fear struck itself across your face and you thrashed violently, scratching at the air in a desperate attempt to remove the block to your airflow. Finally, like sweet nectar, air rushed into your body and you collapsed to your knees. Tears had formed in the corner of your eyes and a single droplet fell down your soft cheek. Your face erected a scowl of your own as a strand of hair fell down in front. Okay, ghost. Now this was personal.

If this assholic spirit wanted to make your life a living hell, then you’d make its death a living hell.

“Oh it is on.” The fight had begun.

Clearly, he had a very strong hate for any change being done to his home. The constant destruction of cables and any other foreign objects made this clear. So you thought about it. What would a Victorian ghost hate more than anything to have in its house? Most of the decoration was already intricate and ornate to a slightly tacky degree. Then it hit you.

Grabbing your car keys, though quickly stopping to get dressed, you raced out the door towards the only home improvement and building store in town. It was run by a local family, as most things in town were, and you happened to be friends with the oldest son. Dashing through the front door, the brunet looked up at the sound of a jingle. He smiled and stepped out from behind the counter.

“Hey (Y/n),” he said, waving as you bounded over. “What brings you here?”

“Revenge,” you answered simply, stretching the upper half of your body to look at the wallpapers set up past him.

“Against who?” he asked, clearly not sure if he wanted to know.

“The ghost,” you responded, bouncing over to the racks of paper. “He tried to kill me and so I’m going to ruin his precious house.”

“He what!?” Ben’s face dropped. He spun you around and grabbed you tightly by the shoulders. “(Y/n) you can’t stay there anymore. If he’s actually trying to kill you…”

“Sure I can,” you reassured him, prying his arms off and patting him on the shoulder. “I’ve got it all figured out.”

He sighed, exasperated. “(Y/n) you can’t win this fight with house decor. Also if he’s hurting you...”

You ignored him and continued your perusing. “I’m hearing a lot of can’t and not a lot of can and that’s just not a growth mindset my dear Ben.”

“(Y/n) you are dealing with an angry and vengeful ghost who has now expressed interest in murdering you.” You felt the texture of an especially pink wallpaper between your thumb and index finger. “(Y/n) don’t ignore me.”

You sighed, turning back to look at the man. “If you’re really that worried” –he rapidly nodded his head like a dog– “then I guess you could come with me to put the wallpaper up.”

After a few moments of contemplation, he spoke in a defeated tone, “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“Nope.”

You opened one of the double doors in a wide, exaggerated movement and it skidded into position with a thud. Humming, you trotted inside with Ben a few paces behind you carrying the roll of wallpaper and the bucket… and the brushes and everything else needed for this little makeover. The door slammed shut loudly after the two of you had reached the inside with no input from either of you. Though you were unbothered, Ben jumped and stood petrified like a deer for a moment. His eyes were wide but he reluctantly took another step, then another, then another and then quickly followed after you.

Hopping up the wide grand stairs, you watched as Ben struggled up the twin staircase with all of the materials. Once he reached the top, you were waiting for him and grabbed a singular paint brush daintily and then scampered into a large room.

Ben’s honey eyes went wide as he took in the grandeur of the room. The ceiling was inlaid with swirls of gold depicting handcrafted patterns that framed a large crystal chandelier. Heavy curtains hung above the imposing windows, filtering the little light that came through. Similar gold patterns continued on the wall, outlining the four walls bathed in a shade of dark, luxurious blue. That was a good word to describe the room: luxurious.

“Do you– Do you sleep in here?” Ben asked, astounded.

“Nah. I think it’s the ghost’s room and I’ve already had enough of him.”

“Then why are we doing it in here?!” You just gave him a smug look. “Right. Revenge.”

You snapped your fingers, having remembered something. “I forgot the glitter!” you exclaimed, leaping over towards the door. “I’ll be right back. Don’t have too much fun lovebirds!”

Snickering at your own teasing, you quickly hiked down the stairs and out towards your car. Left behind, Ben twiddled his thumbs, too nervous to sit down on anything for fear of offending the ghost. He chuckled nervously and swayed from one foot to the other. There was something in the room, he could feel it.

“So…” He paused, unsure of what to say. “That’s (Y/n) for you. Always running around with no sense of self-preservation.” He sighed, this wasn’t making him feel any better. “She’s like a little gremlin sometimes… an adorable little gremlin.”

You burst into the room, shouting at him, “Ben, I’m back!” He froze with fear for a second and you waved your hand in front of his face as he blue-screened. You spoke with a wispy and falsely ethereal voice, “Earth to Ben. We have revenge to do. And lunch. Definitely lunch.”

Once you got your things set up and prepared, you started to work right away. You made Ben take the high spots. He was like 6 '3, it would be a waste to have yourself do it. Standing back, you took a moment to admire your half-finished handiwork. It would be so ugly when finished. It was perfect.

“I don’t suppose I’m getting paid for this?” Ben asked, and you looked towards him.

You looked back at your masterpiece. “No.”

There it was. A full room covered entirely in four different wallpapers. On one wall, the first contender: leopard print. On the second: pink flamingos with googly eyes. On the third: something that could only be described as Picasso meets impressionism. And the fourth and final contender, the most ugly of all: banana leaf print that doesn’t match any of the other decorations in the room. Not to mention they’re all covered with glitter so no matter how much the ghost cleans, he’s never getting rid of the memory.

You snickered evilly in the background, rubbing your hands together like an old-timey villain. Suddenly, you snapped back to normal.

“You wanna get lunch?"

The two of you sat at a table outside, happily basking in the sunlight. Behind you was the dumbass manor you owned. It was surrounded by fog and looked cartoonishly evil. You were starting to understand why the townspeople disliked it so much. It interrupted the view.

“So–” You took a moment to ravenously take a bite and swallow it. “Why did your parents stock that hideous wallpaper anyway?”

“For people like you, (Y/n). People like you.”

Because you felt bad, only a little, you decided to pay for lunch. Ben still tried to insist upon paying but every time he got close to the check, you would swat his hand away. He drove you back up to your house and the two of you ended up sitting on a porch swing. It wasn’t original to the house but it was one of the only additions the ghost seemed to approve of.

“You know,” you started, swinging the bench. Ben lifted his legs up so it could move. “I think I figured out the ghost’s problem.”

“Really?” Ben questioned, humoring you. “What is it?”

“Well, he never got married, right?”

“Yeah?”

“Given the time period, that probably means he never… you know, too.”

“(Y/n), really?” Ben face-palmed.

You argued back with impassioned earnestness, “No, no, no, no. Hear me out on this. He’s like all mad and angry and stuff because he’s a bitch loser virgin boy.”

Something cracked in the background.

Ben tried his best to stifle his laughter and push down the smile threatening to stretch itself across his face. “I’m– pfft– pretty sure that the ghost– pfft– is not upset because he’s a–” He stopped for a moment to center himself. “–a ‘bitch loser virgin boy.’” He airquoted your words and you harrumphed, crossing your arms.

“Fine. What do you think then?”

He blinked at you, almost as if asking ‘are you serious?’ “He got murdered, (Y/n). My guess would probably be that.”

“Orrrr.” You dragged out your ‘r.’ “Maybe we’re both right.”

Ben sighed, agreeing with you if not to just end the conversation before the ghost decided to kill you both. You waved him off about a half hour later and headed back inside. Though you wanted to check in on your ‘artwork,’ you didn’t really want to run directly into the spirit again.

Walking through the manor, you found yourself in front of another portrait of the man. He looked as judgemental as ever, his lime green eyes piercing even as an inanimate photo. You don’t know why you talked to it, or even why you stopped. But you did.

“You know…” you started, hugging yourself tight. “For a bitch loser virgin boy” –A ghastly hand illuminated in a cold blue glow stretched out for your neck– “You’re actually pretty cute.”

The hand froze in place. You blew a strand of hair out of your face, readjusting to take another look at the portrait.

“And for how ridiculous that clothing is, you kind of pull it off.” The hand backed away, the light dimming. “I know I keep making fun of your house but I wouldn’t have bought it if I thought it was ugly.” It was barely visible at all now. “I mean, sunshine and a working heater beyond a centuries-old fireplace might be nice but otherwise it’s actually a very nice home.”

You blinked up at the portrait. Somehow, the expression the lord was wearing seemed softer now. There was less disdain and more of a quiet loathing on his face. Nothing could fix those caterpillar eyebrows though.

“The coffee thing was annoying but I guess I’m healthier now because of it. I was really tired that first week though. Anyway…” you trailed off. “Thanks, I guess.” You sighed at what you thought was only yourself. “What am I doing? I should… take a nap.”

Soft breathing filled the room; it was utterly quiet besides the faint sound. Your face contorted into uncomfortable expressions from the rapidly dropping temperature and you curled into the heavy blankets of the large bed. Only your head remained above the covers, the rest below like a figure bobbing in the waves on the open sea. The sun was slowly sinking below the horizon, a low orange light just barely slipping through the mist. The copper colored light spread across the wooden floor and stopped at the edge of glowing, blue feet, creating a soft purple.

They stepped out of the light and into the shadow, the illumination of the azure color growing brighter with each passing step. A face appeared from the foot of the bed, slowly coming into view. Unkempt hair cut in every direction floated lightly, encapsulating the face of Arthur Kirkland, last lord of the Kirkland manor. He watched with calculating yet curious eyes, looking for any sign of guilt or deceptiveness. He found none.

Though the man walked to your side, it would better be described as gliding. The tailcoat pieces of his jacket hovered to the same slow rhythm as the rest of the loose articles on his body. He brought a gloved hand to your face, lightly brushing his fingers across your cheek. Your face contorted from the biting cold and he quickly drew his hand back.

A low thought crossed his mind. If he hovered his lips above yours, could he suck the warmth and life out of you? To make you like him? Arthur stopped himself. Those were improper thoughts. No matter the time period, he shouldn’t think that way, especially of a lady he was not in courtship with.

Still… No!

He suddenly faded out of existence, his presence slipping out of the crevices and with it, the freezing cold. The warmth had returned to the room and in response, you had pulled the covers back down to adjust to the temperature change. Thank goodness he left when he did, you were wearing a tank top. Shoulders, scandalous!

Ben called you the next day, worried about what might have befallen you and your tricks.

“So, is it still there?” he asked, voice scratchy over the phone.

“No. He took it down.” 

Ben sighed. “All that work for nothing.”

“Not nothing,” you said, sitting comfortably on the couch. “I think we finally called a truce.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I guess I’m just too wonderful to hate.”

“Who are you talking to?” A third voice interjected.

“Oh I’m talking to Be–”

You dropped the phone.

“(Y/n)? (Y/n) are you there? (Y/–”

You weren’t listening, instead, you had slowly turned behind you, eyes wide as saucers and body as stiff as a board. There, in glowing blue glory, was the man from the paintings, bushy eyebrows and all. Blinking a few times, you kept expecting the visage to disappear every time you opened your eyes again. But he never did.

“Well don’t look so shocked now, love,” he huffed, crossing his arms and carrying that signature scowl.

“I– I– I–” It was your turn to bluescreen and the ghost rolled his green eyes, tapping his arm impatiently.

“I say, with how chuffed you were over that last stunt, I’d thought you’d have more to say than that,” he insulted, drifting through the couch and watching as you astonishedly followed him.

“(Y/n)?! (Y/n)?!” Ben implored through the phone.

“Oh, I recognize that voice,” Arthur answered his own question. “You can continue on with your nonsense conversation later.”

With a wave of his cerulean hand, you watched in horror as your phone short-circuited, sparked and then burst into flames. It was the threat of fire that knocked you out of your stupor and you quickly ran to the kitchen to grab the nearest fire extinguisher. The white foam drowned your phone but also safely put out the fire. You dug through the froth to find the piece of metal and silicon, uncaring for whether or not it got on you.

As soon as you got it, you dropped it again, the heat from the searing flames had left the metal as hot as if it had been outside on a summer’s day. The ghost seemed oblivious to your plight and as you shook your hands off, he waved one of his own and the floor returned to how it had been before. He looked towards you, cradling your steaming phone with a pair of oven mitts you had grabbed. You felt like crying and clearly the blond could tell.

“Oh don’t cry over spilled milk. You can just get another one.”

No. He was wrong. You couldn’t just get another one. Sure you could get another phone but you hadn’t backed up any of your pictures or videos or documents and there was no way in hell you possibly remembered all of those contacts. From the sorry state the melted rectangle was in, you could pretty much guess that the SIM card would be unsavable. Years worth of memories; gone.

The spirit looked down at you in slight curiosity; you weren’t usually this quiet. He watched as you silently stood up, solemnly placed the phone into the sink, removed and put away the mitts, and then quietly walked up the stairs and back to your claimed room.

You didn’t come back out for dinner. Or for breakfast the next morning. He hadn’t even blown out a fuse this time. By lunchtime, he could feel himself starting to get worried. Well not worried, because he couldn’t possibly be worried about you but simply concerned what your mental state might mean for the physical state of his house. You had lasted the longest out of his tenants because that's all you were: tenants. You didn’t own the house after all, he did. And he was quite sick of people thinking otherwise.

Suppertime rolled around and he still hadn’t seen you. Usually, you’d be trying to figure out how to make the microwave not explode or trying to watch the ‘television’ while you ate. He always knocked out the power when you did that. Dinner should be eaten at the table. He looked towards the kitchen. The one you had chosen as your primary was a servant’s kitchen and so was relatively smaller. It happened to house one of the few things he allowed to work in his house: the refrigerator. Even he could see the usefulness of such an advancement.

Arthur impatiently tapped his foot, it was now eight p.m. and this was around the time you liked to watch a movie or a television show. He didn’t enjoy having the loud television in his home but the drawing room you had chosen for it was far enough from the main foyer. Besides, sometimes you watched this ‘Dr Who’ story and he quite liked those nights. 

There was no one present to change the candles and it's not like the lights were in working condition so Arthur sat in darkness. He forgot how empty this felt. At nine, someone knocked on the door. He –invisible– watched as you slowly trudged down the stairs. You were wearing the same clothes as when he had last seen you and your hair was a mess. There were bags under your eyes but it was the kind from sleeping too much. You pulled open the door and looked up at Ben. The concerned look on his face became even worse as he watched you blink out of sync.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” he asked frantically, pulling you into a hug.

The front porch light flickered in and out.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the empty lightness of your stomach now that you were awake. Ben pulled apart from you, grabbing your face to look into your eyes. He rubbed his thumb over your eyebags and pulled you inside, uncaring for the ghostly apparition. After placing you on the couch and throwing a blanket over you, Ben ran to the kitchen to find some kind of food. His eye was temporarily caught on the burnt sockets all over the room but refocused on his mission. Though he wanted to make you something, he’d heard tales of the terror of the appliances in this place. Instead, he rifled through your cabinets and eventually just brought you a bag of marshmallows. He watched as you slowly chewed on the sugary fluff, stopping to take a sip out of the iced tea he brought you.

“What happened?” he finally asked, scooting closer. “I heard a voice and then you cut out.”

Instead of speaking properly, you pointed to the kitchen and mumbled out, “Sink.” 

Then you continued to gnaw on a marshmallow. Ben walked over, took a look inside the sink, stared with wide eyes for a moment, and then walked back to sit beside you again. The two of you stared ahead, not saying a word.

“Ghost did that?”

“... yeah”

“(Y/n) I think you should come live with me.”

You looked up at him with tired eyes.

“I–I mean.” He sighed. “I just really don’t think it’s safe for you here. And besides” –His cheeks were alight with a pink glow– “Would staying with me be so bad?”

A picture frame crashed down from the wall. 

Your heads snapped toward it and Ben pulled you closer unconsciously.

“I… I think you’re right,” you agreed with him, standing up to pack your things.

“I told you; this house is a lost cause,” Ben said, moving to help you.

The crystal chandelier high above glinted threateningly.

The two of you walked close together and as you walked under the hanging tree of diamonds, the strange shaking suddenly stopped. You didn’t take much so it didn’t take very long to pack. You insisted that you would be back after you gave the ghost time to ‘cool off’ but Ben seemed hesitant. The door closed with a creak and with it, the light.

From the shadows glowed a brilliant blue, forming into a humanoid shape. There, in all of his ghastly glory was Lord Arthur Kirkland. Alone again. A window cracked and he fixed it using magic with little thought.

As soon as you were gone the lord sank down. Past the servant’s quarters, past the locked doors and into the passageway that not even any of the other supposed ‘owners’ of the house had the key to. That’s because this door didn’t unlock with a key. Whisperings of Latin slipped out of his mouth and the runes in the door glowed and spun, turning until they clicked into place and the door slowly opened.

His magic may not have been as strong as it had been when he was alive but that didn’t mean that he didn’t still have deep and rooted connections to the ley lines that had been passed down through his family heritage. Books and papers flew open and danced around the room as he rushed through. He searched through ancient tomes until he found a heavy book covered in a thick layer of dust. His ghostly breath blew the grime away, revealing a brilliant ruby-red cover.

Arthur had never seen the point to attempt this before but now you had given him a reason. He was going to perform a resurrection spell.

On himself.

You couldn’t say that you hated the last couple of days. It was nice to be able to use modern appliances without the fear of them blowing up on you. Ben had taken time off of work to take care of you and you could feel the guilt piling up. You didn’t deserve him. Not to mention you were pulling possible profits away from his family’s store. They just gave you cheeky grins before poking and teasing you about a wedding. Small towns are just like that.

After literal hours of begging, Ben finally agreed to let you work with him in the shop. It allowed him to keep an eye on you and for you to feel less bad. Many of your friends stopped by and they were almost as bad as Ben’s family. It was still far more relaxing and less stressful than fearing that your phone charger would suddenly spark and electrocute you. You hadn’t gotten a new phone yet. You knew you needed one but it wasn’t exactly on the top of your priority list.

At the end of the week, you had been reorganized and shelving a collection of nails. Your ‘shift’ was almost over, which meant that Ben’s shift was almost over and you were positively buzzing with excitement for movie night. The bell jingled and you leaned over to shout ‘coming’ before shoving the last box of nails in and racing over.

Putting on your best customer service face, you spoke to the person who had come in, “Hi! Welcome in! What are you looking for–”

You stopped. Standing right there. In front of you. In the flesh was Arthur Kirkland. It couldn’t have been him, but it was. Who else would have that shaggy blond hair? Those horribly maintained eyebrows? Those piercing green eyes? You stuttered and buffered and the man just smiled amusedly at your short-circuiting.

“Why I’m looking for you of course,” he answered, taking a step forward.

You took a step backward. “You– you’re– you’re alive…” you gasped out, staring at him, completely stunned.

He wasn’t wearing the period clothing anymore, though what he was wearing still looked quite old. Instead, he had on just a dress shirt, black pants and similarly black shoes. When he grasped his hand around your wrist, you visibly shuddered from the cold but could not break free. You were locked in a staring match until Ben came to find you.

“Hey (Y/n)–” He froze.

“Oh good. I was looking for your dimwitted friend too,” he admitted, pulling you closer.

“Are you–” Ben stopped, looking on in disbelief.

“Goodness, you peasant people are just as slow as a hundred years ago,” Arthur huffed, rolling his emerald eyes.

Somehow, the next time you blinked you were back in the manor house. Ben was there too but he was knocked out and you couldn’t move to reach him. Arthur looked towards you, somewhat surprised to see you awake.

‘I guess my magic is still weak. It won’t matter after this,’ he thought, walking towards you.

More than anything, you wanted to struggle, you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream. But all you could do was watch. The blond snapped his fingers and you unfroze, becoming limp. Your limbs were still useless and Arthur seemed well aware of this as he carried you up the stairs. The two of you went past many rooms, including your own until you reached the site of your former masterpiece.

The door swung open and he waltzed in. The deep blue walls had returned to their normal extravagantness and there wasn’t a speck of glitter in sight. He gingerly placed you down on his bed, the soft mattress bending to your weight. You could do nothing but have your eyes reflect terror as the man manually tied your limbs to the bed. Finally, he placed a soft gag in your mouth and with it, you could feel the strange enchantment break. It wasn’t like your struggling could do anything anymore.

“Sorry, love.” He placed a kiss on your forehead and ran a hand through your loose hair. “I’ll need all the power I can get, so I can’t be expending it here.”

He walked away from your struggling form and quietly closed the door. None of your screams would make it through the walls of that room anyway. Arthur regally walked down the stairs to find his other captive missing. Instead of searching, he chose to stand completely still, hands crossed behind his back.

From the shadows, snuck a disoriented Ben, carrying the only chair he could lift. He smashed it into Arthur’s head, the impact shattering the wooden chair. The brunet expected to see blood and bits of gore. Instead, he came face to face with glowing green eyes, full of rage and jealousy. His jaw was slacked the wrong way but a simple movement clicked it back into place.

Ben dropped the remaining chair legs he had been holding onto and began to back up like a frightened deer. Arthur followed, slinking after him like the apex predator he was.

“You see,” Arthur started, stepping closer. “I’m not exactly alive per se. At least not yet. I’m on borrowed time, unfortunately.” He cornered the man. “Lucky for me, so are you.”

The next time you saw Arthur he looked different. He looked alive. His chest moved up and down, he blinked at regular intervals and you could see blood flushing through his body. Most of all, he was warm. So comfortingly warm.

Eventually, those thoughts faded and you laughed internally at ever thinking that Arthur could have been dead. He looked like a distant relative who had once owned the manor and shared a name. But he wasn’t. He was a different Arthur Kirkland, one who had come from London to learn that he should have been entitled to the estate. That’s when he found you, the person who had recently bought the house. That’s when you fell in love and… there’s something you feel like you’re forgetting.

There was always someone you felt like you were forgetting. No one in the town knew either so you had always assumed it to be a bad dream that stayed with you. Arthur had always encouraged you to forget and move on, but it always stuck with you.

Arthur had helped you properly install appliances and electricity in the house that wouldn't almost kill you and/or burn down the house. Well, he hired someone to make that happen but it was close enough. It always felt so nice to be able to flip a light switch and watch the room light up in a comforting yellow glow, though there were some days where the blond man did insist upon candles. You didn’t know why you flinched when the lights flickered or when the fire on the stove got too hot but Arthur was always just around the corner to watch you. He seemed to enjoy doing that.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the sounds of his heartbeat and feeling the movement of his chest. The constant fog that surrounded the manor finally dissipated and the two of you were peacefully watching the sunset on the porch swing. Arthur was rocking the bench lightly and the gentle swaying movement threatened to put you to sleep.

“Don’t fall asleep now on me, love,” he laughed lightly, lifting your head to look at him.

Grumbles came out of your mouth instead of words and you burrowed yourself back into his warm chest. He just shook his head and looked towards the fading light.

“Do you still think I’m a ‘bitch loser virgin boy?’” he asked in a teasing tone, running his hand through your hair.

Stretching, you readjusted yourself to situate your head higher, closer to his shoulder. He took in a deep breath, smelling the (smell) shampoo you had used. After yawning, you gave him an answer.

“Hmm... Yes,” you answered tauntingly, closing your eyes again.

He chuckled, continuing his brushing motions through your hair. “Not for very long, love. Not for very long.”

[totallyanopossum]

Call of duty, Ghost

Ghost cares for sick gender neutral reader with happy ending bath. 

He comes home to his sweetheart, usually when he enters and the door opens they come bounding towards him, but not this time. He looks to see if they are in the kitchen baking, or in the living room cozied up watching something, or on the balcony enjoying her plants, but they are not there making him panic. He tosses his bag aside and rushes to the bedroom. The lights are dim but they are there, swaddled in blankets with their stuffed animal watching one of their comfort movies.

Their reaction time is slowed, but they turn to look at Simon in the threshold, and are so relieved that he is back,they hate being sick alone makes them feel scared.

Y/N- “ Si”

He can hear how tired and relieved they are to have him back by their tone and rushes to their bedside. Immediately feeling their forehead and checking their pulse, both seem okay.

Simon- “ lovey what's wrong?”

Y/N- “ im sick, exhausted ”

Simon- “ its okay, im here now, ill take care of ya”

Simon climbs into bed with them, taking his place as big spoon fitting into his impression divot in the mattress. He gently pulls their against him, their bodies flush together, his missed this being so close to them. He missed the feel of their body, how they fits perfectly against him, their scent, their soft skin, they are his missing piece. He hates that his sweetheart is sick and that he cant scare away or beat up their illness, this will require making some soup and a quick run to the pharmacy. 

But first he needs to hold them, for both their goods. So he can reconnect with them, which really just means a lot of sniffing and petting . And this reassures them, takes away their fears; fear of their big guy not coming home and fear of being sick alone. 

He brushes their messy bangs out of the way and kisses their forehead, while he asks about their symptoms so he can get the right meds. He doesn't want to leave them but after the one errand he wont be leaving their side again, and this must be done to help them get better.

Simon- “ ill be right back with your medicine lovey”

Y/N- “ be quick”

Simon- “ nothing could keep me from you”

The pharmacy isn't far so he walks instead of risking some traffic mishap. Anybody who saw him power walking, well more like marching down the pavement quickly moved aside worried they would be mowed down if they got in his way. He was radiating Dont Fucking Get In My Way energy the whole trip, scaring the pharmacy tech badly. 

Once home his demeanor softens again. He helps sit them up, giving the medicine, then heads to the kitchen to prepare the soup. He gets everything set up for them on the counter then heads to the bedroom to get them.

Simon- “ soups ready”

They sit up and move to stand but he stops them, stepping in and scooping them up in his arms and carries them to the kitchen, setting them in the counter chair in front of their meal. 

Y/N- “ thanks Si” 

Simon- “ you know id never let your feet touch the group again if you ask”

Y/N- “ I know, if only I didn't like seeing our height difference so much”

They eat their soup and toast while Simon sits beside them, elbow resting on the counter as he watches them eat. At first they had found this behavior a bit unsettling and awkward but they have learned that he's just infatuated with everything they do, from eating a meal, to brushing their hair, to choking on his fat cock. 

They really wish they weren't sick for his return, which means they can't give him a proper home coming, big emphasis on the cuming. On the day he returns its their things to jump in bed and pleasure each other till one, or both of them passes out, but this time that's canceled making them feel a bit guilty.   

Y/N- “ Simon, im sorry im sick”

Simon- “ Dont be, its alright, cant he helped”

Y/N- “ But your homecoming, we always-”

Simon- “ Awe thats what your worried about, Dont be Lovey once your better ill ravish you proper” 

Y/N- “ But, umm, could we take a bath instead be close” 

Simon- “ yes, it will help your congestion to”

So once they are done eating he gets the bath ready, testing the temp, filling the tub, and adding some bath salts. He was apprehensive of baths when they first tried to make him take one, and even more so about the bath salts and additives they put in the water but it was a much better experience then he expected, not only didn't the additives smell good but they relaxed his muscles, now it's something he does often with them.

Simon strips fully and goes to get them, loving the way their pupils blow wide, mouth hands agape, and eyes trail over him landing between his legs. He can't help but let out a chuckle at his effect on his sweetheart, he's glad that no matter how many times they have seen him, he still elicits such a strong response.

Sweetheart just lifts their arms up ready for Simon to strip them, completely giving in and giving themselves over to him, all while their cheeks are turning red. They know Simon wont fuck them while they are sick but doesnt mean they cant enjoy the view, in the beginning they hated how easily they blushed but Simon loves that being able to easily see the effect he has.

He carries them to the bath, settling them on his lap, positioning himself between their thighs loving the feel of their soft plush things against his cock. He knows sweetheart isnt in any condition to fuck, especially not the rough way they do it, he just cant hold back with them. In the beginning he was worried about being too rough with them and tried holding back but his sweetheart is perfect and loves the way Simon lets loose on them, drilling them into the mattress, bending them in new ways reaching deeper and deeper, or pressing them into the wall as he holds them up. It did take some work at first stretching sweethearts holes enough to take him but it was so much fun, Simon has engrained those memories deep never wanting to forget the way they begged, whined, moaned in painful pleasure, the moment he first finally went balls deep, the first time they let him try anal, the first time they came together, the way the lines of the pillow imprint on their face after drilling them into the mattress relentlessly. 

He got lost in thought but now quickly comes back to reality as sweetheart clenches their thighs around him, tilts their head back looking up at him batting her lashes with that playful smirk. 

Simon- “ Lovey you don't have to”

Y/N- “ but I want to, please Si let me make you feel good, then I'll be good and rest, okay?”

But they hadn't waited for an answer while saying that they had already started to give him a thigh-job. He's already gone tense under them, breath already hitching, fingers already grasping at their body digging into their flesh.

Simon- “ Y..your always naughty”

Y/N- “do you want me to stop?”

Simon- “ N..No”

They clench their thighs around his thick fat cock tighter, making their big man turn into a whimpering mess. They love making Simon feel good, pleasuring him, love breaking his composer, turning him into their whispering mess of a man completely at their mercy. 

He's been dreaming of them for months, his hand nothing in comparison to his sweetheart. All that anticipation makes his finish embarrassingly quick,as he climaxes he grabs on to sweetheart wrapping his large arms around them, holding them tight as he spills a large load all over their thighs and into the water. 

Simon- “ I love you sweetheart”

Y/N- “ I love you too Simon”

It takes a few minutes for his breathing to return to normal, once it does he releases his tight grip on sweetheart, hoping he didn't squeeze too hard.

Simon- “ Did I hold too tight lovey?”

Y/N- “no, i missed your hugs”

Simon- “ we’er gonna need to shower”

Y/N- “ in a minute”

After rinsing off, he gets them both changed and cozied up in bed, finishing the movie they were watching before. 

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 protector: chapter eight

synopsis: " you were supposed to stay a crewate, just another back to watch, " he tightened his hold, " i didn't even notice the change until i woke up one day and realized i'd take a bullet for you "

cw: violence, gore, fighting, mature themes, profanity, MAJOR/MINOR ANIME SPOILERS, follows the plot of the anime, slowww burn.

a/n: reposting from another account

You were taking a nap on the railing of the Merry when you heard someone.

"Get out here, ya damn pirates!" the man shouted as he broke a barrel.

You snapped your eyes open and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes to see a guy with sunglasses, a blue jacket, a cutlass, and a face tattoo.

"Who the hell are you?" you spat, glaring at the man as you ghosted your hand over the handle of your mace.

"Shut up! Who I am means nothin', ya stinkin' pirate!" he exclaimed, smashing another barrel.

You unfurled your wings and zipped over to him, socking him in the jaw and grabbing him by the shirt, hoisting him up

"You're starting to piss me off," you glared daggers, your voice dangerously low.

"Johnny. Tell me that isn't you," Zoro sighed.

"Huh?! Who's sayin' my name like they think they know me or somethin'?!" the guy spat.

He gasped when he caught sight of the swordsman.

"Big Bro Zoro!" he exclaimed.

"Johnny? It is you," Zoro confirmed.

"What're you doing here, big bro?" Johnny asked. 

"It's clear you two know each other but is this guy friend or foe? Cause my arm is getting tired," you asked.

"Friend," Zoro answered.

You disappointingly sighed and dropped Johnny, making your way back to your spot on the rail.

"Where's Yosaku? Isn't he with you?" 

Johnny's expression quickly turned sour as he ran over to the side of the boat, waving over Zoro to follow.

"Well, while you guys are doing that, I'm gonna go for a fly. I'll see you in a bit," you yawned as you stretched your wings, taking off.

"See ya later, (y/n)!" Luffy smiled.

You smiled as you flew over the open sea, the salty, ocean air giving the breeze a slight bite.

"Now these are the moments I live for," you smiled as you did a couple of flips. 

Once you finished, you looked straight ahead to see a fish-looking boat.

"Huh? Baratie? Isn't that that famous sea restaurant?" you asked yourself, and just as you did, you felt your stomach rumble.

"I could use some grub. And I got enough money to get me a lil' something. Let's do it."

You went straight for the boat and landed right outside the front door. 

The second you stepped through the threshold, this man with blonde hair, curly eyebrows, and a cigarette in the corner of his mouth bowed before you, taking your hand and giving it a kiss.

"Why hello, my angel. Has anyone told you look ravishing today?" he smiled as he stood up straight, handing you a rose.

"Thank you," you smiled, holding it up to your nose.

It smelled amazing.

"Come. Let me show you to your table," he smirked, taking your hand and leading you to this table.

He pulled out your chair and you sat down, quickly pouring a glass of wine. 

"Well, since we're getting acquainted, do you mind telling me what your name is?" you slyly asked as you took a sip of the drink.

You were really trying to ham it up.

'Maybe I can get a free meal from this guy.'

"Sanji the Sous Chef, my dear. And may I ask the name of an angel like yourself?" he answered, cocking a brow.

"(y/n)," you smirked, resting your cheek in your palm.

"Perfect. A gorgeous name for a gorgeous woman. Would you please excuse me for a moment while I take care of something?" Sanji sweet-talked. 

"Of course, go right ahead," you nodded.

He took the bottle and sauntered over to a table near the window that had a blonde woman and a man with pink hair.

He poured them some wine and they talked for a moment before toasting and taking a sip.

'Huh. That guy kinda looks like Fullbody. That Marine bigshot.'

"This flavor.....and yes, the aroma. It is the unmistakable scent from the soil of Micquo of the North Land. Bitter with plenty of body, and just a tad sour. This wine must be the famous Itrutz Burger Stein," Fullbody sniffed the drink, clearly projecting his voice so everyone can hear.

Sanji slammed the bottle down on the table.

"Tell me waiter, am I right?"

Sanji removed the cloth he had around the bottle to show the label.

"Uh-uh. Not even close, sir. Eat up. This dish is best when hot," he stated, tucking a spoon in Fullbody's hand.

Sanji started walking away when he paused.

"And sir, my name is Sanji. I'm the Sous Chef. All the waiters ran out as of yesterday."

You couldn't help but snicker.

And soon, the whole restaurant was whispering about the Marine officer's vast miscalculation.

"Idiot," you chuckled, taking a sip of wine.

A minute or so after the Fullbody incident, Sanji got you this amazing soup and went off to go do a few of his responsibilities before he'd sit down with you. 

'This soup is heavenly!'

Just as you were about to put another spoonful to your lips,  Fullbody started shouting.

"Waiter! Hey! Get over here!"

Sanji stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around, walking over to the table. 

"I believe I've already told you, I'm not a waiter," he stated.

"Is bug soup on the menu or did you make it just for me?" Fullbody sneered, pointing to his bowl.

"Bug soup?" Sanji stated quizzically.

"That's right. What's this bug doing there, waiter?" Fullbody asked, smirking.

"Sorry, sir. Don't know, really. Looks like he's floating. Then again. It kinda looks like he's drowning. But it's hard to say for sure," Sanji joked, the restaurant erupting in quiet snickers, including you.

"Don't you mess with me, waiter!" Fullbody shouted, slamming his fist down on the table and breaking it.

You narrowed your eyes and gripped the handle of your mace.

"You could have eaten it if you had just taken the bug out. It would've been wonderful. It took three full days of hard cooking to prepare that soup for you and you wasted it," Sanji said in a dangerously low voice, crouching down to examine the soup that was now on the floor.

"Can't you see that you're biting off more than you can chew?" Fullbody spat as he stepped on Sanji's hand.

"I'm the customer here! Do you understand me?! I'm paying you!"

"Stop it! Fullbody!" the woman that was with him pleaded, grabbing his arm.

"Shut up!" he shouted, throwing the woman off.

You quickly stood up, getting ready to draw your mace.

"Can your money truly satisfy your hunger?" Sanji asked.

Suddenly, he stood up on his hands and did this spin kick move, ending it by going back on his two legs and hoisting Fullbody in the air.

"Damn," you exhaled, shocked by his fighting skill.

"Don't ever waste food around me again," Sanji spat, glaring daggers at the marine, the cigarette surprisingly still in his mouth.

"At sea, if you ever provoke your cook, your signing your own death warrant. Remember that."

"Oh no! Damn it, Sanji! What do you think you're doing to our customer?!" a man with blue, shaven hair and a chin tattoo shouted as he walked over.

"Can't you see he's a marine lieutenant?!"

"You're a terrible cook. What makes you think that you can talk to me like that?" Sanji glared.

"A crappy cook like you is calling me bad? Restaurants can't exist without their customers. They're our lifeblood, so we don't want to hurt them the way you seem to keep doing," Chin Tattoo fired back.

"But he deserved it. He didn't treat the food or me with respect, and he insulted all the cooks," Sanji stated, letting go of Fullbody.

"So I simply taught him a lesson."

"You're gonna regret this. All of you! No restaurant should treat its customers like this. I'll shut you down, do you understand me?! I will shut you down! This entire place! This whole restaurant is finished! Do you hear me?!" Fullbody shouted.

You flew over and smacked him in the head with the butt of your mace, knocking him out.

Sanji and the other chefs looked shocked.

"You guys can't get in trouble of another customer knocks him out. So consider this a token of my appreciation. The soup is to die for, so I'm gonna go back to eating," you nodded, sheathing your weapon.

Just then, Luffy and this old man fell through the ceiling and landed right on top of you.

"I can breath again!" Luffy gasped.

"GET YOUR ASSES OFF OF ME!" you wheezed, using your wings to throw them off.

"Boss Zeff, what's happening here? You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" one of the chefs asked. 

"Dammit! My ceiling! Another thing that's gonna have to get fixed because of you! This is all your fault, ya brat!" the old man shouted at Luffy.

"Another thing? What did you do?!" you exclaimed, turning to Luffy.

"How is it my fault?! You attacked me!" Luffy shouted back.

"Boss! Can you stop messing around a give us a hand! Sanji's gone crazy again!" another one of the chefs shouted.

"Sanji! Don't tell me you went on another rampage in here, you idiot!" Zeff shouted, getting up.

"Put a cork in it, old man!" Sanji growled.

"Oh, now you're ordering me around! Just who do you think you're talking to?! Do you wanna sink my restaurant to the bottom of the sea?! You punk!" Zeff shouted again, using his peg leg to kick Sanji in the face.

Fullbody snickered.

"You too! Get your ass out of my restaurant!" 

"How can you deny our motto that the customer is king?!" Chin Tattoo spat.

"The only kingly customers are the ones who stomach the slop you call food," Sanji growled.

"That's it. If you two wanna fight, you'll keep it in the kitchen, you understand me?!" Zeff ordered.

"Lieutenant! Lieutenant Fullbody! We've got trouble!" a marine soldier exclaimed as he ran into the restaurant.

"He's escaped! Pirate Krieg's henchman attacked us and vanished!"

"Impossible! When we picked him up three days ago he was right on the verge of starving to death. And we haven't fed him anything. Where'd he get the strength?!" Fullbody asked.

"I'm sorry, I-" The soldier was cut off by a gunshot and dropped to the floor, a man with a gray and blue headband walking past the body and taking a seat at a now empty table.

"I don't care what it is, just bring me something to eat. Come on, this is a restaurant," he smirked.

"And might I ask how will you be paying?" Chin Tattoo asked in a fake sweet voice.

"Will a bullet be enough?" Headband spat, pointing his gun right between Chin Tattoo's eyes.

"So you don't have any  money then," Chin Tattoo growled, bringing down his interlocked fists on Headband's head. 

"Dammit, Patty. Broke another chair," Zeff grumbled.

"Sorry, pirate, but our policy is to only serve paying customers."

"Get me something to eat now," Headband weakly ordered.

"We're not getting you anything, so beat it!" Patty shouted, continuously kicking Headband in the stomach. 

After a minute or so, Patty picked him up and threw him outside on the back deck. 

'Whatever. This isn't my problem anymore.'

You walked back over to your seat and sat down, about to finish off your soup when you heard a familiar voice.

"Hey, (y/n)!" Usopp smiled as he, Nami, and Zoro walked over to your table, pulling up chairs.

"Hey, guys," you smiled back.

"So this is where you've been all this time," Zoro nodded, surveying the place as he took a seat.

"Yup. So what did I miss?" you asked, taking another sip of your wine.

"Johnny is Zoro's old friend and needed or help in treating his bounty-hunting partner who had scurvy. We gave 'im some limes and he's okay now. They're watching the Merry," Nami recapped, leaning back in her chair.

"We came here to grab something to eat but it seems like this place has its own drama," Usopp chimed, his statement followed by the sound of shattering glass coming from the kitchen.

"Yeah. The Sous Chef of this place is a crazy fighter. Beat up this marine officer that disrespected him. And apparently Luffy has to work here for a year to repair some damage to the roof he caused," you stated.

All of a sudden, these chefs brought out a bunch of food and placed it at your table.

"Regards from Sous Chef Sanji. Free of charge," they quickly stated before running back into the kitchen.

"Sweet! I'm starving!" Usopp smiled, beginning to stuff his face with lobster.

As you all started chowing down, you saw Luffy coming down the steps from the kitchen.

"Chore boy!" Nami taunted, turning around in her chair.

"Huh?! What are you doing?!" Luffy exclaimed, shocked.

"We heard you had to work here for a whole year," Usopp laughed.

"Is it okay if we draw the flag for our ship?" you smirked.

"You're eating all this delicious food without me?! What kinda crew are you?! How could you do this to me?!" Luffy exclaimed again, distraught.

"Hold on...I think that's our business, isn't that right?" Zoro laughed, not noticing Luffy flick a booger into his water.

"You're disgusting," you grimaced as Zoro grabbed his glass.

"You know I have to say, the food here is quite delicious. Good stuff. Yes it is. I'd feel bad for you but—" Zoro stopped midway of putting it to his lips.

"You should be drinking this yourself!"

Zoro forced the drink down Luffy's throat, you, Nami, and Usopp roaring with laughter.

"I can't believe you did that!" Luffy shouted, flopping on the ground and grabbing his throat.

"Yeah, well I can't believe you did that!" Zoro shouted back.

As you all continued laughing, the whole room stared like you all were a circus

"Will you idiots... shuddup! We're... causing a scene!" you shushed in between laughs, trying to quiet everyone.

Suddenly, Sanji came up to you and Nami, getting on one knee as he held up two roses.

"Oh, dear ocean, thank you for blessing me with two angels today," he smiled, dreamily.

"Huh?" Nami asked, confused.

"Ah, yes, my loves. I can't bear this hardship of loving you two from afar. It is too difficult. I am now prepared to sail to the ends of the earth as a pirate if it means ladies of your rare beauty will be by my side!" he continued, giving you and Nami a lovesick look.

You glanced over at Zoro and saw him practically burning holes in the back of Sanji's head with his glare, Luffy sporting a very uncomfortable smile.

"To be together sailing the seas! But how tragic a great obstacle blocks our way..."

"And that great obstacle would be me, right? Sanji," Zeff chimed, a disapproving look on his face.

"Ugh! Stupid geezer," Sanji sighed, rolling his eyes

"This is an opportunity you don't want to pass up. Why not join them and become a pirate? I have no need to keep you here at my restaurant," Zeff stated.

"Hey, listen, pal. I'm the Sous Chef in this place. What do you mean you don't need me anymore?" Sanji asked, annoyed at the old man's interruption.

"You fight with customers all the time, you flirt with every woman under 80 who walks through here, you can't even cook a decent meal. You're worth less to me than the chum after brunch. That's what I mean," Zeff clarified, crossing his arms and leaning against an empty table. 

A few chefs snickered from the staircase and Sanji glared at them.

"Oh, and let's not forget how the other cooks avoid you like you were poison. So just run off and be a pirate or whatever, but get out of this restaurant."

"That's how it is. You shoot off at the mouth and expect that I', just going to take it, old man? I could blow off everything you said, but I won't listen to anyone trash my cooking! I'm staying here as a Sous Chef, and that's final! You hear me?!" Sanji exclaimed, grabbing Zeff by the shirt. 

"What do you think you're doing, grabbing your boss by the collar?! You ingrate!" Zeff shouted, throwing Sanji into our table and making it collapse.

All of you quickly grabbed the plates of food before they could be destroyed.

"Dumb geezer," Sanji spat as he sat up.

"Enough with the games. You can try to kick me out, but I'm here to stay. I'm not going anywhere, old man. Not 'til you're dead and gone."

"Dead? Hah. I got another hundred years of kickin' your ass left in me!" Zeff scoffed as he walked away.

"See! He said it's cool. Now you can become a pirate!" Luffy smiled, patting Sanji on the shoulder. 

"Shut up!" Sanji barked.

"My apologies. I hope I can make it up to you with these delightful fruit macedonias, my princesses," his tone quickly changing to sweet as he poured you and Nami some more wine and placed fruit salads in front of you.

"Thank you," you nodded, grabbing your fork and starting to eat.

"Wow! You're too kind! It looks wonderful," Nami smirked.

"Hey! Don't forget about us, Mister Casanova! We better get some kind of apology, too!" Usopp exclaimed. 

"This tea should be more than adequate for you. In fact, you should be thanking me," Sanji stated, getting in Usopp's face.

"What?! You wanna fight? You're gonna regret this! Take him out, Zoro!" Usopp ordered.

"You take 'im out," Zoro grumbled, looking away from the situation as he took a sip of his drink.

"Stop it! Please don't fight because of us," Nami sweet-talked.

"Of course, my dear," Sanji smiled.

"I wanted to tell you that all of the food here is just delicious," she started, giving you a knowing look.

Immediately, you got the message.

"But it's a little too expensive for us," you finished, rubbing his cheek and giving him the look.

You heard Zoro grumble something again but you didn't have time to address it before Sanji answered.

"Relax, it's free," he sighed, eyes, quite literally, in the shape of hearts.

"Oh! Thank you!" Nami smiled, giving him a hug.

"You guys still have to pay though," Sanji stopped his stammering for a moment, glaring at Usopp, Zoro, and Luffy.

"What?!" Usopp shouted. 

Luffy began to laugh but Sanji kicked him in the neck, causing it to wobble like rubber

"What are you sitting around for?! You're not here to lounge around," Sanji barked, grabbing him and walking away.

"Right..." Luffy groaned.

[korebringerofded]

I Can See You- Joel Miller X F!Reader

Summary- Your father is the boss of a major crime family that developed after the apocalypse. Life is pretty safe and boring until your fathers new associate, Joel Miller starts coming around and he starts to change everything.

Tags- Post apocalypse, pre!Ellie, one use of Y/N?

Warnings- Age gap, mutual pining, language, smut, mostly future smut, dirty thoughts, sexual situations and dialogue. Joel being hot and protective

Words-3500

Author Notes- Definitely doing a part two for this bad boy. I promise the next one will have so much damn spice I just gotta edit lol.

Thanks for checking out my stuff! Requests are open

Reblogs and comments are very nice please and thanks

I wanna do a whole Joel series with Taylor Swift songs soon so if anyone would like that please let me know!

Please do not copy, use my work, or put it through AI without my permission or I'll be really sad about it.

As much as you would have loved to have just forgotten this embarrassingly huge crush you had, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to get the image of your fathers newest associate out of your head.

You honestly should have known better, considering the first time you heard the name Joel Miller was regarding how dangerous he could be, how rugged and cold. He had apparently been caught smuggling some supplies around your fathers territory and by the end of it all a deal was struck and just like that Joel was working for your father.

It was the first time that you came in contact with him that really doomed you to fall for him so completely. You couldn’t say what exactly it was that drew you to him at first, he was handsome, obviously, and incredibly dangerous, maybe that danger is what made him so tempting to you, he was forbidden and a part of you liked that.

The first time you met Joel in person was a few weeks after you had first started to hear rumors of him around the compound. He was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee as you stood in the doorway, a bit shocked by the unknown visitor. He was…terrifyingly handsome, sharp jaw, scruffy beard, deep pools of brown eyes that you could get lost in. His salt and pepper hair that was perfectly messy matched his casual dress, jeans, work boots, plaid shirt. You stared at him for a moment, chewing at your lip before finally saying something. As his eyes settled on you, still in your pajamas and messy hair.

“G-goodmorning, I’m (Y/N).” You struggled to steady your voice, failing miserably. 

“Joel.” He partially turned to face you, raising his hand up to wave as he gave you a polite nod before going back to his coffee. You guessed he wasn’t really much of a conversationalist and tried to shrug it off before making your own coffee and retreating back to your room.

It went on like that for a few weeks, you watching him patrol the compound through your bedroom window, running into him when you both made coffee in the mornings, passing glances in the hallway

“You can’t walk around like that!” You sighed, setting your coffee on the counter behind you as you walked over to Joel and ghosted your small hands over Joel’s plaid shirt, it was a dark green and blue and was rather well worn with tears and it had been missing the middle button for years.

“I will be fine, darlin.” Joel snorted, rolling his eyes at you as he shook his head. “I don’t have any big dances comin’ up so I doubt anyone’ll notice.” Joel took a bite from the toast in his hand as he looked down at you, admiring your curves and glowing skin. 

Damn, he really needed to get himself under control.

“It most certainly is not fine.” You put your hands on your hips, scowling at him. “Take it off, I am fixing it for you.” You held a hand out expectantly.

Joel couldn’t help but do as you asked so after he chuckled and teased you just a bit longer he was unbuttoning the remaining buttons on his shirt before tugging it off and handing it to you as he tried desperately to ignore the way your delicate hands felt against his as they brushed for just a moment.

You went back to your room holding the shirt to your chest with bright red cheeks, the fresh pine scent just enveloped you as you held it close to your face to breathe in his scent. 

Ugh, you totally were not getting creepy with this annoying crush at all.

It was the next morning and Joel was leaving his room in the compound when he felt his work boots knock over something and when he glanced down he saw a small shiny gift bag laying on its side.. He couldn’t help but grin and chuckle as he picked it up and pulled out his shirt, running his rough hands over your handiwork, not a hole or tear in sight and the missing button had been replaced with a shiny red one. It had never looked better. Something in him started to tear away then, such a small act of kindness. It just really got to him as he felt you start to warm the parts of him he had thought were cold and barren. 

When Joel stopped showing up for coffee you were more than disappointed as it had become something you secretly looked forward to everyday. The lack of seeing Joel seemed to only make your mind run in a circle of anxiety and embarrassment. He had taken up so much of your mind it was starting to drive you mad.

The next day you saw Joel it was probably the hottest day of the entire summer and you had taken refuge in the pool, a thin pink bikini covering your body, not leaving much to the imagination. It was damn hot and you honestly didn’t care, floating in the pool as you tried to ignore the blazing heat. You had been in the pool for a while, skin getting a bit pruny and eyes closed as you enjoyed the cool water.

“Hey! Care for some company?” A familiar voice made your eyes open quickly and in front of you on the edge of the pool was a curly brunette with wide shoulders and a toothy grin. Caleb, was one of the younger guards your father had hired recently and he was rather handsome, cocky and annoying, but still handsome and (most of the time) enjoyable.

“You do know if my daddy finds out your slacking off again there will be hell to pay?” You couldn’t help but giggle and tilt your head to the side. Caleb shrugged and sat his rifle down, untucking his shirt from his pants and starting to lift it over his torso. It was hard not to let your eyes wander at his tan toned body, and muscular arms. 

“He won’t be home for a while so-” Caleb’s cocky words folded into a yelp as he was dragged from the edge of the pool by the back of his neck.

“The fuck are you doing, boy? Get the hell back to work.” Joel spat, his thick Texas accent was so prominent now. Your eyes were so focused on Joel that you didn’t even notice Caleb grabbing his things and looking pale as a ghost while he ran off.

To be frank, Joel looked furious, his thick muscular arms bulged from his tight shirt as he stood at the edge of the pool, his sharp jaw tight as his arms were crossed over his chest. His dreamy brown eyes were now dark and stormy as he kept them locked on you.

It made you feel a bit meek and yet, you were also a bit pissed yourself.

“What is your problem?” You felt your cheeks getting hot as you started to get out of the pool, still dripping wet and hair reeking of chlorine as you stood in front of the scowling man. 

You hadn’t realized until now just how…huge that he was. His shoulders were broad, arms thick and rippled with muscles.His scent was thick and alluring, and being this close to him made your anger dwindle. 

“You shouldn’t be out here like this, kid.” Joel sighed, his eyes looking you up and down, his fists clenching and unclenching as his nostrils flared. 

“I am not a kid, and I really don’t need you to lecture me, old man.” You couldn’t help but jab at him, going to turn away before his rough hand gripped your arm tightly, his brown eyes staring intensely into yours.

There was a moment you were both frozen like that, his hand gripping your wrist. Joel honestly couldn’t help but rub his thumb over your wrist, gently drawing slow circles along your flesh. The water from the pool still dripped down your body and onto the pavement below, the sun beating down over your smooth skin. For a moment you swore you saw that cold demeanor melt away, for just a single moment before it was back and he was scowling again. Joel immediately let you go, turning away almost suddenly as he walked off. 

You hated to admit it but your heart lurched at the loss of contact and you stared at his broad shoulders as he walked away, wide eyed and cheeks a bright pink. It was hard to breath, hard to move as your heart beat echoed in your ribs and traveled through your whole body. You hated to admit how he was making you feel, it was confusing and sent waves of heat through your body as well as frustration.

Seriously, what was his deal?

He was really starting to take up a lot of your thoughts and the two of you had barely spoken aside from that day. It was starting to drive you nuts, you found yourself looking forward to running into him more and more as time went on. 

It would be two weeks before you saw Joel again as he was sent out on a job away from the compound (You knew better than to ask too many questions about specifics.) though you really couldn’t help but feel he was purposely trying to avoid you.

The evening sun poured into the kitchen as you sat at the counter, legs crossed as you flipped through the pages of your book. In all honesty you were desperately trying to distract yourself from thinking about Joel and his damn hands. The way he looked at you was unlike anything you had experienced before, it was intense and a little terrifying. 

You thought about those rough hands touching more than just your wrist, you thought of them dancing across your flesh expertly, back arching and breath ragged as his stubble ran across your chest and navel and lower until he was between your thighs, eyes hungry as his hands gripped your hips.

 Your thoughts were starting to consume you and you couldn’t help but audibly groan and let your head fall against the counter. 

“Uhhh..You okay there?” Joel’s voice cut through the room like a knife, his deep voice sent goosebumps over my neck and back. 

You were going to die of embarrassment, after all this time and he just shows up at the worst possible moment. 

You reluctantly sit up and turn towards him, cheeks a bit pink. 

“I'm fine- Woah.” When you faced him you felt yourself tense up. He had deep bruises on his jaw and his lip was busted open. “What happened to you?”

You didn’t really think about it, you grabbed a clean rag and walked over to him, tugging on his arm to make him sit in a chair so you can clean him up. 

“Its’ fine-I can handle myself.” Joel holds his hand up to stop you, your eyes locking for a moment. He can’t help it, your pleading eyes and trembling bottom lip made him fold almost immediately and his hand fell so you could move between his legs, gently pressing the rag to Joel’s bleeding lip. 

“It’s not ‘fine’.” You rolled your eyes, suddenly feeling embarrassed by your closeness but you focused on his lip, soaking the blood up and feeling a bit dazed at how damn handsome he was, how his thick pine scent mixed with the sweat on his brow and how that all made your heart leap in your chest.

“I’m gonna get the first aid kit- I’ll be right back.” You whispered, taking a step back as your nerves started to fully set in, this was too much, he was too tempting. If you were too close to him you were going to majorly embarrass yourself. You just wanted him so badly it was starting to fester in the pit of your stomach.

Once you returned you finished cleaning his wounds and dressing them, his breath spreading over your chest and neck as your delicate hands patched him up. You were really just too close for comfort. 

Joel was dying inside, clenching and unclenching his fists as he struggled to resist the urge to run his hands over your hips and to just fucking ruin you. He had certainly been avoiding you like the damn plague, you were gorgeous and going anywhere near you was sure to be nothing but trouble for the older man and yet…something about you kept him coming back to you, despite the dangers, despite the taboo. He just wanted you in every way. 

“All done. Now you won’t bleed all over the place.” You teased, feeling a deep sense of relief as you finally and yet still reluctantly backed away from Joel, cheeks heating up as his eyes met with yours again. 

“Thanks, darlin. Maybe you can be my personal nurse, hm?” Joel stood, smirking as he took a few steps closer, his chest inches from your face as you stared into those endless eyes of his. Joel slowly reached his hand up and brushed your cheek with a look so soft and cool it made your head spin. “See you later.” He mumbled softly before he turned away quickly and was gone just like that. 

He almost didn’t control himself there, his mind and heart racing in tandem as he willed himself to walk away, willed himself not to think about your smooth plush hips or your gemstone eyes that glimmered as they looked up at him, full of innocence and sweetness. Something that Joel, deep deep down, wanted to corrupt. He just had to avoid you at all costs. He could do that, right?

After that it was almost a month before you ran into him, and it was less so running into him and more so your father being a control freak and only allowing you to leave the compound when accompanied by a trusted guard and unfortunately for the both of you this meant Joel was given the honor of being your babysitter.

“I am 23, Joel. I don’t need you to lecture me.” You rolled your eyes as Joel took a beer bottle from your hands. You were already significantly more drunk than you needed to be, not that you would ever admit that of course.

You leaned against the bar, rolling your eyes dramatically. You had worn your tight black dress that hugged all of your curves, shiny red lips popping as you glared at the tall man, hands on your hips.

“Your daddy seems to think otherwise.” Joel shot you a glare, taking the beer bottle from you and passing you a glass of water which immediately made you groan.

“Don’t you ever loosen up?” You huffed, face heating up as you glared up at him, the alcohol burning through your veins and making you a lot more vocal and in all honesty, bratty.

“You don’t need to be shit faced when I take you home.” Joel sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, he wasn’t going to budge on this. 

“Fine. I am going to dance. You can sit here and sulk.” You huffed, spinning around and walking out into the drunken and stumbling crowd but not far enough that Joel couldn’t see. A part of you wanted him to watch.

You turned back to see his eyes staring at you in an almost predatory way and for a moment it almost made you lose your nerve. He was almost burning a hole in that dress with the heat and intensity of which he watched you. You couldn’t help but smirk a bit at the way he gripped his glass, his jaw tight as you started to sway your hips, dancing to the music. While across the room Joel watched every step, every sway. The way your hands ran over your stomach and chest, eyes low and chest rising and falling. He looked like a starved man as he looked you over, gripping his glass so hard you were concerned it would shatter.

You were much too drunk, you would certainly make a fool of yourself and yet you didn’t stop. His eyes on you made you hungry and a little light-headed. His gaze was so damn intense you didn’t even notice the man standing behind you before he tapped you on the shoulder and you turned to see Caleb, a little dazed and very drunk as you looked at him, his hair a bit messy and his typical toothy grin.

“You’re beautiful in that dress.” He smirked, going to lean forward to touch your hips before his eyes went wide and he started to back away, hands up as he pushed a few people to get away. He looked like he just saw a ghost. 

You stood, head tilted to the side as he ran off, confusion written on your face before you turned around and felt your own heart sink. Joel was stalking towards you, fists clenched and a terrifying dark look in his eyes as he approached you, getting nose to nose with you.

“I’m tired of this.” His voice was dark and gravely, it sent a shiver down your spine. 

In a swift motion Joel had lifted you by the waist, tossed you over his shoulder and started to walk out of the bar, his thick fingers holding your waist tight as he carried you out into the cool night.

“Joel! Put me down!” Your face was bright red in embarrassment, you struggled a bit but it was ultimately fruitless, Joel’s strength greatly outmatched your own.

After walking for a minute and ignoring your many, many threats Joel did eventually put you down. From the moment you saw him stalking towards you to right now you felt your blood boil in a fierce wave of anger. You ignored your trembling hands as you got nose to nose with him, tears stinging your eyes as you shoved your manicured index finger against Joel’s muscular chest.

“Seriously, what is your problem?!” You were seething as the words left your mouth, tears threatening to fall.

Joel just stared at you for a moment, the moonlight overhead was shimmering in the alleyway and illuminating your captivating eyes. Even now, as you furiously glared at him, eyes dark and angry, he was absolutely helpless to your beauty. He was fighting a losing battle with himself, he wanted to be a good man, he wanted to finish this job and get far away from you so he could stop himself from ruining not just his own life but yours as well.

“You.” He took a step forward, his eyes dark as he stalked towards you, his hands reaching out to pin you between him and the brick building.  “You are…my problem.” Joel was growling now, he was almost baring his teeth as he moved closer, his breath spreading over your neck as you stared wide eyed.

“W-what are you talking about?” Your voice was soft.

You couldn’t help but gasp when you felt Joel start to laugh, leaning his head against your neck, his beard rubbing against your skin as Joel took in your sweet vanilla scent as much as he could before pulling away. You could feel his body shake as he laughed before his deep brown eyes were staring into yours.

“Seeing you run around in that damn bikini, seeing you flirt with that douche. The coffees and those fucking eyes you keep giving me. It needs to stop. All of it.” Joel’s eyes were dark and serious, his jaw tight as he pressed his knuckles into the brick behind you. He was fighting everything inside of him. The fight between his morals and the way you were starting to make him feel. 

You were silent for a moment, looking at him with wide eyes that were glossy as tears threatened to spill down your rosy cheeks. Had you misread the entire situation?

“Why?” Your voice was soft as you looked at him, lip trembling a bit. You felt pretty pathetic.

“Aside from the fact that your daddy will kill me? You are just a young kid. It ain’t right.” Joel’s face softened a bit as he started to pull away, shaking his head as he struggled to keep his eyes on anything but you and your glimmering eyes. 

“You don’t…you don’t want me at all?” 

Those words sent electricity down Joel’s spine as you looked up at him, tear stained cheeks and trembling breath as you reached for him. He in fact did want you, he wanted you more than he had ever wanted anything or anyone.As much as Joel wanted to spare you, to allow you to stay pure and good but something in him was so damn loud and hungry for you, his internal voice was kicking the shit out of him for making you cry. He just didn’t want to hurt you.

He couldn’t take it anymore and in a quick movement Joel had you pressed against the wall again, his hands holding your hips as his mouth ghosted over yours, his breath heavy and hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear.

“I want you so damn much, darlin. So damn much…” 

Part Two Coming Soon???

[multific]

House of the Dragon Incorrect Quotes

Aegon, Aemond and Daemon /x You/

A/N: Wanted to try out something different. I must mention almost all are created by using a generator, some are mine tho! Enjoy!

---

You: Know why I called you in here? 

Aegon: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic. 

You: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine.* Accidentally?

---

Aemond: My future wife must be brave, strong, intelligent, successful and organized. 

You: *steps on a butterfly and proceeds to drop to their knees and sob while apologizing profusely*

Aemond: That one. I want that one.

---

You: So, do you like cats? 

Aemond: Yeah.

You: *tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table* *winks*

---

Aegon: Can I have your number? 

You, visibly texting: I don't have a phone.

---

Aemond: I’m going to take you out. 

You: Great, it’s a date! 

Aemond: I meant that as a threat. 

You: See you at six!

---

Aemond: Y/N and I have the kind of easy chemistry where we finish each other's- 

You: Sentences.

Aemond: Don't interrupt me.

---

You: Go to Hell

Daemon, tearing up: I wish I could

---

You: Must be hard not being able to laugh

Aemond: I do have a sense of humor you know

You: I’ve never heard you laugh before

Aemond: I’ve never heard you say anything funny

---

You: Where are you going?

Daemon: To get ice cream or commit a felony, I’ll decide on the way there

---

You: Jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that much.

Daemon: Oh, you’ve been?

You: Once. In Monopoly. It was awful.

---

You: How petty can you get?

Aemond: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about.

---

You: Whaddya call a fish with no eye?

Aemond, not looking up: Myxine Circifrons

You:

You: fsh

---

Aegon: I turned out perfectly fine!

You: Aegon, this morning you thought a ghost made your toast

Aegon: I DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN! YOU DIDN’T PUT THE BREAD IN!

---

Aemond: Violence isn't the answer.

You: You’re right.

Aemond: Violence is the question.

You: What?

Aemond, bolting away: And the answer is yes.

You, running after them: NO-

---

You: Ok, maybe playing ‘whose family is most dysfunctional’ wasn’t the best idea we’ve had. Aegon's been crying in the bathroom for an hour. We can’t get them out...

---

You: You saved me. I owe you my life.

Aemond: No thanks. I’ve seen it and I’m not very impressed.

---

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