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fvsm4x · 4 months ago

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synopsis. Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome

+ warning/content. bully Gojo Satoru x female reader - reader is pregnant - mentions of abortion - mature themes/MDNI - usual warnings - suguru and reader are siblings - reader lowkey depressed - ANGST - dubcon - chapter 3 from the series regret

wc. 7k

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(Six Months Later – Present Timeline, Winter)

The cold hit you the moment you stepped out of the convenience store, the biting wind cutting through your coat like it wasn’t even there. You exhaled, watching your breath curl into the air before disappearing into the night. Winter had settled in, coating the streets in frost, making everything feel sharper—like the world itself was trying to wake you up from the numbness that had taken root inside you.

It was late, past midnight, but the city was still alive. The neon glow of street signs flickered against the wet pavement, and a group of drunk salarymen stumbled out of a nearby izakaya, their laughter echoing down the empty streets. You ignored them, keeping your head down as you walked past, one hand tightening around the plastic bag of food you’d just bought.

You hadn’t meant to stay out this late. You hadn’t meant to go out at all.

The apartment was suffocating some nights. The quietness that had once felt like an escape now felt like a void, pressing in from all sides, swallowing you whole. You would sit on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of the heater, the occasional creak of the walls. No messages lit up your phone. No knocks ever came at the door. You were untethered, drifting through days that bled into each other, feeling more like a ghost in your own life than a person.

It was easier to disappear into routine. Wake up. Force yourself to eat. Scroll through new job listings. Go work. Stare at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, searching for something—some sign that you were different, that you were changing. But your face remained the same, your body shifting a bit. Even at six months, no one could tell.

Maybe that was why it didn’t feel real.

Or maybe it was because you still couldn’t bring yourself to think about the future.

The thought of it sent a dull panic through you, one you had learned to push down, to ignore, to bury under layers of distractions. You moved through each day as if you were still waiting for something—for someone to tell you what to do, for something to force your hand. But there was nothing. Just the cold, the empty apartment, and the quiet knowledge that you were running out of time.

You let out a slow breath and turned down the quieter street that led to the apartment. The cold made your fingers stiff, but you welcomed the sting—it was better than feeling nothing at all.

The walk back to the apartment was short, but the cold made every step feel longer. The night air clung to your skin, biting at your exposed fingers despite the way you stuffed them deep into your coat pockets. The plastic bag in your hand rustled with every movement, a small reminder of the meager groceries you had managed to pick up. It wasn’t much—just a few essentials, things that wouldn’t take long to prepare.

You barely noticed the people passing by, their faces blurred, their voices fading into the background like static. Laughter echoed from a nearby bar, followed by the distant sound of a car engine revving. The world kept moving, oblivious to the storm inside you.

As you approached the entrance to the apartment complex, you hesitated.

The building loomed above you, dark windows reflecting the streetlights like empty eyes staring down. You swallowed hard, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. It wasn’t fear that kept you rooted in place. It was exhaustion—the kind that seeped into your bones, making every action feel like wading through thick, invisible water.

You knew what was waiting for you inside.

Nothing.

An empty apartment. A quiet room. A cold bed. With a heavy breath, you forced yourself forward, gripping the handle and pushing the door open.

The warmth inside barely made a difference. The apartment was just as you had left it—dim, sparsely furnished, and suffocatingly quiet. The heater hummed in the background, its soft drone the only sound breaking the silence. You locked the door behind you, placing the plastic bag on the counter before shrugging off your coat.

Everything felt mechanical. You moved without thinking, going through the motions simply because you had to. The fridge opened with a quiet creak as you placed the milk inside, rearranging a few items out of habit. You set the instant ramen on the counter, along with the sandwiches you had bought, then leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly.

It wasn’t much, but it would last. At least for a few days. You glanced toward the mirror hanging by the entrance, catching your reflection in the dim light.

Same face.

Same tired eyes.

Same person.

You tugged at the hem of your oversized sweater, fingers absentmindedly smoothing over the fabric. Your stomach wasn‘t flat anymore, but still easy to hide. The loose clothing made sure of that. No one could tell just by looking at you. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe that was why it still didn’t feel real.

Even though you knew what was happening, even though you could feel the exhaustion weighing heavier each day, it still felt like something distant—something that belonged to someone else.

You turned away from the mirror. No use thinking about it.

Instead, you moved to the couch, sinking into the cushions with a quiet sigh. The silence pressed against you, thick and unrelenting. You had gotten used to it by now, but that didn’t mean it ever felt comfortable.

The loneliness had settled in like an unwelcome guest, making itself at home in every corner of the apartment.

You pulled your legs up onto the couch, wrapping your arms around your knees as you curled into yourself. The apartment felt impossibly quiet, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears, making your own thoughts sound too loud. The dim glow of the streetlights outside cast long shadows across the room, stretching over the floor and onto the walls, making everything feel distorted—unfamiliar, even after all this time.

Your gaze drifted to the coffee table in front of you, where a few crumpled receipts lay scattered next to an unopened bottle of water. That was it. Nothing else. No sign of life, no clutter, nothing that made this space feel lived in.

You should do something.

Eat. Sleep. Move. Go work.

Anything to make time pass faster, to break the endless cycle of nothingness that had settled over you. But instead, you just sat there, staring, trapped in your own mind as the seconds bled into minutes, stretching endlessly before you.

Then—

A knock at the door.

The sudden sound shattered the silence, making you jolt. Your breath caught in your throat, your muscles tensing on instinct. The apartment was too quiet for something like that—it made the knock seem impossibly loud, like it didn’t belong here.

You didn’t move at first.

Maybe you imagined it.

No one ever knocked. No one ever came here.

Except—

Another knock.

Firm. Unhurried. Patient.

Your pulse quickened, a dull pounding in your ears. Your eyes flickered toward the door, your body rigid. It was stupid, but for a moment, you considered ignoring it, as if pretending no one was there would make them leave.

But they wouldn’t. You knew that.

There was only one person who ever came here.

Suguru.

You swallowed, forcing your body to move. The couch groaned as you uncurled yourself, placing your feet on the cold floor. The air felt heavier now, pressing against your chest with every hesitant step you took toward the door.

The floorboards creaked under your weight, each sound amplified in the quiet. You hesitated when you reached the door, standing there for a second too long, your fingers hovering just above the handle.

A deep breath.

Then another.

And finally, you turned the knob, pulling the door open just enough to peer outside.

And there he was.

Suguru.

Standing in the dim light of the hallway, his dark coat draped over his shoulders, one hand in his pocket while the other one held into the plastic bag, and an unreadable expression in his sharp eyes.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“Hey,” he said, his voice low, steady.

And just like that, the weight in your chest shifted—if only slightly.

Your throat felt tight. “Hey.”

His gaze flickered downward, barely noticeable, but you caught it immediately. It was quick—so quick that if you weren’t paying attention, you might have missed it. But you knew exactly what he was looking for, what he was checking. Even through the oversized hoodie you wore, his eyes lingered just long enough to confirm what he already knew.

Neither of you ever talked about it, but the knowledge sat heavy between you. He had always known. From the moment you got kicked out of your parents house, he had known. And yet, despite everything, he never asked. Never pried. Never pushed you to say more than you wanted to. Maybe that was why you let him keep coming back. Because he was the only one who didn’t look at you with judgment, who didn’t ask you to explain yourself when you didn’t have the words.

“Can I come in?” His voice was calm, steady. But he was already stepping forward before you had a chance to respond, his presence pressing into the small space of the doorway.

You didn’t stop him. You simply shifted to the side, allowing him to pass. The air in the apartment changed the second he stepped inside, the silence no longer as heavy as it had been just moments ago. The loneliness didn’t disappear, but it dulled just a little, just enough to remind you what it was like to have someone around.

He moved through the space like he belonged there, like it was second nature. His hand placed down the plastic bag, and worked the buttons of his coat as he made his way toward the couch, shrugging it off effortlessly and draping it over the back of the cushions. He didn’t ask where to put it. He didn’t need to. He had lived here once. Before it became yours, before your brother stopped using it altogether. Before it turned into something else entirely—a place for you to exist in but never truly call home.

Suguru took in the room with a quiet, assessing glance, as if searching for any signs of change. There weren’t many. The apartment still carried that same impersonal emptiness, the same untouched air of a place barely lived in. You hadn’t done much to change that, except maybe placing a few toys onto the shelf for your child.

His gaze eventually returned to you, unreadable as always. He was waiting—for what, you weren’t sure. Maybe for you to say something. Maybe for some indication that you were okay. But the truth was, you weren’t sure what to say. What was there to say? Nothing had changed. You were still here, still trying to figure out what came next, still completely alone. Except, at least for now, you weren’t.

Suguru turned to look at you again, arms loosely crossed, his expression unreadable. “Have you been eating?”

The question hit like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through the fragile quiet that had settled between you. You tensed, fingers curling into the oversized sleeves of your sweater, the fabric bunched tightly in your grip. You hesitated for half a second before muttering, “Yeah.”

But he saw right through you. He always did. His gaze didn’t waver, didn’t soften, and when he finally spoke, it was flat, unyielding. “You’re lying.”

A sigh slipped past your lips as you rubbed your temples, already feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down. “I’m fine, Suguru.” You tried to make it sound firm, convincing, but even to your own ears, it came out weak.

He didn’t respond right away, but his silence was louder than words. Without another glance at you, he walked past, heading straight for the kitchen. You listened as he pulled open the fridge door, the faint suction sound of the seal breaking, followed by the dull clatter of a few nearly-empty bottles shifting inside.

Then the door slammed shut.

“You call this eating?” His voice carried a sharp edge, one that made irritation spike through you, replacing the dull ache of exhaustion.

You turned, arms crossing over your chest, the defensive posture coming almost instinctively. “I don’t need a lecture.”

But he wasn’t fazed. If anything, he looked even more unimpressed. “Then start taking care of yourself so I don’t have to give you one.” His tone was firm, leaving little room for argument, like he had already decided he wasn’t going to drop this.

You hated that. Hated how he spoke to you like he had the right to be concerned, like you were his responsibility. He had been like this ever since he found out—hovering, checking in, making sure you weren’t completely falling apart.

But you were. Even if you didn’t want to admit it.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you glanced away, shifting on your feet. You sighed, rubbing your arms as you tried to ignore the heaviness pressing down on your chest. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Suguru tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Do what?”

“Act like you’re responsible for me.”

For a moment, something flickered in his expression—too quick to decipher, too subtle to grasp. And then, with quiet certainty, he said, “I’m not acting.”

The words caught you off guard, making your breath hitch for just a second. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. You had nothing to say to that.

Suguru sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, his frustration bleeding into the silence. “Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I just—” He stopped mid-sentence, shaking his head slightly as if dismissing whatever thought had momentarily surfaced. “Never mind.”

But you knew what he wasn’t saying.

He was worried.

And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you deserved it.

You swallowed, looking away. When you spoke again, your voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “I’m fine, Suguru.”

His jaw tensed slightly. “You keep saying that.”

You had no response. Because you both knew it wasn’t true.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before shaking his head. “God, you’re so damn stubborn.”

You scoffed, arms tightening around yourself. “Look who’s talking.”

For a second, something almost like amusement flickered across his face, but it was gone just as quickly. He studied you for a moment, then glanced back toward the fridge before walking over and grabbing the unopened bottle of water from the table. He tossed it lightly in your direction.

“Drink,” he said simply.

You caught it, fingers tightening around the plastic. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” His tone left no room for argument.

Rolling your eyes, you twisted the cap off and took a sip, if only to get him off your back. The water was cold, and the feeling of it sliding down your throat reminded you just how little you had actually eaten or drunk today.

Suguru sighed again, but this time, it wasn’t sharp or frustrated. Just… tired.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Your grip tightened around the bottle.

“I know,” you lied.

He didn’t call you out on it this time.

And yet, despite the tension, despite the silence that stretched between you like an unspoken confession, you were still grateful.

Because for the first time in a long time—at least for tonight—you weren’t completely alone.

Suguru leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, his sharp eyes watching you like he was debating his next words carefully. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the fridge, the distant noise of traffic outside.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Have you thought about baby stuff yet?”

You stiffened, your fingers still curled around the water bottle. “What?”

“You know.” He gestured vaguely with one hand. “Crib. Clothes. Stroller. All that.”

The words sent a shiver through you, an immediate reminder of the reality you kept trying to push to the back of your mind. You hadn’t thought about it. Not really. You bought a few plushies but that’s all. Every time you wanted to buy something more, your brain shut down. It was too much. Or too expensive.

Your silence was answer enough.

Suguru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he studied you. His expression wasn’t annoyed, but there was a weight to it—like he had already expected this answer but had still hoped for something different.

“You can’t just ignore it forever,” he said, voice firm but not unkind.

“I’m not ignoring it,” you muttered, gripping the water bottle tighter.

Suguru scoffed. “Really? Then where’s the crib?”

You exhaled sharply, looking away. “I’ll get to it.”

“When?”

The question hung in the air, and you hated how you didn’t have an answer. The truth was, you didn’t even know where to start. Every time you tried to imagine yourself shopping for baby things, walking through aisles of tiny clothes and bottles and strollers, a crushing sense of dread filled your chest.

Suguru must have seen something in your face because his stance softened slightly. “Look, I get it. It’s overwhelming. But the longer you wait, the harder it’s gonna be.”

You swallowed, staring at the floor. “I don’t even know what I need.”

“Then I’ll help,” he said simply.

That made you lift your head. “What?”

“I’ll help,” he repeated, pushing off the counter. “We’ll go baby shopping. Pick out the basics. It doesn’t have to be today, but soon. And we’ll figure out the crib situation too.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say. Suguru wasn’t the type to throw around empty offers, but you hadn’t expected this.

“…Why?” The word slipped out before you could stop it.

He frowned. “What do you mean, why?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said quietly. “This isn’t your responsibility.”

Suguru’s gaze darkened slightly, like the words annoyed him, but instead of snapping, he just exhaled through his nose. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna sit back and watch you drown either.”

Something about the way he said it made your throat tighten. You had no idea what you had done to deserve his kindness, but for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel completely alone in this.

“…Okay,” you murmured after a long pause. “We’ll go.”

Suguru nodded like that was all he needed to hear. “Good. I’ll send you some lists later so you can look through them first. We don’t have to get everything at once.”

You nodded absently, processing his words, but your mind was already spiraling. Baby shopping. Buying a crib. Preparing for a future that still felt impossible.

For the first time, it felt like things were really moving forward.

The sound of sneakers scuffing against the tiled floors filled the hallway as students moved between classes, their voices blending into an indistinct hum. Suguru barely paid attention to the noise, his mind elsewhere.

He leaned against his locker, arms crossed, his expression neutral but his thoughts anything but. Ever since he found out about her situation, he had been feeling… off. He wasn’t sure how to describe it—frustration, worry, a sense of obligation he couldn’t shake. She had always been independent, always kept her struggles to herself, and yet now she was in a situation where she shouldn’t have to be alone.

But she was.

And he was the only one who seemed to care.

Suguru wasn’t naive. He knew people in this school—their school—loved to talk, to whisper, to spread rumors. He had already overheard fragments of conversations.

“She just disappeared.”

“Did something happen?”

“She probably dropped out.”

“Good riddance.”

The last one had made his jaw clench.

Suguru exhaled sharply, pushing himself off the locker. He had been thinking about her a lot lately—the baby, the things she would need, the reality of what was coming. It wasn’t like she had anyone else to help her figure it out.

“You look deep in thought.”

A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see Shoko standing nearby. She leaned against the lockers, watching him with mild amusement.

he scoffed. “I always look deep in thought.”

Shoko smirked. “Yeah, but this time you look like you’re thinking a little too hard. What’s up?”

He hesitated. He hadn’t told anyone—not about her, not about the baby, nothing. It wasn’t his secret to share. But that didn’t mean the weight of it wasn’t getting to him.

“Nothing,” he finally said, shrugging.

Shoko raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, sighed before speaking again. “You going to that party this weekend?”

Suguru shook his head. “No.”

She gave him a curious look. “You? Skipping a party? That’s new.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze flickered down the hallway, landing on the familiar figure of his best friend. Gojo was in the middle of a group, grinning like he always did, throwing an arm around some girl’s shoulders as if the world was his to play with. He was laughing—loud, carefree, like nothing had changed.

And that was the problem.

Ever since she stopped coming to school, things had felt… off. At first, it had been subtle, something he only noticed in passing. A name missing from attendance. A glance toward an empty desk. But as the days turned into months, as she faded from the halls entirely, he realized something else—something that didn’t sit right with him.

Satoru.

Suguru had known Satoru for years. He knew his habits, his tells, the little things most people overlooked. And before, when she missed school for too long, Satoru would eventually bring her up. Not in any way that stood out—not with obvious concern or anything—but he’d mention her. A passing comment. A joke about her slacking off. A lazy, “Hey, your sister’s skipping again?” Something.

But now?

Nothing.

Suguru had waited, giving it time, expecting Satoru to ask about her at some point. He never did not even after 6 months.

And when Suguru tried to bring her up himself—casually, just a joke perhaps. Satoru would brush right past it, like he hadn’t heard him at all.

The first time, Suguru let it go. Maybe he was just distracted.

The second time, he took note of it.

The third time, he started paying closer attention.

Each time he mentioned her name, there was a barely noticeable shift in satoru‘s expression. A flicker of something—something Suguru couldn’t quite place—before his usual grin slid back into place. Like a mask snapping into position.

And that silence? It felt deliberate.

Suguru’s jaw tensed as he watched Satoru now, the way he threw his head back laughing, the way he carried himself so easily, like nothing in the world could bother him.

But something was bothering him.

He could feel it, that nagging feeling at the back of his mind, telling him that something wasn’t right. She never talked about him anymore. She never even said his name. And for someone as infuriating as Satoru, that alone was unusual.

He didn’t know what it meant yet. He didn’t know if it even did mean something.

But the uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away.

A familiar voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“What, did Satoru piss you off again?”

Shoko. She had sidled up next to him, her hands stuffed into her pockets, her sharp eyes scanning his face like she could see what he was thinking.

He clicked his tongue, rolling his shoulders back. “When does he not?”

She snorted. “Fair point.”

He didn’t say anything else, just adjusted his bag over his shoulder and started walking.

Shoko fell into step beside him, throwing him a sideways glance. “Try not to overthink yourself into an early grave, will you?”

He didn’t answer.

Because right now, overthinking was the only thing keeping him from shaking the feeling that something was wrong.

The door clicked shut behind Suguru, and the silence rushed back in like a wave, swallowing the apartment whole.

You stayed still for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had just stood. The lingering warmth of his presence clashed with the cold reality settling deep in your bones.

Baby shopping.

The words echoed in your head, strange and foreign. Like they belonged to someone else’s life, not yours.

You pressed a hand to your stomach, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your sweater. Suguru meant well. He always did. And part of you hated that—hated that he was trying so hard to take responsibility for something that wasn’t his burden to carry.

But what else could he do? He didn’t know the whole story.

He didn’t know who the father was.

He didn’t know what Gojo had done.

Your stomach twisted at the thought, nausea curling up the back of your throat. You pressed your palm harder against the fabric, as if that could somehow ground you, as if that could stop the flood of memories threatening to drown you.

Gojo.

You hadn’t spoken to him since that day. You hadn’t seen him in months. And yet, somehow, he still haunted you—lingering in the corners of your mind like a stain you couldn’t scrub out.

Suguru was wrong.

This wasn’t something you could just prepare for.

No amount of shopping or planning or well-meaning support could change the fact that this wasn’t supposed to happen. That this wasn’t fair.

Your throat felt tight, like something was lodged there, something heavy and impossible to swallow.

You turned away from the door, walking back toward the couch on unsteady legs. The apartment felt too quiet again, too empty.

A part of you wanted to reach for your phone, to text Suguru, to tell him you’d changed your mind. That you couldn’t do this. That you didn’t want to go out and pretend like this was just a normal pregnancy, like it was something you had wanted, like this was just another step in your life.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket over your shoulders, staring blankly at the opened bottle of water on the table.

The next day arrived sooner than you would have liked.

You barely slept.

The night had been a mess of tossing and turning, your mind refusing to shut off. Every time you closed your eyes, your thoughts spiraled back to the same inescapable truth—you were having a baby. And today, Suguru wanted to take you shopping, as if that would somehow make it all feel normal.

But nothing about this felt normal.

You stood in front of the mirror that morning, fingers gripping the hem of your oversized hoodie, tugging it down as far as it would go. The fabric bunched slightly under your hands before settling back into place, concealing everything underneath. You exhaled, slow and steady, tilting your head to the side as your gaze flickered downward, scanning your reflection with sharp, scrutinizing eyes.

Then—

A knock at the door.

The sudden noise cut through the stillness of your apartment, making you flinch. You turned your head slightly, staring toward the closed door, heartbeat quickening.

Suguru was here.

Already?

You blinked, caught off guard. Had time really gone by that quickly? It felt like just minutes ago that you were standing in this same spot, thinking about how he had been here the night before. And now he was back again, ready to take you baby shopping, as if this was some ordinary outing instead of the suffocating reality you were being forced to accept.

Your eyes drifted toward the clock hanging on the wall.

11:34 AM.

You frowned slightly. It was late enough that the city outside would already be bustling, the streets filled with people going about their day, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake the strange feeling that time was slipping through your fingers, moving too fast for you to keep up.

But it didn’t matter.

Suguru was here.

And whether you were ready or not, today was happening.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to move. Standing here, lost in your thoughts, wasn’t going to change anything. The knock came again, a little firmer this time, and you knew Suguru was probably getting impatient.

With one last glance at your reflection—one last reassurance that nothing showed—you turned on your heel and made your way to the door (not before putting on your jacket). Your fingers hesitated on the knob for just a second before you pulled it open.

Suguru stood there, dressed in a dark grey hoodie, black jacket and jeans, looking as casual as ever. His sharp eyes scanned over you quickly, assessing, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just lifted a brow.

“You ready?”

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Suguru hummed, stepping back to let you lock the apartment behind you. As the two of you made your way down the hallway, the silence felt heavy—not awkward, just filled with something unspoken.

It wasn’t until you reached his car that he finally spoke again.

“You eat yet?”

You sighed. “Suguru.”

“What?” He opened the passenger side door for you before walking around to his own. “I’m just asking.”

You slid into the seat, clicking your seatbelt into place. “I ate.” It wasn’t a complete lie—if a couple of crackers counted.

Suguru didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push, just started the car and pulled out onto the road.

The drive was quiet, the city passing by in a blur of buildings and people. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the movement outside, trying to push away the nerves crawling up your spine.

Baby shopping.

You still couldn’t wrap your head around it.

Suguru had mentioned it so casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn’t a reminder of everything you’d been trying not to think about. But now, sitting in the car, heading toward a store filled with things meant for a baby—your baby—it was impossible to ignore.

After a while, Suguru broke the silence.

“So, what do we actually need to get today?”

You let out a slow breath, fingers tightening in your lap. “I don’t know.”

Suguru glanced at you. “Well, we’re getting a crib for sure.”

You swallowed. “Right.”

“And clothes. And bottles. And whatever else babies need.”

Your stomach churned. The list was already too much.

Suguru must have noticed your expression, because he sighed. “Look, I know this is overwhelming.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “We’ll just take it one step at a time, alright?”

You didn’t answer. Because one step at a time still meant walking toward something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

When you arrived at the store, you hesitated at the entrance.

The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing rows and rows of baby supplies—cribs, strollers, clothes so tiny they looked unreal. The soft pastel colors and cheerful designs felt like they belonged to someone else’s life, not yours.

Suguru nudged your shoulder. “Come on.”

You took a step forward, following him inside, your movements stiff. The moment you entered, the atmosphere swallowed you whole—parents browsing, employees chatting, soft music playing overhead. Everything felt too real.

Suguru walked ahead, making a beeline toward the cribs. You trailed behind, feeling out of place among all the expecting mothers who looked excited to be here.

You weren’t excited.

You didn’t even know what you were supposed to be looking for.

Suguru, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine. He ran a hand over one of the cribs, inspecting it like he actually knew what he was doing.

“This one looks sturdy,” he said, knocking against the frame.

You stared at him. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”

Suguru smirked. “I do my research.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Of course you do.”

After a moment, he gave you a look. “What about you? Any preferences?”

You looked at the cribs, at the neatly arranged nursery sets, at the price tags that made your stomach twist.

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

Suguru nodded like he expected that answer. “Alright. We’ll find one together.”

And just like that, he started going through the options, testing them out, asking you what you thought. He never rushed you, never made you feel like you had to choose something.

Little by little, the tension in your shoulders eased.

Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely alone in this after all.

You ran your fingers over the smooth edge of a crib, your mind still foggy from everything around you. The store was filled with cheerful pastels, tiny clothes folded neatly on display, and stuffed animals lined up like they were waiting for someone to take them home. Everything about this place felt too bright, too warm—too hopeful for someone like you.

Suguru was still focused on the crib selection, pressing down on the mattress of one, testing the sturdiness of another. He seemed oddly comfortable here, like he had been preparing for this moment far longer than you had.

“You’re supposed to check if the bars are too far apart,” he muttered, running his fingers between them. “So the baby doesn’t get their head stuck.”

You blinked at him. “Since when did you know so much about baby stuff?”

Suguru didn’t even look at you when he replied. “Google.”

That actually made you let out a small laugh. “You’ve been Googling baby things?”

He shrugged, setting the car seat back on the shelf. “If we’re gonna do this, we might as well do it right.”

We.

The word sat heavy in your chest. You knew he meant it in a practical way, in the way a responsible older brother would. But something about it made you feel like you were holding onto a lifeline, like maybe you weren’t entirely alone in this.

Still, the reality of everything crept back in as you wandered toward the clothing section. You hadn’t really thought about it before—not the clothes, not the blankets, not the fact that soon, there would be a tiny person who needed all of these things.

Your fingers brushed against a small yellow onesie, the fabric impossibly soft beneath your touch. You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump forming in your throat. Could you really do this? Could you bring a child into your life when you could barely take care of yourself?

“You okay?”

Suguru’s voice snapped you back to the present, and you quickly dropped your hand to your side. “Yeah.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he grabbed a pack of baby socks and tossed them into the cart. “They’ll need these, right?”

You nodded, grateful that he was keeping things moving.

For the next hour, the two of you wandered through the store, picking out essentials—bottles, blankets, diapers, things you wouldn’t have even thought about if Suguru weren’t there. He moved methodically, as if he had a checklist in his head, while you mostly followed along, letting him lead.

You were staring blankly at a shelf of baby wipes when his voice cut through the air—careful, deliberate.

“So… what about the father?”

Your whole body stiffened.

The air in the store felt different, heavier, as if the walls had suddenly closed in. The noise around you faded, distant chatter blending into the hum of the overhead lights.

Suguru wasn’t looking at you. He was pretending to examine a pack of pacifiers, but his voice was too casual, too measured. Like he had been waiting to ask this. Which you guess he did. You two never talked about the father.

You swallowed, gripping the cart handle a little tighter. “What about him?”

Suguru sighed, turning to fully face you. His expression wasn’t accusing, but there was something in his eyes—something searching. “You never talk about him.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“That’s bullshit.” His voice was steady, but not unkind. “He knows, right?”

Your nails pressed into your palm. “Suguru—”

“Does he?”

You inhaled slowly, trying to keep your voice even. “It doesn’t matter.”

Suguru just stood there, waiting. He wasn’t the type to let things go easily, and you could feel the weight of his stare, pressing down on you, looking for the cracks in your walls.

For a second, you considered telling him. Just blurting everything out, letting the truth spill into the empty space between you.

But you didn’t.

Because saying it out loud would make it real. So instead, you did what you always did. You deflected. Keeping it all to yourself.

“It’s not important,” you said, reaching for a pack of bibs and dropping them into the cart. “Can we just finish shopping?”

Suguru didn’t move. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was debating whether or not to push.

For a moment, you thought he actually would. But then he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Fine. But you do know that we‘ll have to have this conversation sooner or later—”

„Yes“

The conversation ended there, but you both knew this wasn’t over. Because Suguru wasn’t stupid. And sooner or later, he was going to start asking the real questions.

But first— baby shopping.

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darnell-la · 9 months ago

Note

I can't stop thinking about how Logan would be like "yeah those boys are not enough for you you need a man like me to take care of you" pleeeese do a story based on that <3 Love you guys works btw

note: Logan Howlett is an eater.

———

Logan had originally come to y/n’s apartment to drop off dinner. Wade had told him she hadn’t been eating proper food because of her study hours, so he cooked and packed it, ready to foul her up.

When he arrived, he heard noises from the young woman’s room. Two voice. Hers and someone else’s. A man’s. A boy.

He held himself together, understanding that she was young and experimenting. At least she better be. She shouldn’t be dating right now. He won’t allow it.

The man went to turn around and leave, maybe come back in an hour, but he heard a moan. Her moan. “Fuck no,” the man said, changing his mind about experimenting after he heard her with another man.

“Y/n!” The man knocked on the door hard, making the two jump in the bed. “Fuck, that’s Logan — M-My friend’s friend. My friend. J-Just get dressed,” y/n got up quick as well as the boy.

“Goddamnit,” he cussed, angry that he didn’t get to finish after touching y/n for the longest to get her wet. “Can you just like shoo him away or somethin? I’m fucking hard,” the boy said.

“I can’t, he’s like family. And he wouldn’t leave anyway,” she said, making the boy roll her eyes. “Get him outta here or I ain’t comin’ back,” the boy said, making her roll her eyes, but she was also horny now. She needed something.

Y/n cracked the door, hoping to talk with Logan for a quick second before sending him off, but he pushed open the door, causing Y/n to fall back.

“You ain’t comin’ back. Get the fuck out,” Logan snapped at the boy. His attitude was unacceptable. Even his appearance in her room was unacceptable.

“Dude, get out of here — We just got-“ Before he could say anything, Logan grabbed the boy by his collar and pulled him out of her room. “Don’t come back, or you’ll regret it,”

Logan shut the door and then turned to look at y/n who was embarrassed. “Logan, I-“ she went to say but he cut her off. “You what? Fuck boys during your study time?”

“What!? No, I- I mean — Logan, why are you here?” She asked, trying to switch the conversation which made him chuckle. “To give you dinner that you never have time to eat. Now I see why,”

Y/n felt bad. Now Logan knew she didn’t show up on Friday nights because she was fucking some random boy.

“You ditch family for a boy that can’t respect you? Let alone, properly make you wet!?” The man asked, shocking y/n. “H-He does make me wet,” y/n said, not knowing why she would tell Logan that. She just felt defensive.

“Oh, really? You know I can smell ya, Bub. Right?” Logan asked the young lady as he placed her dinner down on a desk before walking towards her. “And you’re already all dried up,”

“Logan that’s- That’s very inappropriate,” she said as she backed up, the back of her legs hitting her bed. “Is it? Then I must be a nasty son of a bitch, because I smell for you every time I’m around you,”

Y/n didn’t know how that got her on her bed, spread open for him, but she was, legs spread and cunt leaking as he stuffed his face in between her legs.

“So fuckin’ tasty. Gotta lick that son of a bitch off of you,” Logan groaned onto her heat as her hands tangled in his hair. “Oh god, Logan,” y/n threw her head back as her bud swole.

“Sweetest pussy that lives, baby. So fuckin’ good,” Logan couldn’t stop eating at her. He lifted a hand up and used two fingers to push at her entrance until he could curl in the right spot.

“F-Fuck,” y/n cried, making him lean back to watch her as he finger fucked her cunt. “You like that?” Logan asked as she nodded, head still leaned back and eyes closed.

“Yeah? Gonna start callin’ me instead of the boys?” He asked her, making her nod quickly. “Yeah, these boys aren’t enough for you. You need a man like me to take care of you,”

Y/n whined as she grinned at his fingers, chasing her orgasm. She was close, and he had just started. He was definitely better than any boy she’d been with. He was even better than herself.

“Give it to me, baby — Cum on my face — Need my face drenched,” the man looked into the girl's eyes and began to cross and roll back.

“C’mon, baby, give it to me — Give it to your man,” Logan kitty licked her bud to give her a better sensation that Wii jot sent her over the edge with a loud moan.

Logan latched his lips around her lips as he continued fingering her, humming into her cunt to get this amazing feeling in.

She tried to push the man off and close her legs, but he kept slapping her hands away and speeding her legs further with his free hand.

“G-God, Logan,” y/n cried out, feeling a bit embarrassed, and he felt it. He slightly loved the idea of her being shy from now on. The animal in him loved the look of a deer in headlights.

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yeonjuns-beanie · 9 months ago

Text

As It Was

warnings: 18+, weed usage, smut, unprotected sex, soulmate au(kind of), little hatefuckin before real fucking, reader is a brat, mentions of suicide, oral(f receiving, logan is an EATER), claws come out when he…, little bit of primal play, breeding kink, daddy kink, implied age gap cuz i think it’s hot, im prolly gonna write him like an animal, think that’s it!! LOL

Logan Howlett x female!reader

summary: after saving his world from extinction, wade brings home a wolverine. you feel a tether to him but can't quite figure out what it is, but logan does. as the days go by you slowly chip away at the wall between you two and things slowly return to as it was.

word count: 4.5k

title is inspired by the hozier song of the same name....

It’s been three months now and you still couldn’t figure out the pull you felt toward Logan. The moment Wade brought him through the door, Mary Puppins in hand, you felt a tie to him. Now, it was as if the Red String of Fate was punishing you for not remembering your connection with him. It was haunting, aggravating, and pushing you towards sexual frustration because no matter how much you tried to remember, your thoughts would instantly become clouded with your attraction to him. He was brooding, grumpy, and humorous when he wanted to. The stoic exterior of him was just that, a shell. You just weren’t quite sure how to crack his nut yet.

You were sat in the main room of the apartment grinding up some green to pack a morning bowl. As you were getting ready to fill the glass you heard Wade’s voice echo through the apartment.

“You always grind Aunt Mary so hard. Don’t you think she would like to be loved tenderly, sugarbear?”

“And the last time I gave you the grinder there might as well have been a whole nug in the bowl. You damn near burned half my stash.”

“You’d think living with three addicts would be fun, but it’s more like babysitting toddlers fighting to see who can ruin my day first. Spoiler: it’s everyone.”

You chuckled, slotting the bowl into the joint of the bong, and pointed at Wade with it.

“You wanna hit this or not?”

“‘Course I do. How could I pass up a wake n bake with my girl?”

Wade jogged over to you, plopping dramatically on the seat next to you. Rolling your eyes, you took the first hit letting Wade finish off the remaining smoke in the shaft. Exhaling you spoke while the smoke billowed out of your mouth.

“Wade, baby, I love you, but I’m not your girl. What about Nessa?”

Before he spoke, he had his coughing fit like clockwork. Every time, no matter the method, resulted in a cough so bad he looked like a drooling dog. It was free entertainment but you tried your hardest not to laugh out loud because every time you did, it made it worse.

You couldn’t hold it

It was like watching a court jester and when Wade finally caught his breath he was staring off at a wall in the apartment mindlessly reaching for the glass. When his hand was left fondling the air reaching nothing, you let your laugh echo through the apartment.

“You sure you want another one?”

“Just gimme the weed, gorgeous. And to answer your question. Vanessa and I are on a break of sorts, but I’m wounded that I now have lost you too. It’s cause I brought Peanut here isn’t it?”

Wade was feigning heartbreak, just busting your balls in an effort to see if you’d crack. Your relationship was always like this and that was probably why you two got along so well. Nothing was ever too serious and yet still completely vulnerable. As wild as he was, Wade was a safe space for you and for some reason this morning, you felt like sharing.

“Perhaps.”

His head whipped so fast you thought it’d fly off. Coupled with his dramatic gasp and chest grab you nearly regretted your admission.

“I knew it!”

“Will you keep it down, it’s not that serious.”

“Au contraire. This is probably the most serious thing since Blind Al ran out of Peruvian marching powder.”

Rolling your eyes, you swallowed your pride as you knew Wade wouldn’t let it go until you told him every detail possible. As much as you pretended you hated divulging this information, it was kinda nice to let out to somebody. You’d been wrestling with so many feelings since Wade brought Logan to stay with you guys and the weight of it was becoming painful.

“Well, he’s hot obviously.”

“Tell me something more interesting, we all disrespectfully gawk at the honey badger.” Wade quipped.

“The problem is I feel this weird attachment to him. Like I’ve known him before. Maybe we met before they tried their best to wipe my memory, but I can’t shake this one. I’m drawn to him but he won’t let anyone get close enough to figure that out.”

You had your own run-in with the TVA a few years ago and instead of dumping you into the void, they were nice enough to plop you in Earth-10005. You were grateful considering the stories of this barren garbage heap that Wade and Logan told you about but you couldn’t remember why they sent you here in the first place.

You had no real memory of your life before this or what you did that fucked you up so badly. It always haunted you. Maybe you were a murderer. A merciless killer and that’s why they snagged you. A similar fate to Wade’s but they decided somewhere that you weren’t equipped for the job and the TVA orphaned you to another universe.

You weren’t complaining, you loved the life that you had now you just wanted to remember the rest of you. You were roaming this universe, a husk of your former self and no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t bother you, it did. It kept you up at night. Until Logan walked through the apartment door.

Slowly, things started to reveal themselves to you but only in a dream. You were forced to piece together your life with the shattered fragments of what your dreamscape gave you to work with. You’d wake up from the most vivid dreams only to remember one instance where you were walking down a street, the sky pouring rain in a godly attempt to cleanse you. Your hands were always coated in crimson when you looked down.

It’d come in flashes and it’d end just as fast. You were patient with yourself but a lot of times you tried to drown out the feeling with various substances. Weed being your vice of choice as alcohol made you suffer. Making you wish that an attempt of self-mutilation or the bittersweet release of dancing with death while your wrists stained the floor garnet succeeded.

They never did.

So you tried your best to make peace with your life and you were doing alright until Logan showed up. Now the universe was mocking you. Testing to see if you’d slip up and forget everything you learned.

“I think he’d like to figure you out, y/n. Do with that what you will.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Wade shrugged his shoulders handing you the bong back. As he stood up you took one last hit and left the glass piece on the table. As you exhaled, Logan’s voice pierced through the silence.

“Jesus. D’ya have to stink up the apartment with that shit? Can’t go outside?”

“Easy, peanut. The art of the wake n bake is sacred. Plus, talk to the gardener if you have requests to make, not me.”

Wade pointed to you as he wandered off into the kitchen and you reached for the bong motioning it to Logan.

“Wanna hit?”

Logan hit you with a short ‘no’ and it almost hurt your feelings. Your gaze flicked over to Wade who was mouthing to you something you couldn’t quite make out but he was pointing to Logan while doing it. Your brain spazzed for a moment before coming up with a response as you stood.

“You want coffee or something, Lo?”

“Sure, kid.”

You walked into the kitchen with Wade and started whispering to him.

“What the fuck? Of course, he comes out while I’m blowing up the house.”

“I don’t see why you’re worried, he doesn’t seem upset.”

You turned around trying your best not to look suspicious.

“Yes, the fuck he does. I’m gonna fuck this up before I even get the chance to start-”

“-You two morons know I can hear you, right?”

You hung your head in defeat finishing up the two cups before setting one in front of Logan and holding yours while you stood. The air was thick, but not uncomfortable. It just felt like everyone needed to get something off their chest and didn’t know how to start. Before you opened your mouth to speak, Wade’s voice cut you off while he sent a text message.

“Well, I’m gonna leave you lovebirds to it. I’ve got a pegging date.”

Again. Mocking you. The universe seemed to just have it out for you and apparently, today was the day of honesty. You took a seat across from Logan wondering where to direct the conversation.

“You hungry? I can make us something.”

“I’m alright kid, not too keen on stoner food in the morning.”

“Hey, I’m still a good cook when I’m cooked. I just wanted to offer.” You paused.

“Also if you have a problem with it, I’ll find a new spot. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

“No need. Just giving you guys a hard time. We all have something to cope with our shit.”

You nodded knowing he was referencing his drinking habit, or problem if we were feeling honest. You left your coffee cup on the table and stood up, wanting to Irish goodbye in your own home. But you didn’t want to add any more bricks to this wall even though it felt like the silence was already doing so.

“Well, um. I’m gonna chill out for a bit in my room if you need anything.”

He hummed to let you know he heard you and you walked down the hallway to your bedroom before stopping in your tracks. Something possessed you and you had to get this out. The test was walking away and if you finished that journey into your bedroom and locked the door, nothing would be resolved. Turning on your heel, you walked back into the kitchen and faced Logan.

“Why do you hate me?”

He nearly choked on his coffee, the noise echoing in the cup.

“What?”

You sighed, trying to not feel silly about your admission.

“Why do you hate me? And if you don’t, why do you act like it? It’s so hard to get through to you and it feels like I’m talking to a fucking wall.”

“Kid-”

“And stop ‘kid’ing me! If it’s out of endearment it doesn’t feel like it.”

Your heart rate was rising and you could feel your skin getting hot. The months of pent up emotions were finally boiling over and you couldn’t stop it. You needed to know why.

“What is it then, y/n?”

“Why can’t I get through to you? Every time I try, you shut me down by being curt with me and I’m left with the same feeling as before. I can’t shake this feeling that I know you and I can’t even get close to you without you shoving me away like I have a fatal disease. So why, Logan? All I wanna know is why?”

He sighed knowing there was no easy way to escape this.

“Kid–sorry. It’s complicated. I know that feeling. I feel it too, but I know why it’s there and I don’t want to fuck it up again.”

Again?

“What do you mean again?”

Logan sighed and said nothing. Hanging his head in what you thought was shame but most definitely could be avoidance. It frustrated you even more so because why couldn’t he just talk to you?

“Here we go again, nothing?! Is it so hard to just say what this is?”

“It’s not that simple, bub.”

You scoffed and turned around to walk to your room. You needed to clear your head because it was more than apparent that a solution would not be provided for you. Logan didn’t have the courage to reveal what he knew so a walk away from him would have to suffice.

“Y/n! Where are you going?”

“I need to clear my head since obviously you don’t have the gall to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Slipping your shoes on, you tried to move past Logan but he was blocking the doorway.

“Move.”

“Y/n. Just-”

“I said move, Logan.”

One wall after another you kept hitting, except this one was physically him. He nearly filled up the doorway and his frame was imposing. You tried to figure out how you’d slip past him but you were so heated that you were about to settle for dramatics before he moved his body just enough for you to slip past. You stared at him, looking for something in his eyes to tell you to stay but it just made you more irritated. You walked down the hallway and almost made it to the door before you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.

“Do you get a kick out of torturing me or something?”

“Sweetheart, if you just—just sit down and let me say what I need to say.”

“Oh, now you wanna fucking talk. Let go of me. I’m not in the mood to talk anymore.”

Logan’s grip on you tightened as you struggled against him and you pushed on his chest trying to get him off of you. He was stunned by your actions and so were you but you couldn’t stop. You kept pushing him away from you until he grabbed your upper arms stabilizing you but you still were pressing your hands against his chest. He was calling your name trying to calm you down but you were too lost in your emotions. You thrashed your head up, trying to plead with him silently to let you go even though you knew that was the last thing you wanted.

When your eyes met his, one of his hands cradled the back of your head and before you could register it, his lips were slotted against yours in a moment of desire and exasperation. Bated breath, fury, and sexual confusion fueled the kiss but you’d be a liar to say you didn’t enjoy this feeling. His body flesh against yours, the heat bouncing between the two of you nearly suffocating and it had only been seconds. Logan had you pressed against the wall his hands roaming the curves of your body and his knee slotted itself in between your thighs, completely caging you against him.

He pushed his knee up into the apex of your thighs applying a delicate pressure to your center. You moaned against him, your body rolling your hips into the feeling. His hands were roaming over your body in a frenzy, like if he didn’t touch you fast enough you’d disappear. Your hands wrapped into his hair, pulling on his sandy brown locks as you tried to stabilize yourself into the feeling.

Logan pulled away from you, a string of spit the only thing left connecting you two until it broke and you felt the cold air vaporize the heat on your swollen lips. You were staring at his features, locked in his gaze hoping that if you didn’t break eye contact he’d stay right here. His gruff voice broke the heady silence.

“Since you wanna be a brat and not talk anymore, I have no choice but to show you how I feel, sugar.”

Logan slid his hands down until they were underneath the swell of your ass and told you to jump. As your legs wrapped around his waist, he walked down the hallway to your room. His senses were incredibly heightened at this moment and when he breached the threshold of your room, he was intoxicated by the smell of you swirling the room.

As he laid you down on your bed, your scent wafted off of the sheets with a gentle breeze and he was soon surrounded by a nest of you and your arousal. He prowled over your body, taking you in and memorizing every inch of you, how you were restless against him, and how your lower half mindlessly moved against him in desperate need of some sort of friction.

He uttered a low growl against you as he snaked up to your neck leaving a string of hot kisses against your skin. The scruff of his beard nearly overstimulated you and had you clawing at his skin, frantic in your efforts, soft moans escaped your lips in wordless need of feeling something more.

“Don’t wanna talk but I got you whimpering for me, huh princess?”

“Lo-”

“Shh, baby. I got you.”

Logan bit your ear, pulling at the skin before he tugged at the bottom of your shirt and you lifted your back just enough so that he could slip it off of you. Your upper body was fully exposed to him as your tits pancaked on your chest. As he lowered his face back down to your body, he trailed down your skin with his nose inhaling every last inch of you. The action was so subdued in comparison to the rest of his demeanor that you got completely lost in the feeling.

As his face met your stomach, the scent of your arousal was incredibly inebriating, deluging his mind with salacity. He traced the waistband of your shorts with his nose, encasing his teeth around the elastic piece of fabric before replacing his mouth with his hands as he languidly pulled them down your legs. Tossing them across the room he looked up at you.

“You want this?”

“Please.” You mewled out.

Logan shoved his nose against your panties inhaling your scent before rubbing your bud through the fabric as he came back up your body to capture your lips in a searing kiss. He pulled your panties from your body, your slick stretching as the fabric left your messy lips. The cool air was welcomed but was soon replaced by the warmth of Logan’s mouth against your petals.

He lapped at you like a dog. A wanton primal need taking over his senses. He wanted to be enveloped in you and you in him. In every timeline, he’d claim you and this one was no different. You tangled your hands in his hair, rolling your pussy into his face as he sloppily ate you out. His hands were wrapped around your hips holding you in place as he greedily drank you in.

You could feel the spit dripping down your folds and forming a cool pool of fervour beneath your skin. Eyes rolling back in ecstasy you could feel your orgasm begin to settle in your lower stomach, heat rippling across your skin. Your moans increased in frequency but became more breathy in nature as you came closer to your high.

Logan’s hand snaked up your curves and his fingers teased your nipples, pulling and pinching at the sensitive skin as he felt your body grow more tense with desire. Dragging his calloused hands down your body one last time, he inserted a finger into your wet, libertine cavern and you sucked him in with need. The stretch of him adding a second finger pushing you right to your edge as he curled them inside of you.

“Lo- I’m gonna-”

“I know, sugar. Let it out. Lemme hear you”

He immediately put his tongue back on your clit, and let you ride out your high against his face. Your moans gained volume completely immersed in the pleasure. When the ripples of euphoria finally dwindled, you looked down at Logan and pulled him up to your face so you could kiss him. The tang of your sex was still present on his lips and it ignited something within you.

“You got too many fuckin clothes on, Daddy.”

You were breathless. Lost in a licentious rhapsody as you had him hovering over your body and when Logan paused his movements to look at you, you thought you ruined the moment. He could smell the change in you and spoke before you had the chance to apologize for nothing.

“Say it again.”

He could feel you heartbeat pounding in your chest, arousal returning to the forefront of your mind.

“Wanna see you. Feel all of you, Daddy.”

Your voice was dripping sex, his personal psychedelic. He freed himself from his beater and you palmed his bulge through his sweats. Slipping your hand past the waistband, you stroked his heavy cock.

“Lemme make you feel good.”

You were getting ready to flip your bodies over, but Logan pinned you to the bed his eyes boring through you. You felt so small underneath him, like he could do whatever he wanted to you and you’d let him. When he spoke he broke you from the trance.

“Another time, sweetheart. This is about showing you how I feel about you since my baby needs me to spell it out for her.”

Slipping out of his sweats his cock was on full display, so heavy that it didn’t have the spring to bounce against his stomach. It hung in front of him, heady and in desperate need to be inside of you. Precum and prurience leaked from his tip. Logan crawled on top of you, the tip of his cock rubbing between your folds, coating your slick across his shaft.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

You squeezed around nothing, the action not going unnoticed by Logan. You mewled against him, just wanting him to ravish you in every way possible. You wanted to be marked, for everyone to see that you belonged to him but you couldn’t find the words to articulate this feeling while this sexual heat was radiating off of your bodies and numbing your mind.

Logan slowly pushed his tip into your rapt cunt before pulling it out and sliding it against your clit. The withdrawal of pleasure bringing you to your senses.

“I want you to make me yours. Wanna belong to you, Lo.”

You were wanton with need. The desire for him became nearly unbearable and it was all soon resolved as he pushed his cock past your pious walls, defiling you of any innocence you had left. You wanted to be claimed, he’d claim you. Animal instinct took over as he rocked his hips into your cunt, your walls fluttering around him in ardor. Low growls left his throat as he nipped at the skin on your neck, alternating between kissing the marks and swiping them with his tongue. He was marking you, making you his own.

It was like he couldn’t get close enough to you as he thrusted into you. His arms wrapped around your body as you fell limp to the pleasure. You felt another orgasm on the horizon and you tried your best to warn Logan by sinking your nails into his back, leaving red trails of morbid desire to mark him as yours. You didn’t realize the amount of pressure you were putting on his skin, but the groans that left him had that concern pushed to the back of your mind. Your orgasm washed over you and your pussy squeezed so tight around him that you nearly pushed him out of you. You were entranced, drunk on him and his cock, still desperate for more.

It was like he could hear your thoughts because as soon as you thought of a second round, Logan was flipping you on your hands and knees and you arched your back as he rubbed his hand along the small of it, accentuating your arch. His cock filled your sugared walls one more time and as he buried himself to the hilt. Wrapping a hand around your neck, he brought your body flesh against his.

“Gonna fuckin breed you. Never gonna forget you who belong to, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the preemptive squeezing of his cock at the mention of him breeding you. The thought of him filling you with all of him was grossly erotic and Logan took the chance to taunt you.

“Oh? You like that, huh? Want daddy to breed your pretty little pussy?”

You hummed, your eyes lidded as you tried to see him over your shoulder. Sweat was sticking your bodies together and you only noticed how hot it was between the two of you when he pushed your body forward, cool air hitting your back as he began to mold your cunt to the shape of his cock. His tip was kissing your cervix and repeatedly hit that spot deep inside of you that made you squirm against his body.

His thrusts were becoming sloppy, his breaths ragged and you could feel your third orgasm of the night creeping on you. Low growls complimented the whimpers that were leaving your mouth and being somewhat muffled by the fabric of your sheets. You couldn’t hold his hips against you to ensure that he stayed inside so you just whimpered out a small ‘inside’ as you felt your orgasm begin to wash over your body.

Logan wasn’t far behind, one hand resting on your hips and his other by your head steadying himself above you. Sinking his teeth into your neck, you cried out in avidity and rapture filled his veins before painting his seed across your walls. You heard a faint schwing and as you opened your eyes, you saw that his claws were extended. As you moved your hips back into him to fuck you through the rest of your high, you accidentally nicked yourself on one of his blades. He hissed against you uttering a strained ‘don’t move’ as the luxuria dissipated in his body.

As he calmed down, his claws retracted back into skin and he gently rolled you over to gaze over your features. He moved a few sweat-stricken pieces of hair off of your face and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, which was such a contrast from before. Pulling out of you he pushed himself off the bed.

“Be right back.”

Returning with a warm towel, he cleaned you up and grabbed a shirt from one of your drawers waiting for you to put it in before sliding next to you in the bed. You curled into him, tracing patterns into his chest. Looking up at him, you felt none of the tension from before in the room and you decided that this would be the time.

“So, what did you mean by ‘again’ earlier?”

Logan sighed but not out of exasperation like it was earlier, it was softer this time.

“In my world, we were together. That’s the pull you feel. But in like so many other areas in that timeline, I fucked up and I lost you. I’d rather have kept you at a distance than not have you at all, but I fucked that up too, now.”

He laughed the last bit out, a touch of humor apparent in his delivery. Sighing, you felt like something could work here between the two of you.

“Well, whenever you’re ready to tell me what happened between your timeline’s me and you, I’ll wait patiently for it. But until then, know that you’re not losing me here. I’m yours as long as you want me.”

You didn’t expect a response from him, nor did you feel like you really needed one. You wanted to relish in this moment between the two of you and soon enough sleep overtook both of your forms.

~Just as it was, baby Before the otherness came And I knew its name The love, the dark, the light, the flame~

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #deadpool & wolverine #logan howlett imagine #wolverine imagine #x men smut #older logan #deadpool and wolverine smut #marvel smut #marvel mcu #mcu #james howlett #wolverine fanfiction #hugh jackman

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capuccinodoll · 4 months ago

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The boyfriend act, part 4: "The one with bruises and blue excuses" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: After a difficult night, your emotions rise to the surface when Frankie unknowingly reminds you of the reality between you. WC: 9.8k

A/N: Ok. Already february 14th in my country. Happy Valentine's day and Frankie Friday to all of you. I love you all <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

You drifted into consciousness slowly, the weight on your chest shifting, inching closer to your face. Something warm and insistent, a presence demanding attention. When you finally pried your eyes open, Mr. Darcy was there, looming over you, his whiskered face pressed unceremoniously against yours, his nose grazing your chin. He let out a soft meow before inching forward again, catching a strand of your hair between his teeth and tugging with quiet determination. A statement. A demand.

“Darcy,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep. “Are you starving?”

With a lazy sweep of your arm, you nudged him aside, rolling onto your back, propping yourself up just enough to rub at your eyes. And that’s when the pain bloomed—sharp and immediate—right in the center of your face. Your fingers found your mouth first, the skin swollen and tender, then your nose, sore beneath the tentative press of your touch.

You exhaled slowly, eyes slipping closed again as the memory of last night resurfaced in fragments. The dull thud of impact. The mortifying rush of heat to your face. The sharp sting of embarrassment that lingered even now.

Christ. What a disaster.

Darcy meowed again, insistent, his round eyes fixed on you like he could sense your spiraling thoughts.

With a quiet groan, you pushed the blankets back, your bare feet meeting the cold floor, a sharp contrast to the warmth of sleep still clinging to your skin. The movement felt sluggish, like wading through water. You crossed the room and stepped into the bathroom, flicking on the light.

The mirror was merciless. Puffy eyes, a shadow of exhaustion beneath them, and the telltale evidence of last night’s fall marking your lips and nose. You looked wrecked. And you felt it, too—something heavy settling in your chest, thick with the weight of regret or frustration or something close to both.

From the doorway, Darcy sat watching, patient but unrelenting. You met his gaze, something fond tugging at the corner of your mouth despite everything.

A second later, your clothes pooled at your feet, and you stepped into the shower, turning the knob until the water cascaded over your body, washing away the lingering traces of last night, soothing the dull ache beneath your skin. Your stomach twisted in protest—empty, impatient. You let yourself imagine breakfast: coffee, something warm, something heavy and sweet. The thought propelled you to rinse the last of the suds from your skin, dragging bubbles over your arms, your neck, your aching knees, where the water stung. A birthday souvenir, you thought.

Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a towel, the fabric clinging to your damp skin as you moved toward your room. Your gaze swept over the space, searching for your phone. Not on the nightstand. Not under the pillow. You crouched to peer beneath the bed, but it wasn’t there either. A sharp pulse in your skull pulled you upright, and you winced. Tequila. Too much of it, too late in the night.

Then it came to you—your purse. And your phone, most likely still inside it. You traced the memory back: the party, the dim glow of the living room, the moment you had tossed your bag aside, distracted by something—no, by someone. Mr. Darcy. Right.

With your towel knotted at your chest, your hair damp and dripping onto your bare shoulders, you stepped into the hallway. The kitchen was empty, nothing but the faint scent of stale coffee lingering in the air. But then, near the door, a familiar shape caught your eye.

You moved quickly, lowering yourself into a crouch, a quiet groan escaping your lips as you reached for the bag. The leather was cool against your fingers as you dug inside, searching until—there. You pulled out your phone, touching it out of habit, only to be met with a blank screen. Dead. You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes at yourself. Of course.

You turned on your heel, still staring at the dead screen of your phone, when a sound shattered the quiet, sent a shockwave through your chest.

A voice. Too close.

“Hey—”

“Oh my God!” The words ripped out of you as you spun, pure instinct taking over. Before you could think, your arm swung back and then forward, launching your phone straight at the intruder.

“Wait—fuck!” The voice turned sharp, followed by a dull thwack as the device smacked into flesh.

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Your hands flew to your mouth. It wasn’t a masked intruder, not some stranger lurking in the dark. It was Frankie.

Bent over, both hands gripping his face, he let out a low string of curses. His hair stuck out at odd angles, his shirt was wrinkled and speckled with blood, and he looked—well, rough. Like he’d been through something.

“You almost killed me,” you gasped, stepping closer, trying to get a look at his face. “You can’t just stand there in total silence like some kind of serial killer like—are you okay?”

You reached out instinctively, but he jerked back. And then it hit you—you were naked.

Well, wrapped in a towel, but still.

You clutched the fabric tighter against your chest, fingers curling into the edge. Frankie exhaled sharply and finally dropped his hands, revealing the damage.

“Oh—ugh,” you grimaced. “Shit. Sorry. Sorry, sorry—”

Ignoring his glare, you leaned in, fingers brushing his chin as you tilted his face toward the light. A red mark bloomed across the bridge of his nose, right where your phone had struck. A thin cut had opened just enough to show the first hint of blood. Not awful, but bad enough to look painful. His eyes were glassy, the kind of involuntary reaction pain pulls out of you before you can stop it.

Your fingertips ghosted over the swollen skin.

“Careful,” he muttered, voice low, edged with irritation.

You pulled your hand back and scowled at him.

“I’m trying to be careful. But you can’t just—just appear out of nowhere like that. And I thought you left? Weren’t you getting an Uber last night?”

He straightened up slightly, still wincing.

“I didn’t just appear. I’ve been on the couch the whole time.”

You blinked. “So you slept here?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah. I was about to leave, but then I—” He waved vaguely. “—passed out.”

“Oh,” you said, nodding slowly, like that somehow made sense.

You turned before you could dwell on it, heading toward the hallway, your back to him.

“I’m getting dressed. I’ll be right back.”

Behind you, Frankie exhaled. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah.”

Dressed now, you stepped out of your room, tugging at the hem of an oversized T-shirt—clean, cool, soft against your skin. Your pajama shorts barely peeked out from underneath. You had no intention of leaving the house today.

In the kitchen, Mr. Darcy twined around your legs, his fur warm against your bare skin. You bent down to refill his dish, scratching lightly behind his ears as he purred in gratitude. The coffee maker gurgled, filling the air with the sharp, familiar scent of morning. You grabbed a piece of bread, biting off a corner as you moved, walking quickly toward the bathroom, barefoot steps light against the floor.

You knocked three times, but no one answered.

You knocked again.

“Francis—”

The door swung open before you could finish.

Frankie leaned against the frame, head tipped slightly, eyes still swollen with sleep. His face was damp, beads of water clinging to the edges of his jaw. He looked softer like this, in the quiet. Less like the man you spent most of your time arguing with.

Your gaze dropped to his nose, and—oh. Shit. The bruise was darker now, spreading along the bridge, a shadow forming just beneath his right eye. You winced before you could stop yourself, then quickly smoothed out your expression.

“I—” You cleared your throat. “Do you want coffee?”

He blinked at you, like the question required effort to process.

“Yes?”

“That’s not an answer. Yes or no?”

He exhaled. “Sure, I guess.”

“Toast? Or cereal? I have fruit, too.”

“Um, toast is fine.”

“Okay.” You nodded, already turning back toward the kitchen, moving quickly, before you had to look at him any longer.

A few minutes later, when the toast was resting on the breakfast bar, Frankie emerged from the hallway. He moved slowly, like he was still waking up, stopping just short of the counter. His eyes landed on you, dark and steady, watching as you poured the coffee, arranged the mugs, set everything into place. You pretended not to notice, focusing instead on the small, repetitive motions of your hands.

After a beat, you tilted your chin toward the stool across from you. He got the message and sat down, his hands braced against the edge of the counter.

Reaching into the fridge, you pulled out every spread you had—jams, peanut butter, Nutella. Some smooth, some crunchy. Options. You set them down between you before sliding into your seat, only to find him still looking at you, gaze sharp and assessing. Like he was waiting for something.

You chewed on a bite of toast, eyes narrowing slightly.

“What?”

“What about you now?” he asked.

Your brows knit together. “Mmm?”

“You’re acting weird.”

You swallowed, then scoffed.

“You always say that, Francisco.” Your voice was light, almost careless, as you wrapped a hand around your coffee mug. With the other, you reached for a blister pack from the counter and placed it beside his cup. “Take one. For the pain and the hangover.”

He glanced down at it. “Did last night’s blow affect you?”

You snorted. “Did it affect me? Yeah, I’m the one who got hit in the face. I look like an extra from Fight Club.” He gave you a dry look. You exhaled. “Take one. The same ones I took last night. Don’t you remember?”

Frankie sighed, rubbing his jaw before picking up the pack, flipping it over in his hand, reading the label like he didn’t quite trust you. Then, without further argument, he popped one out and into his mouth, chasing it with a sip of coffee.

“Well,” he said, setting the mug back down, “you are acting different.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

You rolled your eyes, an exaggerated movement, then returned your focus to your toast, giving him nothing.

Silence settled over the kitchen. The occasional scrape of a knife against bread. The distant hum of the refrigerator. Frankie ate quietly, but his attention flicked toward you every so often, and at one point, he caught you staring—not at him exactly, but at his face. Or, more specifically, at the swelling along the bridge of his nose. Your expression had tightened, your lips pressed together like you were feeling the pain yourself.

A slow, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?”

“Huh?”

“For hitting me.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” You sat up straighter, expression shifting from guilt to indignation. “You can’t just sneak up on a woman like that, standing there in total silence like—like some kind of criminal. You scared me half to death! And I was only wearing a towel!”

“I know,” he said, dragging out the word. “But still... you feel guilty.”

You huffed, tilting your head, considering him. Then you sighed dramatically, relenting just a little. “Your face.”

He gestured to his face. “What do you think?”

You leaned in slightly, gaze sweeping over the bruising, the cut, the darkening skin beneath his eye.

Pursing your lips, you nodded solemnly. “Terrible.”

Frankie exhaled, shaking his head.

“But don’t worry,” you added, taking another sip of coffee. “You don’t look that much different than you do every day.”

Frankie’s gaze dragged over your face, unhurried and searching, before finally settling on your eyes. He took a bite of his toast, chewing with an air of quiet amusement, then tilted his head, considering you like you were some kind of abstract painting he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“At least I don’t look like I failed a botox trial,” he said finally, his mouth curling into a smirk—like he hadn’t meant to let it show, like it had slipped out against his will.

You lifted an eyebrow, giving him a slow once-over as you raised your mug to your lips.

“I’m letting that slide only because, technically, I’m the reason you got hurt.”

Frankie huffed out a laugh, low and quiet.

“Well,” he said, shrugging, “you’ve got decent aim. I’ll give you that.”

You frowned immediately, shaking your head. “Did you just compliment me? That’s pathetic.”

Unbothered, Frankie took another bite of his toast, chewing like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, it makes sense. I’m not exactly at my peak right now—bruised, hungover, and stuck here, fake-dating you. Calling it pathetic is honestly being generous.”

You let out an exaggerated sigh, setting your mug down.

“Please, you should be thanking the universe you get to fake-date me. How many fake girlfriends would go through the trouble of rescuing you from your idiotic cousin Ian?”

Frankie gave you a flat look as you stood and stretched, but you could feel his eyes on you as you crossed the kitchen.

“I can handle him. If anything, me showing up with you just made him more insufferable. I think he was trying to make you uncomfortable and awkward.”

You pulled open the freezer, grabbing a cold gel pack, then turned on your heel and made your way back to the table, dropping into your seat with a slight bounce.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you said, tossing the pack onto the table in front of him. “I had to kiss you, remember? Awkwardness and I have been intimately acquainted ever since.”

Frankie picked up the gel pack without question, rolling it between his fingers for a beat before pressing it against the bridge of his nose with a small, appreciative sigh. His shoulders slumped slightly, the relief immediate.

“Well,” he murmured, eyes still shut, “I have to admit—you were a pretty decent girlfriend last night.”

You recoiled like he’d insulted you.

“Ugh, don’t say things like that, Francisco,” you groaned, rolling your shoulders like the words had physically unsettled you. “That actually makes me uncomfortable.”

He cracked one eye open, unimpressed.

“Why? You’re always so weird.”

Something about the word made you pause, your fingers curling slightly around the rim of your mug. Weird. He had a habit of calling you that, didn’t he? It was one of the first things he’d ever said about you, actually—years ago, on Santiago’s birthday.

That day, Santi was in rare form, practically vibrating with energy, grinning at everyone like he couldn’t quite believe his own good fortune. He had a new house, a fresh start. And for the first time in years, he was going to celebrate his birthday properly, surrounded by people he loved. The gathering was small—just close friends and family—but carefully planned, down to the last detail.

You already knew some of Santi’s friends, like Will and Ben. They’d picked you up from the airport once when you flew in to visit your mom in New York, and you remembered them being easy company. Warm, funny, the kind of men who made you feel instantly comfortable. You assumed the rest of Santi’s friends would be the same.

That night, you stood near the grill with your cousin Irene, laughing with Will about his latest doomed date—a girl who had spent the entire evening talking about her ex, pausing only to sip her overpriced cocktail.

“I swear, she brought him up before the drinks even hit the table,” Will said, shaking his head. “And then she goes, ‘I just think it’s crazy how much he messed me up, like, I should be over it by now, right?’”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, wincing.

“Yeah. And then she says, ‘Anyway, what were you saying about your deployment?’ Like I was supposed to just—pick up where I left off.”

You were still laughing when Santi approached, his face bright with a joy you didn’t usually see in him. He had two people in tow.

“Alright,” he said, clapping Will on the shoulder and looking at you. “Let me introduce you to these idiots.”

The first was Tom—a tall guy with a laid-back smile, the kind of smile that suggested he could talk his way out of anything. He barely waited for Santi to finish before grinning at you.

“So, which one of you got the good genes?” he asked, squinting between you and Santi, like he was weighing his options. “Because I feel like it’s not Santi.”

Santi elbowed him in the ribs, and Tom let out a dramatic, exaggerated oof, still grinning.

And then—

“This is Frankie.”

Unlike Tom, Frankie didn’t make a joke. He didn’t even smile.

Instead, he looked at you like you were something unexpected, something he wasn’t sure how to categorize. His expression flickered—confusion, then something closer to distaste. His eyes moved over you too quickly, as if assessing damage. It left you with the unsettling impression that there was something to assess. Like you had something on your face. Like your shirt was crooked, your makeup smudged. Like he had already decided something about you and found you lacking.

“Nice to meet you,” Frankie said eventually, nodding once. His voice was even, but there was something distant about it, like he had already lost interest in the exchange before it had even begun.

You nodded back, a tight, controlled smile stretching across your lips. You refused to give him more than that.

During dinner, it was impossible not to notice that his indifference to you wasn’t incidental. It was intentional.

With the others, he was engaged, animated. He laughed loudly, cracked jokes, leaned in close to whisper something to Irene that made her throw her head back and giggle. At one point, he even rested his elbow on the back of her chair, casual and self-assured in a way that made you glance away.

But when you spoke? It was like someone hit the mute button.

No glance in your direction. No acknowledgment that you had even spoken. His disinterest was so palpable, so deliberate, that it left a strange hollow feeling in your chest, like standing in the middle of a room and realizing for the first time that the walls had been closing in all along.

Even the mosquitoes buzzing near your ankles made more of an effort to engage with you than he did.

But you tried not to let it bother you. You didn’t know him. He didn’t know you.

It was probably nothing.

After dinner, everyone moved instinctively, stacking plates, gathering silverware, brushing crumbs onto cupped palms. You volunteered to handle the dishes, and Ben, with a theatrical sigh, declared it a “four-handed job, no less.” He rolled up his sleeves like you were about to perform surgery instead of scrubbing plates. You laughed, grateful for the company.

Outside, the bonfire flickered to life, its glow stretching long and golden across the yard, catching on the edges of laughter, the glint of a beer bottle, the flash of someone’s teeth mid-smile. Santi had been proud of this latest home improvement project, leveling out the ground himself, arranging the stone ring just so. You imagined him standing there earlier in the afternoon, hands on his hips, admiring his own handiwork.

The dishes didn’t take long. By the time the last one was dried and put away, Ben clapped you on the back with a satisfied nod, as if you’d conquered something together. You thanked him, excused yourself to the bathroom, and slipped away down the hall.

Inside, you turned on the tap, watching the water swirl over your hands. When you glanced up at the mirror, your reflection met you with something unreadable. Nothing was wrong—no smudged mascara, no stray hairs, nothing out of place. Still, you adjusted your ponytail, smoothed your fingers over your eyebrows, checked your teeth like something about you needed fixing.

After a beat, you reached for the mirrored cabinet and nudged it open. Not to snoop—just curiosity, just something to do with your hands. Inside, everything was expected: shaving cream, toothpaste, eyedrops. No surprises. No answers.

And then—voices. Drifting in through the small open window above the bathtub, just distinct enough to pull your attention outside. You stilled, heartbeat pressing in your throat.

The courtyard stretched below, shadowed in places where the firelight didn’t reach. A tree blocked part of your view, its leaves shifting in the night breeze, but through the gaps, you saw them. Frankie and Will, standing just outside the warm halo of the fire, slightly apart from the others.

Frankie had a cigarette in one hand, the smoke curling around him lazily, wrapping itself through the air like it belonged to him. Will held a beer, his fingers tapping idly against the glass.

“... I mean I don’t know,” Frankie was saying. His voice was low, but clear enough to carry. He shook his head, lifting the cigarette to his lips, the ember flaring in the dark. “I can’t explain it to you. There’s just something weird about her.”

Your stomach dropped.

Will sighed, his patience tangible, like he was speaking to a stubborn child. “That doesn’t mean anything. You’ll have to give me more than that.”

Frankie exhaled. “Yeah, no. I don’t think so.”

Will let out a frustrated noise, shifting his weight. “Talk to her. She’s nice. Kind. Cool. Unlike you right now.” He lifted his beer to his mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “I get it, whatever, you have your weird feelings about people. But she’s Santi’s sister. Just make the effort.”

The words hung in the air, hovering on the edge of something sharp.

And then—Frankie laughed.

Not a real laugh, not the kind you wanted to hear. It was short, rasping, curling at the edges with something like derision. It caught at something inside of you, clawing at the softest part of your chest.

“I don’t want to be dramatic,” he said, taking another drag of his cigarette, “but I’d rather sacrifice myself in another way.”

Will huffed. “God, you’re ridiculous.”

You stepped back from the window like it had burned you.

Your stomach was twisting, something heavy settling in your ribs, pressing. The tightness was sudden, overwhelming, like a hand had closed around your throat without warning.

You turned on the faucet again, letting the cold water rush over your fingers. It grounded you just enough to blink back the sting in your eyes. You cupped your hands under the stream, splashed your face, watched the droplets cling to your skin.

Why was he being cruel to you?

The question circled your mind, over and over, a loop tightening like a noose. Each repetition sharpened the sting of his words, made them cut a little deeper. He didn’t know you. He hadn’t spoken to you beyond a handful of obligatory niceties, hadn’t given himself the opportunity to form any kind of real opinion. And yet, there he was, speaking about you with such offhanded disdain, like it was a fact so self-evident it didn’t even require justification.

You couldn’t reconcile him with the Frankie your brother had talked about so fondly. The Frankie who had stood by him through rough times, who Santi counted on with unwavering trust. Santi, your kind and loyal brother, who always seemed to have an unerring sense for good people. How could he be close to someone like that? Someone so quick to dismiss, so unwilling to extend even the barest courtesy of politeness?

When you emerged from the bathroom, your face betrayed you. The uncomfortable churn of emotions, the lingering humiliation—it was all there, just beneath the surface. You took a breath, then another, but the crack in your composure remained, fragile and obvious. You told yourself it didn’t matter. What Francisco Morales thought of you was irrelevant. A stranger’s opinion had no weight, no real consequence. That was the logic you reached for. But somewhere deeper—somewhere softer—his words had landed, uninvited, unwanted.

You ignored him for the rest of the night. Not subtly, not gracefully. It wasn’t a careful indifference, the kind that might go unnoticed. It was pointed. Unmistakable. If it made you seem childish or petty, so be it. Ignoring him was the only form of control you had left.

Later, after Santi blew out the candles on his cake, surrounded by the clumsy, off-key chorus of friends and family, you volunteered to serve dessert. A small act of normalcy. Something methodical, something steadying. You moved around the table with quiet efficiency, cutting generous slices, placing them onto plates, handing them out one by one.

When you reached Frankie, you skipped him.

Not by accident. Not in a way that could be misread as forgetfulness.

He was sitting back in his chair, arms loose at his sides, expression unreadable. Your gaze barely flickered in his direction. Without hesitation, you handed the slice that should have been his to Tom, who accepted it without a second thought, flashing a cheerful smile and an easy thanks. You moved on without pausing, your hands steady, your focus trained on the next plate, the next person.

But you felt him watching you.

The weight of his stare settled over you, a quiet pressure, like he was trying to work out whether you’d done it on purpose or if it had been some kind of oversight. You could picture the crease forming between his brows, the way his mouth might press into something contemplative. But he didn’t say a word. No protest, no offhand joke to break the tension, nothing.

When you returned to your seat, Ben frowned, looking between Frankie and the empty space in front of him.

“Hey, man, you want a slice?” he asked, his tone laced with mild confusion and amusement.

Frankie didn’t answer.

Ben, either oblivious or choosing not to acknowledge the shift in the air, reached across the table, grabbed a plate, and handed it to him. “Here.”

You watched from the corner of your eye but said nothing.

When Frankie left that night, he gave the group a brief, efficient goodbye. Hugs for his friends, warm claps on the back, the kind of easy affection that suggested long years of knowing each other.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

Didn’t give him the polite, meaningless smile you would have spared for any other guest.

Instead, you turned toward Irene, the brightness in your voice deliberate, animated, like whatever he had said, whatever had settled under your skin, had never happened at all.

You didn’t see much of him after that night. Not often enough for it to be a real problem, but just enough for the feeling to settle, for the vague discomfort to harden into something sharper. Animosity. Mutual, unspoken, and impossible to ignore.

Santi and the others took notice. They laughed about it, poked fun at the tension that seemed to press in whenever you and Frankie were in the same room.

And it wasn’t just that Frankie was withdrawn when you were around. No, that would have been easier. This was different. More pointed. You caught him watching you sometimes, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he looked away, like the mere sight of you put him in a bad mood. Like your presence—your existence—bothered him in some deep, inexplicable way.

And then it hit you.

It wasn’t indifference. It was repulsion.

He didn’t just tolerate you in the way people tolerate someone they don’t particularly like. No, his discomfort was palpable, obvious. And the worst part? It wasn’t like that with anyone else. With other people, Frankie could be easygoing, relaxed, warm, even. You saw him with Santi, with Will, with Ben—laughing, teasing, cracking dry jokes that made the others shake their heads in amusement. With you, though? It was like a switch flipped. Like something about you specifically made him shut down.

It was a strange, hostile little orbit the two of you existed in, all silence and avoidance and charged, awkward glances. And then, one day three years ago, it all crystallized into something worse.

It had been an unbearably hot day, the kind that made the air shimmer above the pavement, thick and unmoving. The kind where just stepping outside felt like a mistake.

You pulled into Santi’s driveway and spotted him immediately, leaning over the open hood of his car. His forearms were streaked with grease, the fabric of his t-shirt clinging to his back. But you weren’t expecting the other figure crouched beside him, partially obscured by the car. Frankie.

His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing tanned forearms smudged with oil. His hands worked deftly, twisting a wrench, adjusting something out of sight. A streak of grease cut across his cheek, his brow furrowed in concentration, dark hair curling slightly at the edges from sweat. He didn’t look up when you stepped out of the car.

Didn’t acknowledge you at all.

Something about it—about him—set you on edge immediately. It wasn’t just the fact that he ignored you. It was how completely he did it. As if you were actually invisible, as if he could refuse to register your presence by sheer force of will.

Santi, oblivious to it all, greeted you warmly.

“Hey, look who it is,” he grinned, throwing his arms open before pulling you into a hug, despite the grime on his hands and forearms. You made a face, but he only laughed.

He asked about work, about your social life, about Mr. Darcy. Then, inevitably, the conversation veered toward Yovanna—the woman he’d been seeing for the past few months, the one he couldn’t seem to stop bringing up. His voice softened when he talked about her, his words tinged with something rare for him—something unguarded, almost boyish.

And still, Frankie didn’t look at you. Didn’t say a word.

He stayed crouched beside the engine, focused on his work, jaw tight. You could hear the small metallic shifts as he adjusted something, the scrape of metal against metal, the occasional sigh of effort. It was almost impressive, the level of concentration he seemed to have, the sheer determination to keep his back to you.

The heat pressed in, thick and unrelenting.

You stood there, arms crossed, unsure of what to do with yourself. You felt out of place, like an intruder in a space you weren’t meant to occupy. There was no point in trying to interact with him, no use in attempting some forced politeness. You weren’t even sure he’d respond if you did.

So you went inside, feet moving on autopilot, hands searching through the cupboards without any real purpose. You weren’t hungry. You weren’t even sure what you were looking for.

But the quiet of the house, the soft rustle of boxes and packaging as you rummaged through them, felt like a better option than standing outside, pretending not to care.

Latee, you stared down at the jar of jam in your hands, its lid refusing to budge no matter how hard you twisted. The effort sent a dull ache through your palms, the friction of your fingers against the glass doing nothing but adding to your frustration. You tightened your grip, exhaling sharply through your nose, determined to win this ridiculous battle.

You were bracing yourself for another attempt when the kitchen door creaked open. Footsteps, steady and unhurried, echoed before Frankie appeared, moving with that same effortless confidence he always had, like he never doubted where he was going or why. But then, just as he was about to leave the room, something made him hesitate.

His gaze landed on you.

It was brief, but then it sharpened, his expression shifting in a way that made your stomach tighten. He studied you, his head tilting slightly, as if he was trying to decipher something.

“Hey, hand it to me,” he said, holding out a palm, his voice level, neutral.

You blinked at him, still clutching the jar, your fingers locked around it more out of instinct than anything else. He extended his hand further, expectant.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, forcing your attention back to the lid. You tightened your grip, twisting again. Nothing.

Frankie clicked his tongue, the sound light but pointed, edged with impatience. Then, without another word, he stepped forward, his hand reaching for the jar as if it was already his to take.

“No,” you snapped, pulling back, a hot, inexplicable irritation flaring in your chest. “I can do it. And your hands are dirty.”

His lips twitched at that, an almost-smile, but there was something off about it—something unreadable in his eyes that unsettled you.

“Okay,” he said, his voice casual, almost amused. “So open it.”

There was something infuriating in the way he said it. A challenge disguised as nonchalance.

He turned away before you could respond, grabbing the sugar jar instead. With no visible effort, he popped off the lid and tipped a small handful into his palm, letting the granules spill between his fingers before rinsing them away under the faucet. The stream of water turned soapy as he lathered his hands, scrubbing with slow, deliberate movements, all while keeping his gaze on you.

You could feel him watching, tracking every failed attempt as you wrestled with the jam jar, your frustration growing with each slip of your fingers. The more you struggled, the more ridiculous you felt, like you were shrinking under the weight of his attention.

And then, predictably, humiliatingly, your grip faltered.

The jar slipped from your hands, falling in a sharp, unstoppable motion. The crash was deafening, the glass shattering against the tile floor, thick splatters of jam seeping into the cracks. The mess was immediate, sticky and sprawling, shards glinting under the overhead light.

For a second, you just stood there, stunned, your heart pounding.

“Shit,” you muttered, heat rising to your face as the disaster at your feet seemed to mock you.

Frankie, however, didn’t react. He dried his hands with methodical precision, tossing the towel onto the counter before moving to grab a roll of paper towels and a garbage bag. There was no smugness, no remarks, just a quiet efficiency that somehow made it worse.

“I'm just helping you—”

“I don’t need your help. With anything. Ever.”

Your fingers closed around the garbage bag in his hand, but before you could pull it away, he held firm. For a moment, neither of you moved, the tension tightening like a drawn wire. His palm was warm against yours, the contact fleeting but enough to make your skin prickle with irritation.

“And what kind of help are you even offering?” you bit out, your voice sharp. “It’s not really help if you spend the whole time acting like I’m an idiot.”

Frankie let out a short breath, something between disbelief and amusement. Then his expression darkened, his voice quiet but cutting.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he asked, as if he’d been waiting for the chance to say it. “Why do you always have to be so—” He stopped, shook his head slightly, then exhaled. “So fucking weird.”

The word landed like a slap, cold and unexpected. You stood frozen, gripping the bag too tightly, feeling your pulse hammer in your throat. The word echoed in your head, overlapping with every other version of it you’d ever heard, every moment someone had looked at you just a little too long, just enough to make you wonder what, exactly, was so strange about you.

You took a steadying breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you shot back, but the words didn’t land the same way. Frankie’s jaw tensed, the corners of his mouth pulling tight.

“I don’t have a problem. You do. Always acting like a child, getting pissed over nothing.”

“Oh, no, you definitely have problems,” you snapped, shifting your grip on the bag. “Attitude problems. Ego problems. Basic reasoning problems.”

His face shifted, something closing off. His brows pulled together, his eyes sharpening, his entire body tensing like he was holding back some invisible reaction.

“You don’t know me. Not at all.”

“I know you well enough to know I want nothing to do with you. I don’t like you, and I have no fucking clue how my brother puts up with you.”

For a second, he just stared at you, unreadable. The air felt charged, like something waiting to snap. Then, with an infuriating half-smile, he reached forward and placed the garbage bag in your hands, his fingers brushing yours deliberately, like a taunt. His gaze flickered with something smug, something entertained.

“You’re not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself,” he murmured.

“You don’t deserve anything good from me.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, his stance lazy, like he was enjoying watching you unravel.

“Relax,” he said, in that same infuriatingly casual voice. “I was just pointing out the obvious. You make everything harder than it has to be.”

“Oh, and things are easier when you’re around?” you shot back, laughing without humor. “Every single thing I do becomes a problem for you. It’s like you can’t help yourself, like you have to disapprove of everything I say, everything I do, like I’ve ever once asked for your opinion.”

“I didn’t say that. But maybe if you didn’t take everything so personally—”

“Personally?” you interrupted, stepping forward. Your pulse was racing, your voice rising. “You make it personal every time you act like a condescending asshole, like you know something I don’t, like I’m somehow not good enough for you. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Frankie’s expression twisted, his breathing uneven now.

“Don’t blame me for your insecurities,” he said, his voice lower, more dangerous now. “You’re the one always pissed off at me. Maybe you’re the one with the fucking problem.”

“Oh, right. So now it’s my fault that you’re an unbearable asshole every time I’m in the same room as you?”

“You’re taking this the wrong way,” he said, shaking his head, his frustration bleeding through. “I’m not trying to be a dick. But you make it impossible to be nice to you. And look around—everyone else seems fine with me. You’re the only one who picks a fight every damn time.”

You stared at him, breath shallow.

“Are you kidding me, Francisco? Are you seriously that much of an asshole?”

His mouth twitched like he was about to argue, but before he could, the sound of the door creaking open cut through the tension like a knife.

You turned just as Santi stepped into the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over the shattered glass and sticky mess on the floor. His expression flickered from confusion to mild exasperation, his brows lifting slightly as he took in the scene.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence settle before glancing between you and Frankie. Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

“You two are ridiculous,” he muttered. “Keep me out of it.”

The tension lingered long after Santi left the room. And in the weeks that followed, you found yourself making a conscious effort to avoid Frankie, dodging him in hallways, staying silent when he entered the room. But it didn’t matter—whenever he was near, the air thickened with unspoken words, with all the things you hadn’t said, all the things you couldn’t.

And now, years later, here he was, sitting across from you, eating like nothing had ever happened. Then, casually, carelessly, he said it again.

Weird.

For some reason, the night before had softened something in you, made you forget—just a little—the bitter taste Frankie usually left behind. The way you had laughed, the way he had steadied you after your clumsy little accident, the way his hands had been careful but sure. For a moment, it had felt easy. It had almost made you forget the way he really saw you.

Almost.

Because now, sitting across from him, that familiar weight settled back into your chest. It wasn’t anger exactly, just the dull press of remembering. That no, you didn’t care what he thought of you, except for the small, inconvenient part of you that did.

You went quiet, the shift in your mood unmistakable. You weren’t the kind of person who could hide things well—your face always gave you away, your eyes especially. And right now, you could feel the way they changed, heavier somehow, distant in a way that wasn’t intentional but still impossible to ignore.

Frankie watched you, his expression shifting, something flickering behind his eyes. Then, after a pause, he asked, “Are you okay?” His voice was softer than you expected, careful in a way that made your skin prickle. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” you said quickly. Then, realizing how clipped it sounded, you exhaled and tried again. “I’m fine, I just…” You trailed off, your gaze drifting over his shoulder, scanning the living room as if the right words might be lying around somewhere. When you looked back, it was brief. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

Frankie studied you for a moment, his brows pulling together slightly. He knew something was off, you could see it in the way he hesitated. And maybe in a different situation, with someone else, he might have pushed. But this was you, and he knew better.

“Sure,” he said finally. “I’ll call for a car and go, okay?”

You nodded, already looking past him, already somewhere else. Then, without really thinking, you muttered, “You still have to pick up your car, don’t you?”

“That’s right.” He tipped his cup to his lips, draining the last sip of coffee before setting it down with a quiet clink. His eyes flicked back to you. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

You sighed, exasperated, tilting your head back just slightly. When you met his gaze again, any lightness from before had disappeared.

“I’m fine, Francisco. Leave me alone.”

You slid off your seat and turned away before you could see his reaction, before you had to sit with whatever look he might be giving you.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you said over your shoulder, already walking down the hall, already pulling away. “I’ll be right back.”

Once inside the bathroom, you closed the door quietly, carefully, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile balance of the moment. You didn’t really need to be here. You weren’t fixing your makeup or brushing your hair. You just needed distance—from Frankie, from his gaze that always seemed to catch too much, from the unspoken weight pressing down on you.

But the mirror didn’t offer any escape. It just stood there, reflecting back everything you were trying to ignore, everything you didn’t want to acknowledge.

What the fuck are you doing?

The thought came quickly, sharply, twisting through your ribs. You turned on the faucet, the rush of water filling the small space, and leaned over the sink, cupping your hands beneath the stream. The cold hit your skin like a shock, a reset, but it didn’t quite reach deep enough. You pressed damp fingers to your cheeks, ran them over the bridge of your nose, across your lips. Testing. Grounding. Stalling.

And when you looked up again, you felt—pathetic.

Maybe that’s why Harry hadn’t chosen you. Maybe that was the answer. Or maybe the truth was worse: no one had ever chosen you. Not Harry, not the boy before him, or the one before that. Every single time, it had ended the same way, with someone walking away toward something—someone—better.

And if you really thought about it, hadn’t that always been the pattern? Hadn’t you spent your whole life watching people choose something else?

Not your father. Even though you knew he had loved you, even though you understood, in some distant, logical part of yourself, that it wasn’t about love. But still—he had always chosen Santi. Always drawn to the open air, the wilderness, the kind of life you had never quite fit into. They had shared something you could never access, something stitched into their bones. They understood each other in a way that had left you on the outside; you were the outlier, too quiet, too lost in your own head, always curled up in the same four walls with books about people who actually lived. People like your father, like your brother. They met life head-on, without hesitation, without fear. And you… you had always been afraid. Of what, exactly? You weren’t sure. You only knew that it was there, a part of you as much as anything else.

Not your mother, either. She had loved you too. But she had left anyway. And you understood that too—understood how grief could hollow a person out, how it could make staying unbearable. You knew she wasn’t strong enough to live inside the absence of your father. And maybe you weren’t supposed to blame her for that. But you had needed her. You had needed her so badly, and she hadn’t been there.

And sure, Santi had always chosen you. He had always been the one constant, the one person who made you feel like you weren’t completely alone in the world. But you couldn’t cling to your brother forever. He had Yovanna now, and the life they were building together, the plans they whispered about when they thought no one was listening. A family, maybe.

And then what?

Where did that leave you?

You swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the sink, feeling the quiet ache settle into your chest. It wasn’t the kind of loneliness that came from being physically alone. It was something deeper, something harder to name. The kind that had lived inside you for so long, it almost felt like a part of you.

You couldn’t let yourself spiral. Not now. Now, you had to leave the bathroom, find Frankie, and get him to leave. Then, maybe, you could curl up in bed with Mr. Darcy and pretend this day had never happened. That was the plan. That was the responsible, rational, totally-not-falling-apart plan.

You pressed your palms to your cheeks once, as if physically pushing the emotion away, and stepped out.

By the time you reached the kitchen, your hands drying against the hem of your shirt, Frankie wasn’t there anymore. Your breath caught, a strange mix of relief and suspicion pooling in your stomach. And then you saw him.

He was standing by the couch, his head tilted slightly, eyes locked on something in his hands. A book, blue... with delicate gold lettering on the cover... No.

No.

“What are you doing?” The words left your mouth before you could soften them. You surged forward, your pulse spiking as recognition set in.

Frankie didn’t look up. Instead, he turned just enough to keep the little book out of your reach, flipping it open with an infuriating lack of urgency.

“What’s this?” he asked, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“Francisco.” Your voice shook, your fingers stretching toward the journal. “Give me that.”

He lifted a single brow but didn’t obey.

“Going to a bar and making out with a stranger…” he began reading aloud. You felt the heat rush to your face, creeping up your neck like fire. “Skinny-dipping. Learning how to kick someone's —”

“Francisco!” You shoved at his chest, your hands colliding with solid muscle. He barely moved. His expression was infuriatingly amused.

“Go camping in the woods—”

Without thinking, you reached up and pressed your fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. His sharp inhale was instant, followed by a curse.

“Shit, shit—okay, okay!” He jerked back, wincing as he hunched slightly. “Jesus, you fight dirty.”

You snatched the journal from his loosened grip and held it close, stepping around the coffee table, putting space between you. Your heart was pounding, your humiliation expanding by the second.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not understand the concept of privacy?”

Frankie touched his nose, wincing again, but his eyes were still full of laughter.

“What’s that, shortcake?”

You blinked. “What the hell did you just call me?”

He shrugged. “Never mind. What was that list?”

As if the embarrassment wasn’t already at an all-time high.

You sighed, dropping onto the couch, your fingers gripping the journal like it might disappear.

“It’s… a list I made.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Why?”

You lifted your gaze, dark and sharp. “Why the hell should I explain to you what I write in my diary?”

“To be clear, I wasn’t snooping,” he said, raising his hands in defense. “It was right there.” He gestured toward the coffee table. “Open. Can you really blame me?”

Your mouth opened, ready to argue, but then you remembered. He was right. You had left it there. Right before heading out to meet him last night.

You exhaled, your eyes flickering away, suddenly heavier than they had been moments ago.

Frankie shifted, coming closer, his voice softer now.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“I’m almost thirty, Francisco.” Your voice was quieter than before. “And I haven’t done any of the things on that list. I’ve never had a ‘wild night.’ Never kissed a stranger at a club. Never camped out. I’m afraid of… a lot of things.” You swallowed. “That’s why I made that list. Because I hate that people think I’m just this.”

“This what?”

You hesitated, then shook your head. “This. The woman who runs a bookstore and spends her nights with her cat and an imaginary boyfriend.”

Frankie’s face changed. You saw it—the flicker of recognition, the memory of his own words from the night before.

“But I thought you and Santi used to go camping all the time?” he asked, as if that might somehow soften the weight of what you had just said.

You scoffed. “No. My dad and Santi did all sorts of things. I stayed home.” You inhaled, slow and steady. “And then when I wanted to do them, my dad died. Just my luck, right?”

You stood abruptly, walking toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Frankie followed. “Wait. You wanted to go make out with strangers at a club with your dad?” He joked.

You almost laughed. Almost. But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.

“Yes, Francisco.” You turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossing. “That was exactly my plan.”

He huffed a small laugh, but his expression softened as he took a step closer.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “But you can still do those things. The club is still there. The woods are still there. There’s water everywhere.”

“I know.” You exhaled through your nose. “That’s why I made the damn list you read without permission.”

He tilted his head. “Okay, but was it really worth attacking my face like that?” He pointed to his nose, which was still slightly more pink.

You smirked. “You asked for it.”

“Right, totally unjustifiable.”

“What, weren’t you leaving?” You frowned, crossing your arms, your patience wearing thin.

Frankie exhaled, lifting his brows like you were being unreasonable.

“Yeah, in a minute.”

“Okay.”

“Go on then.”

“You’re kicking me out? What a terrible hostess.”

“You’re rifling through my things? What a terrible guest.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well, my car’s a few minutes away. Can you tolerate my presence until then? It’s boiling outside.”

“Like I care. Go work on your tan.” You smirked. “But, because I’m an inherently good person, I’ll allow you to stay. Out of the kindness of my heart.”

He gave you a pointed look. “Yeah. You should add that to your little list.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

“You know.” He shrugged. “Not being such a pain in the ass all the time.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Morales, or I’ll toss you out there like a lizard.”

Frankie rolled his eyes but leaned against the counter like he wasn’t actually in a hurry to leave.

“Anyway,” he said after a beat. “Santi texted me.”

That caught your attention. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, while you were in the bathroom. He wants us to have dinner with him tomorrow.”

You blinked. “Us? As in, the two of us?”

“Him and Yovanna, too. But yeah. He wants to see us, though I’m pretty sure he just wants to make sure we suffered. I always wondered where your mean streak came from, and now I get it. Santi’s got it too.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head.

“He wants to laugh at us, I’m sure of it.” But then, a thought struck you. “Oh, my god, what am I going to do with my face? I look like crap. You do too.”

Frankie snorted. “I don’t look that bad.”

“You look terrible.”

“Yeah, well, now I’ll look worse thanks to you.”

“We could always lie and say we got into a fight or something,” you suggested, tilting your head.

Frankie’s mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile. “Santi would kill me if he thought I let his little sister get into a fight.”

You sighed, your mood visibly changing, pushing off the counter and reaching for your phone, still plugged in, the screen lighting up with unread messages.

“You’re careful about some things,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “And then with others, you don’t care at all. I don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?” His tone shifted, like he was genuinely curious.

Without looking at him, you scrolled through your notifications.

“Why do you even bother looking out for me? If it’s because of Santi, don’t bother. It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?”

You turned then, hair shifting against your cheek as you met his eyes.

“You’ve never cared about how I feel,” you said simply. “You’ve never held back from saying things that could hurt me, not even last night. Not even in front of my brother. So why pretend now? Why act like this matters to you?”

Frankie exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “Did I say something just now that pissed you off?”

“No, Francisco, but listen to yourself.” You gestured vaguely, exasperated. “Why do you care? You never have. You don’t have to start now just because we’re playing nice for one night. It’s weird. It’s fake.”

His arms crossed over his chest. “Okay but... I wasn’t going to leave you alone last night, though. You were hurt.” He shifted his weight, watching you carefully. “Did you actually think I would just leave?”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered, pressing your fingertips to your temple. “Just—don’t act differently with me because I did you a favor. It feels forced. And don’t use Santi as an excuse. I’m not a child.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” he shot back. His eyes flicked over your profile as you typed something on your phone, the soft tap of the keys the only sound between you. “I know we have our differences, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I don’t care—”

“That doesn’t mean I should ignore if something bad or uncomfortable happens to you.” His voice was lower now, more insistent. “Like you did last night with me and Ian. Right?” He tilted his head slightly, stepping just close enough that you could feel the space between you shrink. “The rest is on the back burner if—”

"Yeah, well. Never mind," you muttered, cutting him off. "I need a nap."

You turned on your heel before he could say anything else, your movement sharp, decisive. As if ending the conversation physically would erase the weight of it. You crossed the room without looking back, collapsing onto the couch like the day had physically drained you, like you needed to be swallowed whole by the cushions just to breathe properly again.

Frankie watched you, his gaze trailing the exact path you took. His arms remained crossed, fingers pressing absently against his bicep as he stood there, unmoving. There was something wrong. He could feel it, see it in the way you carried yourself, in the way you had avoided his eyes at the last second. But you weren’t going to tell him. And he knew better than to ask.

Still, something gnawed at him.

He’d never really understood you. He’d told himself, over the years, that it was just incompatibility—that you were wired differently, that you had nothing in common and that was it. But maybe that wasn’t true. Maybe it was just that you had never let him. That every time he thought he might be getting close to figuring you out, you pulled back, slammed a door in his face, left him with nothing but vague impressions and unfinished sentences. That was the thing about you—he’d never understood you, not really. And that irritated him, the way you always felt slightly out of reach.

It shouldn’t bother him. He didn’t even like you, not really. And you certainly didn’t like him. The two of you had spent years existing like opposing forces, never quite able to be in the same space without the edges fraying, without the air between you tensing like a rope being pulled too tight.

But today had felt different.

Because for a split second, just a fraction of a moment, he had seen something real. Something unguarded. Something like fear, or exhaustion, or sadness, but buried so deeply beneath irritation and indifference that he almost missed it—it had caught him off guard because he recognized it, and that realization unsettled him.

Still, he had seen it, plain as day—the flicker in your eyes, the way something in them had tightened, then shut away. A flash of vulnerability. A quiet kind of grief. And against all logic, some part of him wanted to reach out and catch it before it disappeared completely.

But he wasn’t going to ask. He wouldn’t dare. And you had made it perfectly clear that he shouldn’t, hadn’t you?

For a full minute, he had to talk himself out of doing something reckless—like sitting next to you, like pressing just a little, just enough to get an answer. He forced the curiosity away, willed it into silence.

So when he finally slid into the car three minutes later, the words he’d thrown at you the night before came rushing back, one after another, uninvited. Or at least, the ones he could remember.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog

#frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x reader #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales smut #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal x reader #capuccinodoll #the boyfriend act

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lostinlovingrevery · 4 months ago

Text

Easy Living

Worst! Wolverine X F! Reader

A/N: I was giggling like a fool writing this. Put a stop to the circle of violence!!! Give him love! Give him security!! Also based off the song Easy Living by Ella Fitzgerald!

Plot: It's easy living with you

Warnings: None, this is pure teeth rotting fluff

Word Count: 832

Living for you is easy living

It's easy to live when you're in love

And I'm so in love

There's nothing in life but you

Logan's eyes cracked open at the sound of the soft music playing in some other part of the apartment. He looked over to your side of the bed, it was empty, but he could still feel the warmth of you. He sat up, his tired muscles complaining at the movement, but he pushed through.

He shoved the comforter off, his feet making contact to the cold hardwood floor. He adjusted his sweatpants that sat low on his hips and slowly lumbered to the kitchen, moving through the small apartment as he passed picture frames hung on the walls. Pictures filled with him, Wade, Laura, you, and all your other friends. He sleepily scratched his stomach, a small yawn escaped him.

I’ll never regret the things I'm giving

They're easy to give when you're in love

I'm happy to do whatever I do for you

He walked into the threshold of your kitchen. He smiled warmly at the sight of you. Your back was turned, your attention towards the oven, where he could smell the scent of bacon and eggs cooking. Next to the oven on the counter was a plate of blueberry and chocolate waffles, already made and waiting.

Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, highlighting your figure in the small kitchen. A few messy dishes sat in the sink. Plates with knives and forks set atop them on the table in the corner. A carton of orange juice sat on the counter, next to two mugs, and paper towels soaked next to them, a few droplets of the juice sat on the counter.

Your hair pulled up in a messy bun, and you were adorning one of his t-shirts, a Led Zeppelin shirt you gifted him- yet ended up stealing and wearing it when you go to bed anyway. The sound of sizzling bacon mixed with the old jazz song playing in the background. Ella Fitzgerald - Your favorite. Your hips rocked back and forth languidly to the song, he could hear your quiet hums.

For you maybe I'm a fool, but it's fun

People say you rule me with one wave of your hand

Darling, it's grand; they just don't understand

He came up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. You lifted your head up to look at him and smiled,

“Hi Lo.”

“Hey bub.” He hummed. “You snuck out of bed.”

A small giggle escaped you. “I wanted to make you breakfast in bed.” you inform him, as your hand grabbed the spatula to flip the slices of turkey bacon on the pan. He rested his chin on your shoulder, observing the food that you have been putting together - for him.

How’d he get here?

Living for you is easy living

It's easy to live when you're in love

And I'm so in love

There's nothing in life but you

He pressed another soft kiss to your cheek, the coarse hair of his beard tickled your cheek, making you giggle as you turned your head away from him. Noticing your reaction, he pursued, attempting to scratch his beard over your cheek and down to your neck, making you erupt into a fit of giggles as you tried to push him away.

“Lo! Stop that tickles!” You shrieked, but his arms tightened around your waist, and he began to attack your neck and jaw with kisses and gentle love bites. You hummed, arms settling over his as he laid down his love over you.

You reached over, flipping the burner for the eggs and bacon off.

For you maybe I'm a fool, but it's fun

People say you rule me with one wave of your hand

Darling, it's grand; they just don't understand

“Dance with me Lo.” You say, pulling away from his arms, and grabbing his hands, pulling him to the center of the kitchen. He smiled warmly, accepting your invitation. Anyone else and he would have said no - he could never say no to you though.

You pressed your body against him; his arm going around your waist, your arm wrapped around him, your hand pressed against his back as your other hands clasp together, held up beside your heads. He looked down at you, eyes filled with fondness and affection for you.

Your bodies slowly rocked back and forth in the kitchen, looking into each others eyes. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss, that you deepened as you leaned up to your tiptoes, eager to be closer to him.

“Who knew the Wolverine could become so domestic?” You whispered to him after parting from his lips.

“For you? It’s easy living.” He responds warmly.

Living for you is easy living

It's easy to live when you're in love

And I'm so in love

There's nothing in life but you

#this shit got me giggling and squirming like a fool #i can't even #logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett fic #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #vans daydreams #logan howlett fluff #wolverine fluff #worst! wolverine #worst wolverine #worst!wolverine x reader #channeled my inner fallout with this

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sacredsorceress · 3 months ago

Note

Need the baby daddy!logan fic! 😩😩

sorry in advance for heaps of f bombs, but if I was pregnant from a one night stand and/or had managed to go two centuries without getting someone pregnant, I imagine there would be a LOT of cursing. lmk what you think!! would be more than happy to expand on this thought.

｡° Baby Daddy!Logan °｡

warnings: pregnancy, not proofread

ask box | logan howlett masterlist

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

“Fuck.”

You cursed as you paced around your bathroom. Although the plastic stick in your hand was no heavier than a feather, it weighed down heavily.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. A part of you wondered if it could fly out of your chest and keep thump thump thumping on the floor.

The air in the room thinned- your free hand clawing at your chest as your breath quickened.

Then came the burning behind your eyes.

Like a steaming kettle, you boiled over. You threw the stick across the bathroom, listening as it clattered against the other discarded sticks, taunting you on the sink. The sound echoed throughout the linoleum room. A shout erupted from your throat.

"Fuck!"

Was the bathroom always this small? Or had the walls finally began to close in on you?

You found the knob and pushed open the door, releasing the pressure. With the filtered sun hitting your skin again, you could finally breathe- although it remained shaky- you saw those two parallel lines every time you blinked.

Stumbling through the hallway, you grabbed your keys.

On your way over you rehearsed what you would say. How you would give Logan some very mature and thought-out response: "I'm keeping it. But I understand that's not what you signed up for when we had that one night stand, so, it's okay if you don't want to be involved"- fuck, did you really mean that?

You felt an elbow harshly collide with your abdomen.

"Hey asshole!" You shouted after the stranger. "I'm pregnant!"

"What the fuck?"

You froze. A chill rushed down your back and your face turned to stone as if you had gazed upon Medusa herself.

Your back still turned to him, you said nothing. You weren't positive you could if you tried.

"Tell me you're joking." Logan said, placing his hand on your shoulder. When you didn't respond, he shook you."Hey! I'm talkin' to-"

"Yes!" You erupted, shoving Logan's hand from your skin. "Yes, Logan, I'm pregnant. And guess what? It's yours."

Your hands gestured around wildly as you huffed.

Later, you thought. I'm going to regret this.

"I was just on my way to tell you now, but since you're so impatient," You chuckled humourlessly. "Surprise! You're going to be a father."

You let your hands fall to your side.

You weren't sure if Logan had ever been pale before- as someone with the gift of instant regeneration, when would he have lost enough blood for that to happen? Or experience nausea?

Before, you would've responded that the answer was never. Now, you watched the color drain from his face.

In his two-hundred years- to his knowledge anyway (and maybe he was better off not knowing if he did)- Logan had never gotten a single woman pregnant. Now, with a new lease on life no more than three months strong, he had already managed to fuck it up.

Logan's mind battled with two conflicting, yet equally upsetting thoughts. One: Logan was going to be a father. That one came with hefty baggage he couldn't even begin to unpack. How could he be a good father? How would he keep them safe? What would happen to him if history repeated itself?

Two: he got you pregnant. You, Wade's friend who had big dreams. You, who made the heart rate of every man in the room skyrocket when you walked into it. You, who had shown Logan kindness even when he felt that he was the last person on earth to deserve it.

He, to Logan's understanding, had ruined your life.

You- kind, perfect, caring you- were going to share a child with him.

What did you do to deserve that?

But, Logan didn't say any of that.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

You scowled at him.

"That I'm pregnant?" You asked, crossing your arms. "Or that it's yours? Because either way, yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't have been marching over to your apartment if I wasn't."

Sensing your upset, Logan cursed himself.

He put one hand on his hip while the other ran down his face.

"I-" Logan began.

"Look," You said, levelling yourself. "I get that you probably don't want to be involved and that's fine. I just figured you had a right to know. But now that you know-"

Logan pulled his hand from his face and shook his head in disbelief. His eyebrows knitted as he flew his hand around in the air, shocked.

"What're you talking about?" He asked, exasperated. "You think I'm just gonna let you raise the kid yourself? C'mon, Y/n."

You were taken aback.

"You... want to be involved?" You asked.

To be honest, you had been so concerned with preparing yourself for the seemingly inevitable crushing defeat, that you had not even taken the time to consider that he might say yes.

Now, it seemed obvious. Logan was Logan. He may have been stubborn, difficult, perpetually frustrated- let's stop there- but he was also loyal. Committed.

Logan wouldn't let a stranger take a punch, why did you think he would let you raise his kid on your own?

"You're sure it's mine?"

Did he want you to admit that he was the only man you'd slept with in months?

"Yes."

Logan's jaw clenched as he nodded slowly. He reckoned that it would take more than one conversation for the realization to hit him that after years, decades, centuries- he was going to be a father. But for now, he made peace with his future.

He studied the moment. You stood before him bathed in the afternoon sunlight, your arms hugging yourself as you stared at him intently. He, across from you, had his hands in his pockets, playing with old receipts that had now torn. It was simple. But he figured out of everything in his life that he had forgotten, he would be sure to remember this moment.

"Then you're not doing this alone, alright?" Logan said, meeting your eyes. His words were soft despite his gruff voice. "Now, let's go inside so the whole block doesn't keep hearin' about it, yeah?"

Unsure, you stayed glued to your spot.

Then his hand reached out for you, ushering you forward by the small of your back.

"C'mon sweetheart, I can still see those tears."

And with a deep breath, you let Logan lead you inside.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

this isnt proofread- sorry!! but baby daddy logan who you just barely know but now get forced into close proximity with?? Intrigued...

we're chatting about our favourite mcu guys in the ask box- feel free to come on by!!

#logan howlett #logan #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett fanfiction #xmen fanfiction #logan howlett blurb #logan howlett drabble #logan howlett fluff #wolverine drabble #wolverine angst

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red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 1 year ago

Text

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Previous Chapter: Part 1 | Next Chapter: Part 3

AO3: Linked Here :)

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

Scenes from the afternoon hookup replay in your mind over and over as you sit in the library at a battered old desk in the history section. All you can think about is Shoto’s mouth. And his hands. And his abs!! And his sweet face.

You twiddle your pen in your hand as you try to draft out an essay for class. Unfortunately, every time you try to jot down a few thoughts your mind goes blissfully blank and you remember the tender way he spoke to you.

"How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?"

“You’re so beautiful. Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.”

“Find me later so we can discuss this.”

You look down at your watch excitedly – 7:55 PM. You eagerly wait for Shoto to appear so the two of you can talk and – with any luck – canoodle amongst the history textbooks. You sit patiently as the time ticks by.

Soon it’s 8:30 PM. You’re not worried, though. Shoto probably assumed you’d want to get some work done first.

9:15 PM rolls around and you start to get worried. You try to distract yourself with school work as doubt creeps into your mind.

10 PM – Shoto still hasn’t showed.

“Shit shit shit.” You check your phone again and again as you wade through the endless wave of homework your teachers have assigned. You keep losing yourself in a math problem or in a passage of your History textbook, only to remember with a jolt that you were expecting to see Shoto and the bastard hasn’t showed.

At 10:30 PM you realize with a sinking feeling that it’s almost past curfew. You pack up your things and prepare to head back to the dorms. There’s a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can’t shake.

You slide your books into your bag as a anxious thoughts dance through your mind like annoying fruit flies: Does Shoto regret your mid-afternoon hookup? Is he going to pretend it never happened? Did you push him too far? Does he think you’re a slut for stripping off your shirt and basically pressing his face into your naked breasts!? The synapses of your brain jump through dozens of equally horrid and embarrassing scenarios as you march back to your dorm room, blushing furiously with humiliation.

You run through the afternoon’s events in your head for what feels like the hundredth time, trying to find a clue as to why Shoto would have left you waiting alone in the library. Your cheeks burn hotter as you recall the gentle way Shoto had kissed your neck before leaning in to capture your lips in one of his first kisses. "How am I going to get anything done now, knowing that you can kiss like this?" You shiver as you think back to how gentle he was, how each caress felt so loving and intimate.

You shake your head to clear it. Shoto must have a valid excuse for not meeting you in the library as he had promised – no boy could kiss someone that intimately and then instantly cast her aside, right?

Before long, you’re walking through the doors of Class 1A’s dorm building. You shiver with discomfort as you recall how earlier that day you essentially scaled the side of a building for a boy. Does Shoto think you’re an absolute fool with the extremes you went to for a quick make out session? You hope not.

You walk up the stairs and past the common area. You see most of Class 1A studying quietly. Sero, Izuku, Kirishima and Ida sit around one of the kitchen tables reviewing their math homework while some of the girls compare English notes on the couch. To your relief, Shoto isn’t there. Mina waves to you enthusiastically, beckoning you to join her and YaMomo as they review the finer points of Hamlet. You politely decline and make a beeline for your room. You turn the key in the lock and it clicks – within moments, you are blessedly alone.

You toss your heavy book bag to the ground and prepare to wallow in self-pity. It’s 10:56pm and Shoto still hasn’t reached out to you. Your phone is vacant of text messages and your brain is absolutely fried from schoolwork.

You dim your room lights and switch on the favorite fairy lights for some peaceful ambiance. Time for some self-care, bitch! You think resolutely as you swap your uniform for your favorite pair of pajamas. You toss your phone to the floor with abandon and climb into your comfy bed. You breathe in deeply, allowing yourself to revel in the coziness of the dorm room.

You take out your five-minute bullet journal and write a quick list of things you're grateful for: 1. The opportunity to study at UA 2. Your lovely and encouraging friends and classmates 3. Your cozy room and the roof over your head 4. Shoto’s mouth 5. Shoto’s abs 6. Shoto’s goddamn hard AF dick

Um. No.

You snap the journal shut before you get too derailed.

You pull your comforter over your head and sit in silence for a moment. You’ve never been the kind of person to go completely boy-crazy. You always used to make fun of those girls who would go gaga over pretty boys and their texts and their kisses. But as you recall the searing way that Shoto kissed your lips earlier that day, you suddenly understand what all the boy-crazed girly hype was all about. Oh my god. You have a crush. A big sloppy embarrassing crush.

In the silence of your room, you suddenly here a buzzing noise coming from the general direction of your book bag. You struggle to disentangle yourself from your sheets and your journal goes flying. You ignore its crash landing as you slip from your bed and collect your phone from where it lays abandoned on the carpeted floor.

It’s Shoto.

Your heart skips.

Todoroki: Y/N. Are you awake?

You bite your lip, unsure how to respond. Did Shoto just send you his version of “U up?”

Y/N: Yes, I’m still up.

Todoroki: I know it’s late, but can I stop by?

You tense. Oh God – he’s going to come by to tell you that he’s not interested. He’s going to thank you for your time making out and say that you probably should avoid hooking up in the future because it’s a huge distraction. You’re sure that whatever he has to say is going to be negative and leave you feeling embarrassed. Why else would he have skipped out on your rendezvous in the library?

You take a deep breath. You have always been fairly practical with a mind for strategy, two qualities that had really set you apart when you had taken the UA entrance exams. You know that the best course of action here is to rip off the Band-Aid sooner rather than later. Better to know how he feels about your hookup now

Your heart sinks as you type out:

Y/N: Sure, I’ll leave the door unlocked for you. Just come in. Try not to be seen by anyone.

Todoroki: Of course. See you shortly.

Your heart beats double time as you look down at yourself. Your pajama set consists of a silky blue top with matching shorts that don’t leave much to the imagination. You chew on your thumb nervously – should you change into something more appropriate? No – Shoto has seen your boobs. A little bit of leg is not going to kill the half hot half cold hero in training.

You quickly remake your bed and kick your book bag beneath your desk so that the floor is clear. You plop down on your smooth comforter and wait, knotting your hands together as you anticipate Shoto’s arrival.

A few anxious minutes pass, and then you hear gentle footsteps pad down the hallway outside your door. The knob turns quietly, and in a moment Shoto Todoroki steps across your threshold, quietly closing the door behind him. He reaches down to turn the lock with a gentle snap of his wrist.

You take him in – he’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a soft white t-shirt. You’ve never seen him dressed so casually before and you assume that these are what he wears as pajamas in the privacy of his own dorm room. His hair is tousled and damp from a recent shower, and the burned side of his face shines where he’s clearly applied some kind of scar cream or moisturizer. His outfit projects a comfy air, but his expression is dark and stormy. Your heartbeat quickens in fear – what could possibly have caused him to be in such a tempestuous mood? Was this about your kissing?

You bite at your lip with worry. But when your eyes lock, his expression softens. In two quick strides, he’s at the bed. He leans in close so that your noses almost touch.

“Hi.” He says softly, before dipping his mouth to meet yours. You blink in surprise as your mouths melt together. His eyes flutter shut as he sinks into the kiss. Pleasure radiates up and down your spine as you kiss him back. He places both his palms on your hips and pulls you closer, letting out a small moan of satisfaction as he slides his tongue into your mouth. How silly you feel for thinking he didn’t want you like this!

After a few moments, you break apart.

“Hey there.” You whisper, bringing your hands up to cup his beautiful jaw. He leans in to kiss you again and you hold him in place. He stops and looks down at you inquisitively.

“I waited for you in the library, you didn’t show.” You say slowly, softly.

“My father decided to take me through some drills in one of the school’s gyms. I only finished a half hour ago.” His expression becomes dull as he speaks. “I’m sorry to leave you waiting. I wanted to see you - but I’m not allowed on my phone during training.”

Relief must have flooded your features, because he tilts his head to the side questioningly. You hold back a giggle – the way his head is tilted makes him look like a sweet dog asking its owner for a treat.

“What’s wrong?”

You sigh and pull yourself further onto the bed, patting the spot next to you as an invitation. Shoto climbs up next to you, sinking into the deliciously soft fabric. His eyes widen slightly in surprise.

“This is so comfortable.” He says, pressing his palm into the plush fabric beneath him. You recall his sparse traditional bedroom and realize that he’s never laid on a proper puffy mattress before.

“Hold on – it gets better.” You say pushing him off the bed so you can pull down the covers. You slip beneath the comforter and gesture for him to rejoin you. He climbs in clumsily, unsure how to position himself within the sheets. You prop a pillow beneath his shoulders as he lays down on his side. You toss the comforter over the two of you and lay across from him, feet almost touching beneath the warm layers of bedding.

“Cozy?” You ask as Shoto settles into the bed.

“Yeah.” He says in quiet voice, propping himself up on an elbow. “I always thought beds like this were excessive but…maybe there’s some merit to this.” He eyes a blue Squirtle plush that sits next to you in the bed. “Can I…hold that?”

You grin, biting back a laugh as you reach over to grab the Pokémon plush. “This is Squirtle – he’s one of my favorite plushies.” You hold up the stuffed animal and wiggle it in front of Shoto’s eyes as if it’s dancing. “Squirtle, Squirtle” you say in a low tone, trying to emulate the television character’s voice the best you can.

Shoto gives you a weird look. “I don’t get it. Why are you just repeating its name in a strange voice?”

“Shoto…have you…have never seen Pokémon!?” You almost screech in disbelief, before throwing a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself. You quickly remember that you are in the dorms and the walls aren’t super thick.

“No, I wasn’t allowed to watch television unless it was about Pro hero work.” Shoto says, a tinge of sadness flowing along with his words. “But it looks cute and round and I really just want to hold it and squish it?”

“Yeah, that’s the general reaction to plushies. Dude, we need to get you that whale pillow you liked on Pinterest. You need more cuteness in your life.”

“Well I have you, don’t I?” Shoto smiles softly. “You bring more than enough cute into my life.” He reaches out and grabs the plush from your hands and squishes it a bit. “But this is pretty nice, too.”

Your face grows hot at the compliment. Shoto tucks the Squirtle under his arm and shifts around in the sheets until he finds a comfortable position. He looks adorable and soft as he cradles the bright plush in his strong, muscular hands.

When he finally settles in, he looks up at you enquiringly. “What’s wrong?” He repeats, looping you both back to the conversation form earlier.

“So…” You sigh with embarrassment. “When you didn’t show up and I didn’t hear from you…” You pause and Shoto gives Squirtle a squeeze. “I thought you didn’t want to see me again. Or at least that you didn’t want to make out with me again.”

“Oh.” Shoto wasn’t expecting this. “I thought I made it very clear how…enthusiastically…I enjoyed our time together this afternoon. I didn’t realize I had left any room for you to question my attraction to you.”

“That’s nice to hear…but when you didn’t show at the library or send a text, I assumed the worst. My mind kind of went into full-blown panic mode. I thought maybe once you had time to reflect on our hookup, that you realized you didn’t like it or that you didn’t really like me. To be perfectly honest, I’ve never felt that way before. Usually something like this wouldn’t bother me.” You take a deep, steadying breath. “But I think I really like you and want to be close to you, and the thought that you might not feel the same was tearing me apart for the last couple of hours.”

The words come tumbling from your mouth before you can stop and think them through. Why are you saying all of this!? Why does being around Shoto make you feel so comfortable and open to sharing? It’s so weird – and you’re absolutely sure he’s going to think you’re some kind of over sharing freak for telling him all of this.

Shoto looks at you thoughtfully for a long moment before speaking. “Something I have always admired about you is your ability to be straightforward about what you’re thinking and feeling. Most people aren’t like that, and I have a hard time navigating more subtle situations. Thank you for telling me exactly what you’re thinking – I value it so much.” He runs a hand through his slightly damp hair, moving the bangs out of his bright eyes.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I had abandoned you. I wanted to come to the library so badly. I want to kiss you so badly – it’s all I’ve been thinking about tonight.” His voice is so earnest that you believe him.

“Let me match your honesty with some of my own - my father is extremely strict. Ever since I was born, he’s pushed me to be better. To be stronger. He wants me to surpass him. He wants me to take All Might’s place as the number one hero.”

You gasp at this. Of course you knew that Todoroki was ambitious, but this…

“I don’t have any intentions of becoming harsh and cruel like my father. I’m not even sure if I want to go for the top spot on the hero charts.” He admits, almost bitterly. “That’s the path that my father has laid out for me. He’s obsessed with my training. With my ‘potential.’ But he doesn’t seem to give a fuck about how I feel. Excuse my language.” Shoto looks so sad, so despairing. He hugs the plush close, his chin tucked into his chest as he continues.

“I just want to help people and make them smile – just like All Might. But my old man just doesn’t seem to get that. Today, when he noticed how distracted I was… he didn’t ask if something was wrong. He just pushed me even harder.” Shoto avoids your gaze. “I think he purposefully pushed me to train into the night to keep me from meeting up with you. In his eyes…you’re a huge distraction for his prized creation.”

Suddenly you notice how exhausted Shoto looks – there are pale bags beneath his eyes. You scan his body and see light bruises beginning to form on the exposed skin of his arms. You wonder - just what kind of training has Endeavor been subjecting him to?

You had never guessed that behind Shoto’s calm and collected exterior, there is just a normal teenage boy trying desperately to please his father, while simultaneously trying to defy him. The whole relationship seems complicated and messy and you’re sure what Shoto is telling you is only the tip of a chaotic Todoroki family dynamic iceberg.

“Oh, Shoto.” You say softly. You scoot forward and wrap your arms around him. He freezes, unsure of what to do but nevertheless comforted by the sudden closeness. You reach behind him and card your fingers through his hair. You see goose bumps emerge across his skin, and realize that he likely hasn’t been touched this way before.

“Is it okay to touch you like this?” You whisper.

He breathes out a shaky “yes” as he moves to toss the Squirtle plush to the floor. Once his arms are free, he works to wrap them around you. He rests one strong hand on your back and slings the other around your delicate waist. He draws you close to him and holds you tightly as you continue to run your fingers softly through his two-toned hair.

He’s silent as he buries his head into your shoulder. There’s an emotion that’s radiating off of his body that you can’t quite place – sadness? Frustration? Maybe even relief? After a few moments of running your fingers through his hair and gently up and down his back, he finally starts to relax. The tense muscles in his shoulders loosen, and he seems to come back to himself.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He whispers, muffled as he turns his face into the crook of your neck. “I’m not great at expressing my emotions. I can try to put it into words…I’m feeling so weighed down right now.”

“Because of your father’s expectations?” You prompt, running a light fingertip down his spine. He shivers a bit in response, but not in an unpleasant way.

“Sometimes I wonder if he sees me as a real person, as a son. Or am I just his big project?” Shoto wonders aloud, his voice a bit strained. You feel his eyelashes flutter against the sensitive skin beneath your jawline.

“Shoto...that sounds like a lot to carry. You’re just a high school student – your father shouldn’t be putting that kind of pressure on you. It’s not normal.” You tuck a lock of red hair behind his porcelain ear. “This situation sounds so complicated. It’s no wonder you feel so conflicted. I’m here any time you need a friendly ear to listen as you work through it.” You continue to caress him softly over his clothes. He begins to lean into your touch hungrily. “But right now – at this moment – you’re safe. In this room, in my arms, you don’t need to hold other people’s expectations of you in your heart. When you’re with me, I want you to feel that you can just be Shoto.”

You still your fingers as you let your words sink in. Shoto is radiating a deep sort of sadness that you wish you could smooth away with your fingertips.

“Thank you.” He says, his voice breaking a tiny bit as he processes your words. After a few beats Shoto exhales deeply, his breath ruffles your hair. “I’m not used to talking about these things. Actually, I’m not really used to talking much at all. Or being touched.” You can feel the blush on his delicate cheeks warm the skin of your neck.

“I can tell.” You say before you can stop yourself. To your surprise, he chuckles.

“I don’t know why it’s so easy to do these things with you – talking, touching…kissing.” He lifts his head off of your shoulder to look you square in the face. “There’s something about you…”

Suddenly, the room feels as if it’s charged with Denki’s electrification quirk as his bright mismatched eyes meet your own.

“I think I’d like to continue exploring this with you.” He says matter-of-factly, moving his legs to intertwine with yours.

“W-what does that mean?” Your breath catches in your throat as he dips forward to kiss down your neck.

“It means…I want to keep doing this. Kissing. Talking. I suppose I want to keep getting to know you like this? Intimately.” He places a soft kiss in the hollow behind your earlobe. “Would you like that as well?”

“Yes.” You breathe, with zero hesitation. He smiles into your neck before running the edges of his teeth lightly across your smooth skin. You let out a soft moan in response.

“Good. Then we’ll figure this out together.” He moves to kiss your cheek soundly before releasing you from his embrace. “But right now it’s well past midnight, and we both need our sleep if we’re going to continue to be top of our class alongside YaMomo and Ida. If we both let our grades slip, it might tip people off.” He moves to get off the bed.

“Hey – wait!” You grab his arm and pull him back under the covers. “I have no problem with you staying here for the night.”

“But wouldn’t that be inappropriate?” Shoto’s face reddens, but he lets himself be drawn back into your gentle embrace.

“Would it be anymore inappropriate than you making out with my tits?” Shoto’s face burns an even brighter red at this question, but he also looks quite pleased with himself (you assume he’s recalling the way he kissed down your breasts earlier that day as he smirks). “Sharing a bed should be perfectly responsible as long as we keep all of our clothes on. You said you want to explore? Well get over here and let’s figure out if you make a good big spoon.”

This earns one of those rare full smiles from Shoto – he practically glows. “Alright.”

He pulls himself close to you. You reach above your head and switch off the string lights that wind their way around your room, and the tiny dorm fills with darkness.

You turn to face the wall and scoot your body back until you feel Shoto’s solid warmth. He reaches around to pull you close until bodies are touching, flush together. You tuck yourself into Shoto’s warm, muscular body and sigh with contentment.

“So do I make a good big spoon?” He questions, tentatively nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply. “Mmm, your hair smells like lavender.”

“We’ll need plenty of practice to truly ascertain the full range of your spooning abilities.” You say in a faux-academic voice, causing him to snort out a laugh. “But so far you’re doing great.”

You interlock your legs and pull his strong arms around you. You wiggle a bit as you try to find the comfiest spot in the mattress. You unintentionally grind a bit against Shoto and jolt when you feel something hard pressed against the curve of your ass.

“Sorry.” He mutters softly, embarrassed.

“Maybe I’ll take care of that for you tomorrow.” You yawn as you close your eyes and settle in for a good night’s rest. You grin into the darkness as you feel Shoto’s dick get even harder as he mulls over your response, wondering at what you could possibly mean by “take care of that.”

You didn’t realize you were so tired. You’re dimly aware of Shoto’s breathing growing slow as he drifts off into a comfortable sleep. You smile softly to yourself as you slide further into his embrace. This poor, touch-starved boy has been through so many terrible things and your heart aches for him.

Even in sleep he’s tense, his jawline stiff and his muscles almost locked around you. But he’s warm and soft and smells like jasmine and mint tea. You hope that for the next few hours you can provide him with a safe harbor to rest and escape his troubles. You let your eyes flutter close and breathe in deeply, dreaming of Shoto’s sweet face as you fall gently into sleep’s embrace.

-------------------------------

Part 3

Previous Chapter: Part 1 | Next Chapter: Part 3

🔥 Link to My Master List 🔥

Shoto's First Kiss Series:

Part 1: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Part 2: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Part 3: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 3

Part 4: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 4

Part 5: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 5

Part 6: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 6

Part 7: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 7

Part 8: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 8

Part 9: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 9

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

Text

With You, Even When I'm Not

Requested Here by the amazing @newobsessionweekly!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When one of Tim Bradford's enemies is released from prison, he sets out to hurt Tim by hurting you. You trust that Tim will save you, but time is not on your side.

Warnings: angst, car accident, torture (injuries to r), based on 2x11 but this isn't a rewrite (for once lol), crying, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 5.5k+ words

A/N: I didn't include a scene with Tim threatening someone like he does in 2x11 and I kinda regret it because it was hot, but I also really like how this turned out...

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead.”

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Less than eight hours ago, you sat beside Tim in roll call. You force yourself to remember that rather than consider what Ferguson plans to do to you.

- 8 Hours Ago -

Your day starts like any other: you wake up, get ready, go to the station, and take your seat beside Tim for roll call. The sun is bright, the sky clear, and Los Angeles is event-free for once. So, it has the makings for a good day.

“What is up with you?” Tim asks quietly.

“What do you mean?” you counter.

“You’re all smiley and happy. Someone puked in my shop yesterday and you’re acting like this is the best job in the world.”

“It is!” You chuckle at his look before explaining, “It’s going to be a good day. Just let me enjoy this one for every hundred bad ones I’ve dealt with.”

“Sure.”

Wade enters, and you give him your full attention, though you never forget about Tim. He’s a constant in your life, and you wish you could have him by your side every moment, not just during roll call.

“Nolan, Harper is back so you can return to your TO,” Wade says.

“That’s why you’re so happy,” Tim muses. “You got rid of Nolan.”

You shake your head and smile before you stand. You’re patrolling in one of the nicest Los Angeles neighborhoods today, so you probably won’t see or hear Tim much today.

“Have a good one,” you tell him.

“Be careful,” he replies.

You exit the room, and Tim watches you go. Lucy walks to his side and stops, aware of what he’s looking at and longing for.

“Let’s go, boot, don’t just stand there,” Tim demands.

“Bradford,” Wade calls. “A word? Chen can stay.”

Tim nods and follows Lucy to the front of the room.

“Ferguson was released on parole this morning,” Wade says. “Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know.”

“He had fifteen years left; how did this happen?” Tim asks.

“Who’s Ferguson?” Lucy inquires.

“Someone I arrested,” Tim answers. “He threatened to kill me when he got out.”

“Oh. Uh, should we-“

“That is up to Officer Bradford,” Wade interjects. “If you want to sit today out, I’ll understand.”

“No. I’m not letting him ruin my life, too. We can handle Ferguson if he’s stupid enough to show his face.”

“The parole board seems convinced he’s reformed, but we both know he’s a good liar and a better manipulator. Keep your eyes open, Tim, and don’t hesitate to call in anything you think is a threat.”

“Yes, sir. Let’s go, boot.”

Tim leads Lucy to the shop, and he's quieter than usual. Lucy hasn’t been a cop as long as him, but she knows what it’s like to have a criminal blame you for the consequences of their actions. She won’t push Tim, not about this, but she has questions about everything she heard.

“Pull up Roscoe Ferguson,” Tim says as he turns onto the road. “Get familiar with his face. If you see him, I want you to know it’s him.”

“You really think he’ll do something?” Lucy asks as she turns the dashboard computer toward her.

“I’m counting on it.”

“Dispatch, this is 7-Adam-9, are there any alerts in my area?” you ask into the radio.

“Negative, 7-Adam-9.”

You nod to yourself and place the radio back in the console. The morning has been quiet and slow. You know you shouldn’t complain; a sunny drive in the hills is rarely a bad thing, but you’re a cop, and you’re getting bored.

“7-Adam-9, switch to channel 4 for Sergeant Grey,” dispatch instructs.

You turn the channel dial and let Wade know you’re there. He doesn’t answer, and you slow at a stop sign as you bounce the radio against your thigh.

“You’re in the hills, right?” Wade asks suddenly.

He doesn't use your name or call number, only asks a rushed question. It concerns you, but you remain professional.

“Yes, sir,” you answer. “Do you need me to come back?”

“No, stay up there. Just wanted to double-check.”

“What’s going on?”

Wade goes silent again, and you repeat the question.

“Nothing, I hope. Just trying to keep everyone connected to Bradford out of the heart of LA today.”

“Why?”

“Ferguson was released.”

“He has 15 years left on his sentence!” you exclaim into your empty car.

“I know. I’m trying to get everything figured out and petition for it to be reversed, but for now, just keep working.”

“Yes, sir.”

You turn the channel back and set the radio down. Roscoe Ferguson hates Tim and would do anything to get to him. Tim knows you're here for him, so you focus on your assignment. The Hollywood hills are quiet this morning, but you know better than to let your guard down.

As you turn onto Tahoe Drive, you notice a black truck in your rearview. He gets close to the tail of your shop but slows suddenly and turns onto Tahoe Place. You roll your eyes; the people who live in the Hills drive like they own the hills. They probably do, but it doesn’t excuse unsafe vehicle operation.

You round the bend where Tahoe Drive turns into Lake Hollywood Drive, and the Hollywood Reservoir comes into view. When you glance up, you see the black truck speeding toward you again. You hit the lights and leave them on for a few seconds as a warning, but the driver doesn’t slow. If they pass you, you’ll stop them and issue a ticket, you decide.

There’s a point on Lake Hollywood Drive where there’s less than 200 feet of terrain between the road and the reservoir. It’s covered in sparse foliage, but it would be easy enough to get to the water or hide in the trees. You realize too late that the truck isn’t slowing down or moving to pass you as you near that point. It rams into you from behind, and you lurch forward before the seatbelt catches and snatches you backward. Steering is pointless as the shop slides into a small patch of dirt. The truck is still driving, pushing your car forward. The driver stops just before you collide with a tree, and you reach for the radio.

It's fallen from the console, and the seatbelt holds you uncomfortably tight to your seat. As you wrestle to free yourself and get the radio, you don’t see the man exit the truck or approach your window. He hits it with an illegal tool used for breaking into cars, and you turn your face away as glass showers over you.

“Hi,” he greets. “7-Adam-9, right?”

“And you’re Roscoe Ferguson,” you answer.

“Bradford, get back to the station,” Wade radios, “Now.”

“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he makes a U-turn.

“Ferguson stole a truck. We don’t know where he went after or what he’s planning to do.”

“We should find him,” Lucy says.

“And don’t say you should go look for him,” Wade adds. “You’re too close to this.”

“He’s not going to kill me, Grey,” Tim argues. “Let me help. I caught him once; I can do it again.”

“Get back to the station. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir.”

Tim sighs as he continues driving toward the station. The last time he worried about Roscoe Ferguson, you were sitting beside him. Though you’ll never take the credit, Tim thinks you’re the main reason he finally got Ferguson in cuffs.

“What now?” Lucy asks.

“We find a way to help find Ferguson,” Tim replies.

“Get out,” Ferguson demands.

He pushes the gun closer to your face, and you raise your hands slowly. Your left shoulder aches from the impact of the seatbelt, and as you reach through the broken window to open your door, you feel the tiny scratches littering your face and neck sting. Ferguson pulls you away from the shop and pushes you toward the reservoir.

“What’s your plan here, Roscoe?” you ask.

He taps the gun against your back to make you keep walking. With your back to him, you slide your hand into your pocket and remove the laminated piece of paper you keep in it. It falls to the ground, and you hope it’s enough to help Tim find you and Roscoe.

“Kill me to get to Tim? Hurt him without touching him because you know he won’t let you get the chance?”

“Shut up!” Ferguson yells. “Walk!”

Taunting him may not be your brightest decision, but making him mad will make him careless. When you reach the water, he grabs your belt and pulls you backward. Your breath rushes out as your back hits the ground, but you smile through the pain.

“You will never beat him,” you say.

“Tim Bradford took everything from me. Let’s see how he likes the feeling,” Ferguson responds.

He raises the gun to your face and pushes the barrel against your forehead. You keep your eyes on him, unwilling to flinch in the face of death. He changes his mind, however, and brings the butt of the handle down against your temple instead, and everything goes dark as the water blows in the wind.

Tim and Lucy have been relegated to desk duty. With Ferguson on the run and numerous threats against Tim’s life, Wade decided it would be best for him to stay here. Wade watches them from his office and shakes his head when Lucy begins twirling her handcuffs around her finger. His phone rings and Wade steps away from the glass door to answer it.

“Sergeant Grey,” he answers.

He listens silently before lowering the receiver and stepping out into the station. Tim looks up, and his expression drops immediately.

“What happened?” Tim asks as he stands.

“They found the stolen truck. It was involved in an accident near the reservoir. He, uh… Ferguson ran a cop off the road, and they’re both missing.”

“Who?” Tim asks, urgency and panic lacing the syllable.

Before Wade can answer, dispatch reads your badge number in a missing officer alert, and Tim’s blood runs cold. He freezes, staring at Wade as he realizes what has happened and that it’s his fault. Tim never anticipated Ferguson going for the people Tim cares about – loves – and he should have.

“Let me go out there,” Tim demands lowly. “I can find her.”

“I shouldn’t,” Wade answers. He looks to Lucy and adds, “But I will. Don’t try to do this alone, Bradford. Take help where you can get it.”

“I don’t want the credit; I want her back,” Tim snaps.

“Then get to the reservoir and do what you do best, Tim.”

Lucy nods at Wade, an unspoken promise that she’ll do her best to help him and keep him from spiraling. They both know that it’s easier said than done.

“Tim,” you call out when you wake.

“Nope, just me,” Ferguson says.

He’s sitting across from you as he carves a piece of wood into a chipmunk. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, and one of your ankles is secured to a metal pole with your handcuffs. Whatever he’s planning to do to you will hurt you, but it will hurt Tim much worse.

“I hope you’re asking for a lot of ransom,” you mumble.

“You and I both know this isn’t about money. It’s about that little partner of yours and what he did to me.”

“Making you pay for your crimes? Yeah, he’s a terrible person.”

Ferguson moves forward quickly. The half-finished wood carving falls to the floor as he presses the knife under your jaw.

“These whittling knives are small, but I can cut an artery before you can call out to him again,” he threatens.

You swallow, causing the knife to bob in his hand. He presses harder and turns to the left before standing. Warm blood trickles down your neck, and you wonder what he plans to do to you before he kills you. If you didn’t have so much faith in Tim, you’d be tempted to anger Ferguson and trick him into killing you early. It’s a terrible thing to think, but at the end of the day, you’re a cop, and you know when your chances aren’t good enough. Right now, they are.

“When he gets here, he will put a bullet in you this time,” you tell Ferguson.

“You stopped him last time,” he answers.

He’s planning to use you as a human shield; let Tim be the one to finish you off in the darkness. Perhaps that’s why you’re underground. The only light you see is from a small lamp; when it goes off, you will be plunged into complete darkness.

“Stop talking,” Ferguson demands as he retrieves his chipmunk. “We don’t have much air in here.”

You try not to let your shock show, but as you look around and fail to see a single air vent, you worry that Tim won’t make it in time. Forcing yourself to take a steady breath, you close your eyes.

“No, no, no,” Ferguson chides. “No napping. We have to stay awake for the pre-game, and the final score.”

He tips your head back, and your eyes open instinctually. When he sees that, he tightens his grip on your jaw and circles you. Looking at him upside-down, you tug against your restraints. He raises a foot and places it on your bound hands before stepping down hard and fast. Your shoulders pull backward at a painful angle with no room that makes you yell in pain. Ferguson’s laugh drowns out your scream, and he keeps his hand on your jaw as he lays a rope over the back of your neck to hang over your shoulders.

“He’s going to kill you,” you say between pants when Ferguson releases your face.

He hinges at his hip, invading your personal space as he smiles and says, “You too.”

“Bradford, there’s blood,” an officer alerts.

Tim steps to your open shop door and sees a few small, oblong blood drops on your seat. Based on the shape, you were in motion when they fell, and it wasn’t enough blood to kill you.

“Probably from the glass,” he decides. “Let’s move toward the reservoir. We can’t tell footprints apart but watch where you’re stepping!”

“Tim!” Lucy yells from just past the tree line.

He jogs to her side and looks down. She found a small, laminated piece of paper, and Tim recognizes it immediately. Your self-proclaimed “perfect fortune” from one of your first dinners together as P2s rather than rookies. He picks it up and looks toward the water. He’s looking in the right place, you made sure to tell him that, but he feels like he’s missing something else.

“Please,” you whimper, even though you know he can’t hear you.

“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Ferguson asks. “He’s not here.”

The only thing on your mind is Tim because if you stop thinking about him you’ll only know the unbearable pain and the man inflicting it. Ferguson places his foot between your legs, pushing against the chair slowly. It tips back, and you close your eyes and imagine Tim catching you. It doesn’t stop the initial pain of your leg being held in one place by the handcuffs as the rest of your body moves back or the scream you release as you hit the floor, but it does give you a reason to keep fighting. Ferguson pulls you up nearly as fast as he tipped you over, and the rope digs in against the side of your neck.

“This is the best workout I’ve ever had,” he says.

He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead, and you notice how hot and thick the air seems. Ferguson admitted that the air supply was limited, so if you start wasting it, maybe he will leave.

“If you call him…” you begin slowly. “Let me hear Tim Bradford’s voice one more time, and I will lure him here for you.”

“Do you think I’m dumb?” Ferguson asks.

You nod and immediately regret it when he pulls the rope and forces your head down toward your chest.

“I’m not letting you take control. This is my plan, and it ends beautifully.”

“I can’t do this!” Tim yells.

He runs his hands over the back of his head and down his face as he squats by the reservoir. There are no other hints about where Ferguson took you, nothing to guide Tim toward saving you, only dirt and broken promises. He told you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you; Tim whispered the promise in the dead of night when you were asleep during an overnight patrol, yet he’s holding himself to keeping it like it will kill him if he doesn’t. Because it will.

“Tim don’t give up yet,” Lucy encourages. She lowers beside him and lays a hand on his back. “We can do this, but we have to work together. The paper means something right? Could it be more than an indication she was here?”

Tim wipes under his eye, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she realizes tears are streaming down his cheeks. He stops them quickly, but she pats his back to remind him he’s not fighting alone. You’re fighting, too, and Tim needs to remember that.

“Lucy, I lo-“ Tim stops suddenly, though Lucy is confident she knows where he was going. “I know what it means.”

He stands quickly, and Lucy follows him to the place where they found the fortune. The little strip of paper from a fortune cookie has been in your pocket since you read it, but not only for the encouraging message on the front.

“34831,” Tim says.

“Your badge number?” Lucy asks, tilting her head to the side. “What about it?”

“It was on the back of my fortune that night. Hers, though, didn’t have a number. So, we wrote one on it.”

“What’s the number?”

“2 25 12 9. I didn’t think she’d know what it meant.”

“What does it mean?”

“It’s an alphabet cypher, but backward.”

“B, Y, L, I,” Tim rattles off. “If she had this, she may have left more clues at those points: 2, 25, 12, and 9.”

“This would have been about 2,” Lucy says, gesturing to the ground. “That’s what, 2 meters from the car?”

Tim furrows his brows at Lucy’s use of meters but nods anyway.

“We can’t walk 25 meters forward, we’d be in the water,” Lucy points out.

“Then we need to spread out in every direction we can go 25 meters… Unless I’m wrong.”

“Don’t question it.”

“No, she would’ve fought. He wouldn’t have been able to make her go anywhere if she wasn’t willing to. We should assume that she couldn’t leave a trail after this point.”

“Then we’re back where we started?”

“Exactly.”

“Tim, what does that even mean?”

“She’s still here. They both are.”

Tim turns and yells for someone to get satellite imaging of the area and the camera footage from your car. Your body cam and police uniform shirt were discarded by the water but the cameras could tell them what happened before and during the initial attack.

“We’ll find her, Tim,” Lucy promises again.

“Thank you,” Tim whispers.

Running footsteps echo over the top of the tin deathtrap you’re in. Someone yells, and Ferguson ducks his head as he moves out of your sight.

“Tim!” you yell.

Your voice cracks, and as you prepare to yell again, Ferguson pulls the rope around your neck. It digs into your skin and compresses your windpipe. Tears begin leaking from your eyes, and after the day you’ve had, you don’t care to stop them.

“Tim, please,” you whisper.

“Welcome to the final round,” Ferguson says into your ear.

He loosens the rope and pushes your chair forward. His foot pulls down against your hands again, pulling your shoulder muscles cruelly as they stretch to accommodate the impossible movement. You scream in agony as Ferguson pushes you past the point he stopped at previously.

“Did you stop to ask yourself what he’s thinking? Wouldn’t he have found you sooner if he cared? I’ve been out long enough that he knew, yet he let you out by yourself,” Ferguson taunts.

“You won’t win,” you say between ragged breaths.

Ferguson pulls your head to the side to hold the whittling knife against your windpipe, and the cut he made earlier pulls open. Your white shirt is stained with blood and tears, and even as your blinks slow and breathing begins to feel impossible, you trust Tim.

“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead,” Ferguson says.

You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”

Throwing your head backward, you ignore the sting of his knife sliding across the tender skin of your neck. Your skull hits Ferguson’s nose, and he staggers backward with a hand holding his face. Suddenly, you can’t pull a full breath into your lungs. Time has run out, and Tim isn’t here yet. You hold your breath as Ferguson stumbles behind you. He drops, and you see his hand and face are covered in blood. His chest rises and falls slowly, but you’re safe until the rest of the oxygen is used up.

“Tim,” you whisper toward the metal sheet above you.

“Wait!” Lucy calls. “The ground is hollow here.”

Tim returns to Lucy’s side and hears his footsteps echo. It sounds like there’s a metal sheeting under the dirt beneath his boots. He raises a hand to call a few officers over before someone screams. It’s muffled by the metal and earth, but it’s a clear sign of pain. Better than that, it means someone is still alive.

“Find a way in,” Tim demands quietly.

As he searches the area around the hollow spot, he wishes to hear your voice again. Not another scream, but an acknowledgement that you survived whatever caused you such agony.

"Bradford!” Janssen calls.

He waves Tim over and points to a small opening. Together, they lift the heavy steel cover away from the round hole. Another barrier of cloth and metal sheets blocks the entrance, and as Tim digs through, he wonders how much air is getting through, if any. The moment he can see inside the fortified bunker, he pulls his weapon and drops silently into the metal housing.

What was likely meant to be a storm shelter has been converted into a survivalist’s nightmare. A small corridor leads to a wider opening, and a dim light is the only sign that anyone is inside. Tim raises his guns and stays ready to shoot as he nears the opening.

“Tim,” you whisper.

Tim hears your voice and doesn’t hesitate to step into the open room and swing his gun as he clears the small, square area. Ferguson lies unconscious in the corner, and Tim can only see your back, the restraints keeping you in place, and the rope loosely wrapped around your neck and shoulders.

Your shoulders shake as you exhale slowly. When you notice that you can breathe again, you take a deep breath before letting your head fall forward.

“Tim,” you repeat, trying not to think of anything else.

Tim says your name as he holsters his gun. You sit up straight and try to turn your head to the side but are stopped by the pull of the rope and the pain in your shoulders. You hiss in pain before returning to your previous position.

“You can’t trick me, Roscoe,” you mumble.

Tim steps toward Ferguson and handcuffs him. He repeats your name as he moves into your line of sight. His hands are raised to his shoulders, though his expression is pure concern. When he sees the blood, sweat, and dirt covering you and your clothes, he has to fight not to rush to your side.

“Tim,” you say again. Your voice is louder than before but still has an untrusting quality. “Tim.”

When you start crying and lean toward Tim, he kneels before you. He reaches down carefully to use his key and remove the handcuff from your ankle. Your head rests on his shoulder as he moves, and when he sees the damage done to your ankle, the swelling, deep bruising, and handcuff-induced gash, he looks back at Ferguson.

Tim sits up slowly and raises a hand toward your face. He pushes your hair back softly and waits until your eyes meet to speak.

“I need to go get backup,” he says.

“No, no! Please don’t leave me, Tim,” you plead through your slowing tears.

You lean forward and wince when your shoulder meets its new range of motion.

“I need to get Ferguson out of here,” Tim explains. “There’s a lot of people above us waiting for me to signal.”

“Tim, please.”

“Can I yell?”

You swallow as Tim moves closer to you. He stops an inch away from you, with your knees almost touching his ribs.

“I’m not going to yell unless you say I can,” he adds.

Tim waits for your nod, then leans away from you slightly to yell for Janssen and Lucy to come in.

“Help me,” you whisper when Tim’s eyes return to you.

He sits back on his heels as he unloops the rope from around you. It’s heavy, and he sees your shoulders drop once it’s away from you. They drop unevenly, though, and he knows you need more help than he can give you.

“I’m staying with you,” Tim promises, “but I have to untie your hands.”

You shake your head quickly, and Tim moves his hands to the sides of your thighs as he agrees not to leave. He asks Lucy to free your hands and keeps his hands on you as Lucy cuts the restraints.

“Thank you,” you say.

Tim doesn’t answer before you pull your arms forward. With them free, you don’t hesitate to raise them and wrap them around his shoulders. It hurts, and you sob as you fall forward and cling to Tim. He welcomes your touch and wraps his arms around your waist, but he doesn’t touch you, too mindful of how injured you are and where those unseen injuries are.

“I knew you’d come,” you say through your tears.

Tim looks over your shoulder as Janssen and a few other officers carry Ferguson to the opening. He should call an EMT to meet you here, but he can’t let you go yet. His grip tightens around your waist without thinking. When your only reaction is relaxing against him, Tim holds you as tightly as he needs to. Your tears are drying, and you turn your face toward Tim’s neck to speak.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t leave more clues,” you begin. “But I knew you didn’t need them.”

“The paper was smart,” Tim replies. “And I will always find you.”

“He wanted to lure you down here and trick you into killing me. Every time I called out for you he reminded me that we would both die.”

Tim exhales deeply, unsure how to tell you he knows you and he’d never make that mistake. He sits back, twisting you so that he’s holding you against his chest rather than letting you support your own weight.

“It hurts,” you say softly.

“Can you get out of here? Go up the ladder?” he asks.

“There’s a ladder?”

Tim’s brows furrow at your question. How did Ferguson get you down here if you weren’t conscious when you came in? He shakes his head; the detectives (and Tim) will look into the details of your abduction later. For now, your safety is the priority.

“Can you climb out?” Tim asks.

“Not without help,” you answer. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Tim looks at your ankle again, and his eyes catch on the fresh blood pooling against your collarbone. He leans closer to you to find the source. When he sees the cut across the front of your neck, he knows you need help sooner rather than later.

“Hold on,” he instructs you.

“I- I can’t move my shoulder.”

Tim lays you against the metal floor and looks at your left shoulder. It’s out of its socket, but Tim can’t risk pushing it back in without knowing if your muscles or ligaments are still intact.

“Please just get me out of here.”

Tim nods and turns around so your hips are beside his shoulders. He leans down and pulls your legs over his shoulder rather than your arms. With one hand pressing your shoulder to your side, Tim stands and pulls you up in a modified fireman’s carry. You stifle the yell that tries to escape, and Tim’s heart breaks when he hears it. He spent so much time fighting, desperate to find you, that he didn’t consider how different things would be when he did.

With the help of Janssen, Nolan, and Lucy, Tim gets you back above ground. He collapses to the ground but makes sure you’re set down with care. You reach out for him immediately, and Tim pulls your chest to his again. The paramedics are close, but until they arrive, Tim will hold you like he never has.

“I’m so sorry,” Tim whispers.

“You found me,” you reply. “You found me.”

Your right hand squeezes Tim’s shirt in your hand as you hold onto him. You didn’t doubt him for a second. Being in his arms gives you the safety and comfort you need to fall apart because you know he’ll hold you together.

“I know what it means,” you say. “Or I think I do. B-Y-L-I; it’s backwards, right?”

Tim nods against you, and you smile through your tears. The paramedics arrive, and you’re carefully removed from Tim’s grasp, though his hand stays in yours. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to let go, but Tim has already made a new promise, and he won’t leave your side until he’s forced to.

“Where’s Kojo?” you ask as Tim leads you into his house.

“He’s staying with Lucy tonight. He gets excited when he sees you and I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Tim answers.

He guides you to the couch and sits beside you after placing your things in his guest bedroom. Tim refused to let you return to your apartment alone after being discharged from the hospital, and you didn’t need much convincing to stay with him while you heal.

You lean your head against Tim’s shoulder, careful not to jostle your shoulder in its sling. He moves his arm to welcome you closer and tilts his head to rest beside yours.

“It’s I love you backward, right?”

Tim looks down at your hand, surprised to see your fortune in it. He takes it from you and flips it to see his handwriting. He nods and sits up straight. When you turn toward Tim, he wipes under your eyes as if he can still see the tears you cried when he saved you. Your skin is littered with scars and reminders of what Ferguson did to you, but Tim still seems to only see you underneath all of it.

“It’s I love you, Bradford,” he answers. “Whether you wanted that to mean ‘from Bradford’ or something else.”

“I begged for you to save me while I was down there with him.”

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize. I just- I need you to know I trust you that much because I know you love me. I’ve known for a long time. But I also knew that even if you didn’t find me in time, I would die loving you. And life was worth living because you were in it.”

Tim’s hands rise out of his lap before freezing. He looks down at your neck and back to your eyes before smiling. His eyes look misty, but you know yours are, too, so you decide not to tease him about it this one time.

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hands to kiss you,” he mumbles.

You hold his shoulder as you lean in and kiss him. His hands raise to your waist without thought, and other than the soreness of using your obliques to search for Tim while tied in place, it’s a painless touch. Tim moves slowly and intentionally as he kisses you, reminding you of everything he said and did, even what you weren’t present for.

“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you say against his lips.

“I love you. I will always love you, and I will never lose you again.”

Tim slides the fortune into your pocket as he kisses you again, and every pain and fear you faced disappears because you know Tim will always find you and make you whole.

#hanna writes✯#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #requests #fem!reader #the rookie abc

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urdreamydoodles · 7 months ago

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X-Men x Reader (Part.2)

They are being mind-controled by a villain and they believe you cheated on them (Part.2)

A fog has settled between you, a cruel illusion woven by unseen hands. The X-Man, your beloved, now look at you with wounded eyes, twisted by whispers that cloud their trust.

Characters: Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff, Emma Frost, Laura Kinney, Wade Wilson, Cable, Hank McCoy, Colossus, Magik, Warren Worthington III & Alex Summers

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- Wanda’s confrontation is intense and emotional. Her eyes, usually warm and full of understanding, are now filled with hurt and suspicion. Her voice trembles slightly as she asks if what she thinks is true, and there’s an undeniable sadness in her tone, like she’s bracing herself for heartbreak.

- As you try to explain, Wanda listens, but the doubt lingers in her expression. Wanda has always struggled with trust due to the betrayals she’s faced in her life, and now, the idea that you might have hurt her shatters her. Her hands tremble slightly, and though she wants to believe you, the pain of her past makes it hard for her to push away the doubts.

- Afterward, Wanda retreats, seeking solace in solitude. She’s always been somewhat withdrawn, and now, she pulls away even more, isolating herself to avoid the pain. Her magic, which usually feels so warm and comforting, now seems almost cold, mirroring the sadness she feels as she tries to process what she thinks happened.

- When the mind control is broken, Wanda is devastated by the realization of what’s happened. The guilt eats at her, and she’s furious at the villain for manipulating her, but even more so at herself for letting her insecurities get the better of her. She’s always prided herself on her intuition, and knowing she was so easily tricked leaves her feeling vulnerable and regretful.

- Wanda’s apology is soft but filled with genuine sorrow. She approaches you hesitantly, her voice quiet as she admits she was wrong. She reaches for your hand, her touch gentle as she asks for forgiveness, her gaze filled with a mixture of remorse and love. Wanda has always been open about her feelings, and now, she lays her heart bare, expressing just how much she regrets letting her trust falter.

- She promises to trust in you and your love, no matter what. Wanda’s emotions are strong, and as she apologizes, there’s a subtle shimmer of magic around her, a testament to just how much you mean to her. She looks at you with an intensity that makes it clear she’s determined to never let anyone or anything come between you again.

- When you forgive her, Wanda’s relief is palpable. She pulls you close, resting her forehead against yours as she lets out a shaky sigh, her heart swelling with gratitude and love. From that moment on, she’s even more open with her feelings, letting you know just how deeply she cares and vowing to protect your bond with everything she has.

- Pietro’s confrontation is brash and impulsive. His hurt comes out in quick, cutting words, his usual sarcasm edged with genuine pain. He paces back and forth as he questions you, his expression a mix of anger and heartbreak, moving too fast to give you much chance to speak as he lets out all his emotions.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- He’s known for his confidence and speed, but in this moment, he’s visibly shaken, his usual bravado replaced by an insecurity that’s rare for him. Pietro has always prided himself on being able to handle anything, but now, he feels vulnerable, and the thought of losing you makes him feel like he’s losing his sense of stability.

- After the confrontation, Pietro becomes distant, channeling his emotions into his speed as he tries to outrun the pain. He avoids being around others, especially you, not wanting anyone to see just how deeply this has affected him. He’s used to hiding his emotions behind a cocky exterior, but this time, the pain runs too deep to ignore.

- When the mind control finally fades, Pietro feels a flood of guilt and frustration. He’s furious with himself for having doubted you, and he hates that he let his own insecurities and fears get in the way. Pietro’s pride takes a hit, and he’s ashamed that he wasn’t strong enough to see through the manipulation.

- Pietro’s apology is awkward but heartfelt. He approaches you with a mix of vulnerability and determination, his voice softer than usual as he admits he was wrong. He fumbles over his words, clearly uncomfortable with showing so much emotion, but his sincerity is unmistakable as he promises to trust you more in the future.

- Taking a deep breath, Pietro reaches for your hand, his usually quick movements slow and deliberate as he asks for forgiveness. He’s not one for sappy speeches, but his eyes tell you everything you need to know. He admits that he cares about you more than he’s ever let on, and he promises to work on his insecurities.

- When you forgive him, Pietro lets out a relieved laugh, pulling you into a tight hug as he mutters his gratitude. He’s more protective of you than ever after that, and though he still teases and jokes, there’s a new depth to his affection, a quiet reminder of just how much he values your relationship and the love you share.

Emma Frost aka. The White Queen

- When Emma confronts you about the supposed infidelity, her icy demeanor is as intimidating as ever. Her words are sharp, cutting straight to the point, but there’s an underlying tension in her voice. She keeps her emotions in check, almost painfully so, trying to hide the vulnerability that she rarely shows anyone. She looks at you with those piercing blue eyes, waiting for an explanation with a mixture of hurt and anger just below the surface.

- She listens to you defend yourself, but her trust has been shaken. Emma is the type to guard her heart closely, and betrayal—real or perceived—isn’t something she handles well. She says little, maintaining her cool exterior, but her occasional glances reveal how conflicted she is. She’s always valued her independence, yet letting you in was a risk for her, and now, she’s feeling painfully exposed.

- After the confrontation, Emma distances herself, throwing herself back into her work and responsibilities with the Hellfire Club. She avoids you around the mansion, her frosty exterior even colder than usual. Others notice the shift, sensing the tension, but no one dares approach her about it. Emma’s cold facade is her armor, and now it’s back up, stronger than ever, as she tries to suppress her pain.

- When the mind control is finally lifted, Emma’s reaction is one of immediate outrage. The very idea that someone would manipulate her mind—and cause her to doubt you—has her furious. Emma prides herself on her control and intellect, so the thought that she’d been tricked is almost unbearable. Her first instinct is vengeance, to hunt down whoever did this to her and make them pay.

- Despite her anger, Emma’s priority is making things right with you. She approaches you with an unusual level of humility, her words carefully chosen. She doesn’t apologize often, but when she does, it’s with genuine sincerity. Emma admits she made a mistake and expresses regret for doubting you, her voice softened in a way only you get to see.

- To make it up to you, Emma decides to spoil you—extravagantly. She’s not one for grand romantic gestures, but she buys you a thoughtful, luxurious gift, something only she would know you’d appreciate. It’s her way of showing you just how much she values you, and how determined she is to make things right.

- When you forgive her, Emma lets her guard down fully for the first time in days. She leans in close, her usually guarded eyes reflecting gratitude and warmth. She may not be the most affectionate partner, but she’s fully committed, showing you that behind her aloof demeanor lies a fiercely loyal heart that’s truly yours.

Laura Kinney aka. X-23 / Wolverine

- Laura’s reaction to the supposed betrayal is swift and intense. She confronts you with a mixture of anger and hurt, her fists clenched as she tries to make sense of her emotions. Her words are blunt, and she doesn’t hold back, but her voice wavers slightly, showing just how affected she is. Laura’s not used to trusting people, and this feels like a cruel reminder of why she usually keeps her guard up.

- As you try to explain, Laura listens, though she struggles to let go of her suspicions. She’s been betrayed before, and trust doesn’t come easy for her. She wants to believe you, but the hurt runs deep, making her wary and conflicted. Her normally calm, stoic demeanor is shaken, and she paces as she listens, her eyes flickering with a mix of doubt and frustration.

- After the confrontation, Laura distances herself emotionally, though she remains physically close, always keeping an eye on you. It’s almost instinctual—she wants to protect you, but the idea that you may have betrayed her leaves her torn. Her heart and mind are at odds, and it shows in her actions, as she hovers nearby but remains silent and withdrawn.

- When the mind control wears off, Laura’s relief is palpable, though she’s furious with herself for being so easily deceived. The knowledge that someone manipulated her emotions—and made her doubt you—is infuriating, and she immediately wants to track down the person responsible. Laura doesn’t take kindly to being used, especially when it nearly cost her the one person she trusts.

- Laura’s apology is sincere, though it’s more action than words. She isn’t the type for lengthy explanations, so instead, she approaches you with a quiet but intense look in her eyes, admitting that she made a mistake. She doesn’t sugarcoat it, but her regret is clear, and she promises she’ll never let herself be manipulated like that again.

- To make up for her suspicion, Laura becomes even more attentive than before, always making sure you feel safe and valued. She’s not overly affectionate, but her loyalty speaks volumes, and she finds subtle ways to show you she’s sorry—small, thoughtful gestures that only you would notice, like leaving your favorite snack on the counter or a note in your bag.

- When you forgive her, Laura’s expression softens, a rare, genuine smile appearing as she pulls you into a tight embrace. She may not say much, but her actions speak louder than words, and from that moment on, her commitment to you is unwavering. Laura becomes even more protective, ensuring that nothing and no one will come between you again.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- When Wade confronts you, he does it in true Deadpool style—his humor twisted by hurt. He cracks jokes, sarcastically accusing you of breaking his “poor little heart,” but there’s a subtle tremor in his voice and a flicker of genuine pain in his gaze. Wade hides behind his humor, but you know he’s deeply affected, feeling as if he’s been betrayed by the one person he thought he could trust.

- Despite his nonchalant attitude, Wade can’t stop himself from questioning every detail. He wants to believe you, but his insecurities and self-doubt make it hard. Wade’s used to expecting the worst, and now, the hurt has him spiraling, throwing out quips to mask how shattered he really feels inside.

- After the confrontation, Wade retreats into his own little world of chaos. He tries to distract himself with missions and relentless banter, but his usual jokes are emptier, his antics a bit too forced. He even goes on a few particularly reckless mercenary runs, pushing his healing factor to the limit, as if the physical pain can somehow replace the heartache he’s feeling.

- When the mind control finally breaks, Wade’s relief quickly turns to outrage. He’s furious—not just at the villain who manipulated him, but at himself for having doubted you. He kicks himself for being so easily tricked, feeling guilty for not trusting the one good thing in his life. He’s conflicted, torn between his self-loathing and the overwhelming need to make things right with you.

- Wade’s apology is chaotic, honest, and full of unexpected vulnerability. He doesn’t hold back, admitting that he screwed up and that his own insecurities got in the way. He babbles, half-joking, half-pleading, but his tone is genuinely remorseful as he promises to be better, to trust you more, even if it terrifies him.

- True to his unpredictable nature, Wade tries to win back your trust with grand gestures—flowers, chocolates, and a dozen over-the-top apologies. He even considers giving up his mercenary work, just to prove how much he cares. When he finally manages to get a genuine smile from you, he relaxes, grateful beyond words that you’re willing to give him another chance.

- After you forgive him, Wade clings to you like you’re his lifeline, throwing his usual bravado aside to show just how much he values you. He’s more attentive, less reckless, and endlessly affectionate, going out of his way to remind you that you’re the one thing he’d never want to lose again.

Nathan Summers aka. Cable

- Cable’s confrontation is intense and direct. He’s a soldier, used to facing problems head-on, but the hurt in his eyes is undeniable. He’s known hardship and loss, but this betrayal feels different—it’s personal, shaking him to his core. He stands before you, demanding answers, his voice steady yet laced with pain as he struggles to understand how someone he trusted so completely could hurt him.

- As you try to explain, Cable listens carefully, his expression unreadable. He’s torn between his instinct to believe you and the painful doubts clouding his judgment. Nathan’s experienced countless betrayals, and though he wants to believe in your loyalty, his hardened heart finds it difficult to ignore the wounds of his past.

- After the confrontation, Cable distances himself, throwing himself into work and mission planning to try and suppress the heartache. He becomes more stoic than ever, his interactions with others becoming brief and guarded. It’s clear he’s struggling to process his emotions, channeling his pain into his responsibilities, as if keeping busy will help numb the hurt.

- When the mind control finally fades, Cable’s first reaction is disbelief. The realization that he’s been manipulated into doubting you fills him with guilt and anger. He’s furious with himself for allowing his trust issues to cloud his judgment, and he feels an overwhelming need to make amends, knowing he’s hurt you by doubting you.

- Cable’s apology is calm but deeply sincere. He sits down with you, looking directly into your eyes as he admits his mistake, his voice heavy with regret. Nathan may be a man of few words, but every word he speaks is laced with genuine remorse. He’s always been strong, but now he shows his vulnerability, admitting that his past has made him wary and that he let that fear hurt you.

- He takes your hand, promising to work through his trust issues and to rely on you more, no matter how difficult it may be for him. He vows to let down his walls, determined to prove to you that he values your relationship above all else. Nathan’s sincerity is palpable, his gaze intense as he promises to never let his doubts come between you again.

- When you forgive him, Cable relaxes visibly, a rare, soft smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor. He pulls you close, holding you tightly as if he never wants to let go. From that moment on, he’s fiercely protective of you, and his love for you becomes even more unwavering and resolute, a quiet but profound promise to always have your back.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Hank’s confrontation is quiet and heart-wrenching. He’s not one for loud accusations, but the hurt in his eyes speaks volumes. His usually gentle voice is filled with sorrow as he asks if what he’s heard is true, his words careful and almost hesitant, as if he’s hoping you’ll tell him it’s all a misunderstanding.

- He’s always been logical, trusting in reason and facts, but now, his emotions are in turmoil. Hank’s soft-hearted nature makes it all the more painful for him to imagine that you might have betrayed his trust. He’s devastated, and though he tries to remain calm, the sadness in his expression is impossible to hide.

- Afterward, Hank withdraws into his work, spending long hours in his lab to avoid facing the hurt he feels. He buries himself in scientific research, hoping that focusing on his experiments will distract him from the ache in his heart. His usually vibrant spirit seems dimmed, and even his closest friends notice that the ever-optimistic Hank has become more somber and distant.

- When the mind control finally fades, Hank feels a wave of relief and regret. Realizing he’s been tricked, he’s angry at the villain who manipulated him, but even more so, he’s frustrated with himself for allowing his emotions to cloud his usually rational mind. He’s always prided himself on his logical approach, and knowing he was so easily swayed shakes him deeply.

- Hank’s apology is heartfelt and filled with remorse. He approaches you with humility, his usual eloquence replaced by genuine vulnerability as he confesses his regret. He’s gentle, his voice soft and sincere as he explains how much he values you and how sorry he is for not trusting you. His words are thoughtful and carefully chosen, reflecting just how deeply he’s thought about the situation.

- He promises to trust you more fully in the future, vowing to work through his insecurities and to rely on you as much as he knows you rely on him. Hank’s sincerity shines through, his intelligent eyes filled with warmth and determination as he assures you that he’ll never let his doubts hurt your relationship again.

- When you forgive him, Hank’s relief is evident. He wraps you in a warm embrace, his usually calm demeanor breaking as he lets out a shaky breath, grateful beyond words. From that moment on, he’s even more devoted to you, cherishing every moment and finding ways to remind you daily of his love and appreciation for your unwavering support.

Piotr Rasputin aka. Colossus

- Piotr’s confrontation is heartbreaking, as his usual gentle nature is clouded by sadness and disbelief. He doesn’t accuse you outright but instead asks, his voice quiet and tinged with hurt, if what he’s heard is true. Piotr’s sensitive soul is deeply shaken, and the idea that you might have betrayed his trust has him visibly distressed, though he tries to remain composed.

- He listens as you explain, nodding but clearly struggling to reconcile his love for you with the doubts planted in his mind. Piotr’s always been a trusting, loving person, but his heart feels heavy as he wrestles with his emotions. He doesn’t want to believe you’d hurt him, yet the doubt lingers, leaving him feeling lost and conflicted.

- After the confrontation, Piotr withdraws, spending more time alone, often sketching or painting as a way to process his emotions. His art reflects his sadness, with his usual bright colors replaced by somber tones. He’s quieter than usual around the team, his normally warm, open demeanor replaced by a distant sadness that everyone notices.

- When the mind control fades, Piotr’s relief is immediate, though it’s quickly followed by a wave of guilt. He’s devastated that he allowed himself to doubt you and feels as though he’s failed not only you but himself. Piotr values honesty and loyalty above all else, and knowing he was manipulated into betraying that trust weighs heavily on his heart.

- Piotr’s apology is heartfelt and earnest. He approaches you with a bowed head, his soft blue eyes full of remorse as he expresses how truly sorry he is. He admits he let his own insecurities get the better of him and promises to never let anything like this come between you again. Piotr’s gentle nature shines through as he speaks, his words filled with sincerity.

- To make it up to you, Piotr spends hours creating a beautiful painting as a symbol of his love and commitment. He pours all his emotions into it, and when he finally shows it to you, it’s a breathtaking piece that captures not only his feelings but his hope for a future together. It’s his way of saying that he’ll always choose you, no matter what.

- When you forgive him, Piotr’s relief is evident as he pulls you into a warm, protective embrace, whispering a quiet “thank you” in your ear. From that moment on, he’s even more devoted to you, his love unwavering as he vows to always be by your side, ready to protect you and cherish the bond you share.

Illyana Rasputin aka. Magik

- When Illyana first confronts you about the supposed betrayal, her reaction is cold and guarded. She’s been through a lot and has learned not to trust easily, so the idea that you might have betrayed her strikes a raw nerve. She doesn’t raise her voice, but her gaze is piercing and demanding, her words biting. She insists on knowing the truth, her distrust palpable as she refuses to let her guard down.

- As you try to defend yourself, Illyana remains silent but intense, her expression unreadable. Though she hears you out, her experiences in Limbo have made her skeptical, and her inner walls go up even higher. She doesn’t easily show her emotions, but a flicker of hurt crosses her face, though she quickly hides it. Her eyes, however, reflect the turmoil within as she struggles to decide whether to believe you.

- After the confrontation, Illyana keeps her distance, often disappearing into Limbo for hours or even days at a time. She’s afraid of letting herself be vulnerable, and in her mind, withdrawing is easier than facing her feelings. She immerses herself in her magic, and whenever you do see her, she’s even colder than usual, her demeanor icy and unapproachable.

- When the mind control fades, Illyana realizes with a rush of guilt and anger that she was manipulated. The thought that someone else got inside her head, made her doubt you, infuriates her. Illyana isn’t one to let go of a grudge, and she’s determined to track down the person responsible for the manipulation. However, before she does, she knows she needs to make things right with you.

- Apologizing doesn’t come easily to Illyana, but she tries, albeit a bit awkwardly. She’s not used to showing vulnerability, and her words are hesitant, as if she’s afraid of getting hurt again. Her apology is short, and she fumbles a little, admitting she let her own fears cloud her judgment. It’s clear that this is difficult for her, but she genuinely wants to make amends.

- To make it up to you, Illyana decides to take you to a part of Limbo that only she knows—a peaceful area untouched by darkness. She wants you to see a side of her world that she’s rarely shown anyone, as a way of rebuilding the trust she feels she broke. In her own quiet, intense way, she shows you that she values you deeply and regrets ever doubting you.

- When you forgive her, a rare smile appears on Illyana’s face. She takes your hand, her grip surprisingly gentle, and promises to never doubt you again. From that moment, her walls soften a little more, and she becomes even more fiercely protective of you, determined not to let anyone or anything come between you again.

Warren Worthington III aka. Angel

- Warren’s reaction to the supposed infidelity is a mixture of heartbreak and anger. He confronts you with a painful intensity, his usually calm and confident demeanor shaken. He’s direct but emotional, asking how you could betray him when he’s always been so open with you. His wings twitch with agitation, mirroring the turmoil he feels inside as he searches your face for answers.

- As you try to explain, Warren crosses his arms and listens, his blue eyes narrowed in hurt and skepticism. He wants to believe you, but his trust has been shaken. His history with betrayal and rejection makes this even harder for him, and it’s clear that he’s struggling to reconcile his love for you with the doubt gnawing at him. He holds himself back, almost like he’s trying to protect his heart from further pain.

- After the confrontation, Warren becomes distant and withdrawn. He spends long hours flying alone, seeking solitude in the sky where he feels free and unburdened. Around the mansion, he’s quieter than usual, a shadow of his usual confident self, as he tries to process the hurt. He avoids looking at you, and whenever you’re nearby, he keeps his wings folded tightly, as if to shield himself.

- When the mind control lifts, Warren is overcome with a wave of guilt and relief. The realization that he was tricked into doubting you makes him feel sick, and he’s furious at whoever did this to him. His anger quickly turns inward, as he berates himself for not seeing through the manipulation sooner. The first thing he wants to do is find you and make things right.

- Warren’s apology is heartfelt and genuine. He approaches you with an earnest expression, his wings slightly drooped in a sign of vulnerability. He’s visibly distressed, admitting he made a terrible mistake and asking for your forgiveness. His voice is soft and remorseful, as he promises that he’ll never let doubt cloud his feelings for you again.

- To make it up to you, Warren arranges a surprise getaway—a scenic flight to a secluded spot where he’s set up a beautiful picnic. He wants to remind you of how special you are to him, and he goes out of his way to make the moment perfect. It’s his way of showing how deeply he cares for you and how much he regrets ever doubting you.

- When you forgive him, Warren’s entire demeanor brightens. He pulls you into a warm embrace, his wings wrapping around you protectively. From that moment on, he’s even more devoted to you, always going out of his way to make you feel loved and appreciated. His love is unwavering, and he’s determined to prove that nothing and no one will come between you again.

Alex Summers aka. Havok

- When Alex confronts you about the supposed betrayal, he’s visibly upset, his usual laid-back nature replaced with anger and hurt. His voice is tense as he asks you to explain, struggling to keep his emotions in check. Alex has always been one to act on impulse, and it’s clear he’s trying not to let his temper get the best of him as he questions you.

- As you try to explain, Alex’s frustration is palpable. He listens, but his arms are crossed, and he avoids looking directly at you. Trust doesn’t come easily to him, and this situation brings up all his insecurities. He wants to believe you, but he’s also deeply hurt, and his defensiveness shows as he tries to process the conflicting emotions swirling within him.

- After the confrontation, Alex becomes distant and spends more time training alone, channeling his frustration and confusion into his powers. He avoids you around the mansion, finding it easier to distract himself with intense workouts than to face his feelings. His friends notice the change in him, but he shrugs off their concern, burying his pain beneath a tough exterior.

- When the mind control lifts, Alex is filled with guilt and anger at himself for falling for the manipulation. The realization that he let someone get inside his head and make him doubt you weighs heavily on him, and he’s angry at whoever did this—but even angrier at himself for not seeing through it sooner. He immediately seeks you out, desperate to make amends.

- Alex’s apology is both awkward and heartfelt. He struggles to find the right words, his voice thick with remorse as he admits he should have trusted you. He’s not the best with apologies, but his sincerity shines through as he promises he’ll work on his trust issues. His vulnerability is clear, and he looks at you with an intensity that speaks louder than words.

- To show how much he cares, Alex takes you on a spontaneous road trip, wanting to escape from everything and spend some uninterrupted time with you. He may not be the most romantic, but he’s thoughtful in his own way, picking out spots he knows you’ll enjoy. The trip is his way of making it up to you, of showing you that you mean the world to him.

- When you forgive him, Alex is visibly relieved, a genuine smile breaking through his usually tough exterior. He pulls you into a tight hug, vowing that he’ll never let doubt cloud his love for you again. From then on, he becomes even more open with his feelings, determined to prove that you can rely on him, no matter what.

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 7 months ago

Text

This fic contains non-consensual elements. Please do not read, if such content makes you uncomfortable.

AN: Thank you @nanamiscocksleeve for hosting this event. October or Kinktober is a month that I have always wanted to write for but end up not doing so for lack of time and motivation. But this event made me want to push myself. I'm late but I'm here. Thank you for waiting. (Contd. below)

Tw: non con, dark content

Please use this soundscape generator for the full experience

Growing up near the ocean meant you were always aware of just how powerful and dark it was.

The strong arms pulled you to the depths, far below the surface of the water. You cursed yourself. Why had you been so arrogant? You knew the ocean was not an entity to be toyed with. You could feel the oxygen slowly leaving your lungs as your captor swam further and further away from the silver-topped waves.

You regretted everything: wearing this frilly new bikini despite it barely covering your voluptuous curves. Wading out with your friends under the moonlight. Drifting too far before realising you weren't close to them anymore and they would never hear your cries for help.

In the darkness of the night, you were unable to see anything around you but the hand that wrapped itself around your ankle pulling you deep. You were a good swimmer, but this was…

Your lungs started to burn, still the grip on you never loosened. Instead, you felt sharp claws dig into the flesh of your arm. You let out a cry of pain, muffled by the weight of the water, and immediately a pair of cold lips closed over yours, exhaling into you. An acrid salty flavour filled your mouth, and you tried to push your attacker away, but they were far stronger than you, the shackle on your arm tightening further…

You heard your heartbeat pumping in your ears, louder and louder, lungs struggling to hold on. The world around you dissolved into ink. You wanted to hit out, scream, but instead you felt yourself getting weaker and weaker. Your assaulter felt it too, slackening their grip. It didn't matter why you were the one taken or what would happen next. You weren't ready for death. The darkness closed in on you, and then there was nothing…

*****

When you woke, you were still surrounded by water in all directions, but the lack of light didn’t bother you as much as before. Even through the ultramarine gloom, you could recognise the vague shapes of coral and—

A soft swish of water moving attracted your attention. You whipped your head around and inhaled sharply—you could breathe? How? The water in your lungs should’ve killed you by now.

Still adjusting to the changes in your body, you watched as a strange figure approached you. This must have been the one who took you away from the surface—only, they weren't quite human.

Legend spoke of the existence of creatures of the deep: not quite man, not quite fish, but something else entirely. Merpeople…a merman. These were, of course, brushed off as old wives’ tales that did not hold any weight. But swimming before your eyes was the very legend himself.

His long dark hair flowed with the gentle current as he hovered in front of you. A wicked smile was plastered on his face, sharp white teeth gleaming contrastingly. Your breath hitched and you lowered your gaze— as though some force beyond your control was pushing you down.

The merman was adorned in strings of pearls and other precious stones but wore little else. A long sapphire tail swished below your feet, swooping under you and pulling you closer to him. Extending a scaled webbed hand, he caressed your cheek, sharp claws instead of nails trailing down your jaw like a warning. Glinting gold threads ran down his finned back and travelled down to the end of his tail.

Good. A rumbling voice in your head jolted you out of your stupor. I feared you would sleep through this.

Writhing in the merman’s grasp, you desperately tried to find the source of this strange voice, but there was no other living being in sight. The finger trailing down the side of your face dipped to your collarbone and slid down to the swell of your breasts. You shivered at the touch—in fear or in anticipation?

The hand squeezed your breast, making you jump, and the creature hissed in response: I can smell your fear and you smell divine…

He pulled at the strings holding your bikini top together, and it fell away with no effort, your nipples hardening from the chill and the merman’s touch; instinctively, you moved to cover your breasts with your hands and pushed the merman away.

In the dark water, the flimsy top floated away, settling on to a rock below. You remembered your friends calling the swimsuit sexy in the shop and insisted on you buying it because what man could resist?

Turns out it was not just human men…

SLAP!

Your cheek stung, the webbed hand held up threateningly:

Behave, human.

You cowered and cupped your cheek — hot to the touch despite the cold ocean water — trapped in the grip of this merman’s tail. Another set of fingers touched you now, hands running up and down your body, exploring every inch of skin, each fold, given its due diligence. You suppressed the urge to cover up, your smarting cheek the only reminder needed to stop yourself.

The smile on your abductor's face widened, rows of sharp teeth glittering in a wicked mirth. He used his tail to push between your legs now, rubbing against your thighs. His scales grazed your skin, and for a moment, for one horrible, tempting moment, you wondered what they'd feel like against your core.

As if he had heard your thoughts, the merman delicately pulled the strings tying the bottom half of your bikini. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the orange strip of fabric fall to the ocean floor, joining the matching top nearby, but you were much more focused on how the merman’s hand had begun to drift between your thighs.

Unfamiliar territory, but he knew where to touch, slipping his fingers between your folds. A swipe – then a taste, flicking his tongue in excitement. He threw his head back, relishing the flavour.

Sweet.

A muffled moan passed your lips. No, you wanted to say. Why? You wanted to cry out. It shouldn’t have felt so good.

There was a chuckle from the merman before he swam down, face right at your cunt, but this was more than you had bargained for. You immediately pulled your legs together and pushed away from him, kicking your feet to swim upwards. Whatever he wanted, he wouldn't get it so easily.

You had to go up. Up would mean the surface. You would be free. Up would mean…

The merman watched you swim away slowly, following without a sound. You swam well, but he was faster. The swell of your ass and bouncing tits made his cock stir. What had once been driven by curiosity was now being driven by…hunger.

Seeing his silhouette approach, you cried out, but there was nothing to be done. He extended an arm and wrapped it around your waist, pulling you to him. You struggled and pounded your fists against his firm chest, bubbles escaping your mouth where there should have been sound. Unfortunately for you, it only served to heighten his hunger.

The merman had never held a body like yours: soft, pudgy flesh that dipped into enticing contours, full rounded breasts that hung like the fruits of Eden. Arms thick and muscular, tanned by the warmth of the sun's rays. And petal-like lips that pulled into a frown of disapproval.

You continued to struggle, but his grip remained steady. Ignoring your wriggling protests, he flicked his tongue between your breasts, trailing it down your chest and soft tummy till he reached your crotch once again.

Be good.

You jolted as his tongue snaked out and rubbed against your clit. He wasn’t—he couldn’t—

Sweet…

Strong arms parted your legs this time, holding you in place by your ass. Trying to escape was futile – all you could do was whimper helplessly. The merman’s tongue lapped at your pussy— slow flicks that took their time to explore you fully. He knew what he was doing. His lips found your clit and closed over the small bud, softly sucking on it. You squeezed the merman’s head between your thighs as your head fell back, soundless moans escaping you and disappearing into the darkness above. You could feel nothing else in this damp, muffled existence. Only him.

Filled with loathing and pleasure, you reached down, carding your fingers through his silky hair, pushing your hips into his face, further and further as he smiled against your skin, his hunger only growing with each lick and taste. You should have pushed away. You longed to do so still. And yet, you pushed into him more and more as his claws dug into your skin.

Geto. The voice came once again creeping into your mind soft as a spiders web. Say my name. Say it.

“Geto!” You cried out, almost like a prayer. The name drifted upwards through the sea and towards the sky somewhere far above. Your orgasm drew closer, effectively pulled from your tightening core. The merman felt you squirm and kept going, unwavering: tongue almost flat against your pussy, licking thick stripes from the bottom to your clit. Two webbed fingers found their way to your opening, pushing into you roughly. The fingers curled inside as he sucked on your clit once more.

You squeezed your eyes shut. This was wrong. It was so wrong. But it felt so good. How? It didn’t make any sense! You’d never felt such ecstasy in your life, falling apart in the arms of this monster known only in legend, your legs spread wide as the creature made sure his teeth didn't pierce the soft flesh, pleasure heightening with each continued touch.

Without warning, your climax hit you, wracking through your body and making you spasm and quiver in the merman’s hold. Hips bucking into his face, you rode out your desperate orgasm, feeling every touch Geto made with his tongue and fingers. The water rippled around you, scaring away a school of small fish.

Geto swam up to your eye level once again, examining you carefully as you twitched and shuddered through your orgasm. He gently placed your arms around his neck, waiting for you to finish.

Good?

You nodded in response; it wasn't like you could hide your glazed-over eyes, still coming down from the involuntary high. It had been the merman who had drawn the arrow, and made sure of its well-aimed release, the same merman who now pulled you in for a searing kiss.

His lips were icy-cold - a striking contrast against yours. Yet he kissed with a ferociousness that threatened to consume you whole. “Geto…” You moaned against his mouth, the vibrations of sound the only other sensation you could feel apart from his lips. He only responded with a hum: a rumbling melody that cut through the waters. His hips pushed up against you and you looked down. Through a small slit in his tail, his cock stood at attention. Unlike any human anatomy, it seemed the ocean had had its way here. In spite of yourself, you studied the appendage, observing it just long enough for Geto to notice. It was longer than any you had seen before, but not very thick. The tip was pointed and not round, but didn't seem like it'd be painful. It matched the colour of his scales, gold threads running all the way around it like veins.

A hand encircled your throat, drawing your gaze back to his face: a beautiful prince of the ocean draped in glittering jewels, silky black hair that the current played with, dark amethyst eyes that did not leave you even once. What was there to fear, to doubt? Any apprehensions you might have had drifted into the impenetrable waters, carried away by the waves. You laced your fingers behind his head, and he pressed against your body, scales rubbing against your skin. His cock-head prodded at your fat thighs and you spread your legs of your own accord this time, allowing it to slip in. The water helped, almost as though a living being itself, allowing him to pull you further onto his length.

His lips met your throat now, gently pressing soft kisses against the thin skin.

Warm…You are beautiful. And you are mine.

You nodded. His. You would be his. There was no denying it.

Geto’s cock now bottomed out in you. Still raw from your climax, your insides twitched at the sensation. It was so new. So different. It was as if someone else had taken over your body, making you react in ways that you’d never imagined. Who was this person inside you, moaning and pushing yourself closer to him? Who had you become?

His broad chest pressed against your breasts, and you moaned at the sensation of him grazing your nipples ever so slightly. Your fingers found the fin on the merman’s back and you ran the top down its arch, drawing out a hiss from his lips. He thrust up in response, and you cried out at the sudden feeling of his cock hitting your cervix. He grinned at you again with those rows of shark-like teeth – threatening despite his smile. His arms around your waist, he manoeuvred your body according to his will, slamming you onto his cock repeatedly, each thrust sending you further and further into blissful stupor. Your head dropped into the crook of his neck, hair tangling with his. But he did not stop, thrusting faster and harder. He could feel the jiggle of your body against his, and it drove him insane with need. Fat flesh, full tits, thick ass — you had been the perfect choice. Everything he could ever dream of. He never wanted to let you go.

Geto chased his release, desperate to fill your cunt with his seed. The effect of the potion he had slipped into you earlier would wear off soon, and he had to get you back to the surface before it was too late. His thrusts grew sloppier, more erratic, as he continued pumping in you, fingers tangled in your hair as another hand held your waist. Your soft mewls and moans - which he could hear, even if you couldn’t - spurred him on further, and with a deep groan he spilled into you, pressing you as close to him as possible. He would not waste a single drop.

When he was finished, Geto pulled your head close to his, kissing you again. Good human. You did so well.

You smiled at his praise. You did well for him, and it filled your heart with joy and relief. But a nagging feeling told you it wasn't right. You shouldn't have. You didn't belong here.

Geto held your arm once again and swam, this time towards the surface. “Geto…?” You carefully called out, your body feeling heavier by the second. He hummed once again, but you couldn't think of something to say.

The water rushed past the two of you as he swam faster with you in his arms, the current of the ocean almost passing through you. Your chest began to burn, and it was so much harder to breathe. Around you, the ocean darkened, the burning sensation spreading through your lungs. “No,” you gasped, but nothing came out. You grabbed onto the merman’s arm, desperate to tell him somehow, but he only swam faster. Whatever little you could see of him was blurry, the ocean calling you back down despite how close you were to the sky again. Your surroundings faded from sight and you kicked at the water in a futile attempt to reach air. The last thing you felt before blacking out was Geto pulling you into his embrace as he continued the climb to the surface.

******

You came to on a secluded patch of your hometown beach. The sun had just started to rise above the horizon, the sky turning lighter and lighter as you coughed up salt water onto the wet sand. It burned in your throat, and you had never been more thankful for the oxygen that filled your lungs now. You were wearing your bikini again, but you remembered it drifting away in the deep. Had it all been a dream? Had you just drowned under a wave and been regurgitated back by the sea?

You sat up slowly, looking out at the grey morning waves. In the distance there was a flash of a brilliant blue. Your heart jumped in your chest, and you clutched at the pearls around your throat…pearls around your throat…

A reminder. A promise. A warning.

MINE.

AN: This fic would not have seen the light of day if it wasn't for @ominouslywritinginmyhead. Not only did she rewrite whole chunks of garbled prose, she also encouraged me gently to overcome my blocks and finally finish the bastard. Thank you for taking the time to look over it with such haste even giving up your Halloween party with Toji cosplayers to help my smutty literature. Thank you for your support and your love. I couldn't have done it without you Saber.

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francixoxoxo · 11 months ago

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𓆉 Opals and Pearls 𓆝

Pirate!Billy the Kid x Mermaid!reader

𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦— 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐡𝐞’𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬!

I wanted to put out something short and sweet to introduce my pirate/mermaid au for Billy the Kid!! I’ll definitely be writing more for this and eventually putting out a long form fic for ao3 and here on tumblr so stay tuned

You had Billy entranced since the moment you met.

Your eyes shone and glimmered in the light like opals, you moved and spoke in a way he’d never seen before. Your hair fell over your shoulders, thick and voluminous despite being wet, covering your ever-bare breasts. You wore little jewelry, but what did adorn your neck and wrists was made of pearls that added, not distracted from your impossible beauty.

Not to mention your lower half, a tail of iridescent scales that caught the light in ways reminiscent of stained glass in a church. Meeting you certainly felt like Sunday mass— you made him want to fall to his knees and worship you. You were perfect.

Billy met you at night, under the cover of darkness on the shore, where you lay with your belly in the surf. The way your eyes brightened as he came close made his heart swell to burst. “Hi.” You had your hands clasped on your chest, hiding something from him.

He had a few guesses as to what it was, as he shrugged off his boots, rolling his pants up to his shins and wading ankle-deep in the water. “Hey, darlin’.”

Sometimes Billy wondered how such an ethereal woman, a mermaid could find him interesting. For Christ’s sakes, you had the voice and heart of an angel. You were so esoteric, so mystical. If the ocean was a woman, you were her— incomprehensibly deep, he’d be a fool to try and understand every corner or curve of you. He was just a man.

But that seemed to be what you loved about him; there was a calming, rugged simplicity in him. A humbleness you wanted to appreciate with your whole soul. He adored you with no expectations. His love was not debt.

Billy sat on the damp sand, not minding his pants getting wet from the small, lapping waves. You had the giddiest smile on your face, crinkling your eyes and absolutely enthralling him. Perhaps it was your inhuman nature, something special about your being, but you drew him in like a sunfish on a hook. He regretted his silly human need to breathe— otherwise, he would happily let you drag him to the bottom of the sea if it meant he could be with you. Really, truly be with you. No fears of Jesse and the rest of the crew finding out and harming you. No fears of your parents discovering Billy and your meetings, and never allowing you to the surface again. Fears of this strangely beautiful connection being ripped from him, where it had already nestled itself a home in his heart.

But he would settle for this, only for the glimmer in your eyes and smile on your cheeks as you opened your hands. “For you!” Billy leaned over his knees, his lopsided grin growing to match yours.

In the center of your palm, the smallest of shells, a soft cream dappled with brown at the creases. “F’me?” Billy couldn’t help laughing the words, gently turning over the shell in your hand to find that the inside of it was a smooth lavender. Beautiful and delicately intricate— not unlike you. You hummed softly, the sound a song of itself, pressing the dainty shell to his own calloused palm.

“Do you like it?” Your brows drew together hopefully as you watched him inspect the shell. Billy snorted through his nose, shaking his head and looking up to meet your gaze.

“It’s beautiful.” He confirmed softly, “ain’t surprised you found it. Beauty knows beauty.” The way your nearly luminous eyes twinkled at the compliment, Billy felt a bit weak at the knees. You pushed yourself onto your hands, folding your tail under you and leaning forward to press a tender kiss to his slightly chapped lips.

You tasted like crisp saltwater, a stark contrast from your soft, surprisingly warm lips. When you broke from him, far too soon for his liking, you carefully took his fingers and curled them protectively over the shell. “Could I get you more?”

As if you even had to ask. Billy tucked some water-logged hair behind your ear, silently admiring the dainty pearl earring the action revealed. “You kiddin’? I’d love more, baby.”

Well, he’s not sure what he expected. Maybe a couple more before you got tired of it.

Billy didn’t expect that every time he met you, regretfully always in the dark, you bore gifts that he didn’t know how to repay. Billy’d scoop you into his arms, treading along the shore to give you a taste of what walking around must be like, and you’d lift a palm full of little shells, sea glass and pearls.

Once, you’d swam up to him as he sat on the rocks. Billy cocked a brow, eyes glancing under the water, “Whatcha got there, pretty girl?” And you’d smile shyly, swimming closer.

“Close your eyes, Billy.” You willed, taking his hands from his knees and moving them to cup to receive the gift. He was grinning boyishly, dark brows lifted as you placed something much heavier than he expected into his hands. Well, not particularly weighty, but much more than the few pearls and shells you’d given him. It was full of ridges and jutting edges, rough on his palms and wet from the saltwater.

“Can I look now?” Billy grasped the object gently, trying to subtly get an idea of what it was. You perched your elbows on the rock by his legs, admiring his face for a moment. Part of you wanted to reach out, to feel the subtle on his jaw under your fingertips. But you resigned to nod and coo, “Look.”

He opened his eyes, the blue irises bright with mirth as they settled on the large conch in his hands. He laughed a bit, turning over the sand-colored shell and admiring it. “Awh, baby! Y’outdid yourself, huh?”

The sheer joy in Billy’s expression filled you with a giddy pride. Apparently the things you’d accepted as natural, common things were beautiful rarities for him. And the happiness you felt from sharing them with him never seemed to ebb. “I knew you’d like it.”

“I love it. I gotta get you somethin’ sometime, it ain’t fair.” Billy’s eyes flicked to you, holding yourself up on the rock and staring up at him with twinking doll-like eyes. Your chin propped up on your fist, your wrist bare. An idea flashed behind his eyes, but he played it off by shifting the conch to one hand, the other holding your chin and tilting it up to him. He leaned down and pressed his lips to yours gently.

You let out a soft hum into the kiss, reaching your arms wound around his shoulders to, with surprising strength, tug him down into the water. Maybe his clothes were getting soaked, and maybe it was a bit cold for a swim, but Billy’s eyes crinkled in a deep laugh, carefully placing your gift aside and pulling you close.

“I don’t need anything.” You protested, voice sweet as honey against his water-logged muss of hair as he pecked at your neck. The giggle bubbling past your lips told him otherwise.

You deserved the entire world.

Billy took much care in selecting a gift fit for you. A plain chain wasn’t good enough— well, frankly everything affordable in the market wasn’t good enough. He was beginning to think that no worldly gift was worthy of being ‘round your wrist.

Pearls seemed too on the nose. Besides, if you wanted pearls you would’ve already been drenched in them, with how common you told him they were where you’re from. Anything with shells or sea glass felt just the same— he wanted to give you something you’d appreciate as something new, the way he appreciated everything from you. Something special. Nothing seemed to meet his standards for you.

He nearly gave up, planning to try at the next port town and just give it to you when the ship docked back here. Just as he was about to make his way to the pier, a particular jeweled bracelet caught his eye. He couldn’t have imagined a better gift for you; a simple golden chain, adorned with three sizeable opal stones. Stones that shone like the scales of your tale, iridescent like everything about you.

It had been most of his salary. But he didn’t give a damn— it was perfect. You were worth more than gold or riches, anyway.

What was even more priceless was your reaction. Billy tread through the sand with his hands behind his back, staring at the back of your head as you stared out at the horizon, the stars coming down to meet the sea. When you felt his presence more than heard it, you leaned your head back to look at him looming over you, a grin splitting your features. “Hi.”

“Hey, princess.” Billy hummed, crouching to press a kiss to your temple before moving to sit cross-legged beside you. His hands were cupped in his lap, hiding the gift. If you glowed this beautifully in the moonlight, he wondered if seeing you in daylight would knock him senseless. You pressed a simplistically beautiful little peach shell into his knee with a smile. “Mmm, pretty.” Billy hummed, pride washing over you similar to the seafoam currently lapping over your tail.

Your bright eyes flicked to his hands, brows drawing together in an impossibly cute expression. “What’s that?”

Billy smiled nearly shyly, pulling his hands apart and lifting the gold bracelet laid over his fingers. Lying over his knuckles, the teal flecks in the opal caught the moonlight in a way reminiscent of your scales. The grin that parted your lips was worth every minute of searching, every penny spent. Your hand came up to cup over your mouth, regretfully hiding that smile as you gasped.

“Oh, is it for me?” You gawked, reaching out to trace a finger over the chain, a free hand splayed over your heart. Billy nodded, smirking proudly. You didn’t have this kind of jewelry where you were from.

You let him clasp the bracelet ‘round your wrist, you admired the way the metal and the stones caught the light. Oh, you’d never seen anything like it!

Finally, Billy could give you something equally special as everything you’d given him. He could finally return the favor of showing you his world. He wondered if the bracelet would bring thoughts of him to your mind, a smile to your lips, the way all your gifts had for him.

Billy could only hope to be half as preciously intriguing to you as you were to him.

#billy the kid pirate au #francescas anthology #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #tom blyth #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid x you #billy the kid 2022 #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney fanfiction #billy the kid imagines #billy the kid imagine #billy the kid smut #pirate billy X mermaid reader #Spotify

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sunflowersandsapphires · 6 months ago

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Be still my foolish heart

Of Oak and Ivy, Chapter 10

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

summary: In college, Matt Murdock had two best friends, Foggy Nelson and you. However, life had no intention of letting you graduate with him. When he reconnects with you in adulthood, he is troubled to see the hand God has dealt you and vows to use every tool at his disposal to save you from damnation.

warnings: swearing, angst (resolution at end), discussion about money and struggling financially, continuing sexual thoughts, MINORS DNI, sad matt (as if that needs a warning)

a/n: Sorry for the sporadic posting everyone, the past few weeks months, years have been crazy. Here is the resolution for the spicy angst in chapter 9! I hope you all enjoy.

w/c: 6k

Running your thumb over the crease you’d inadvertently made in the page, you worried your bottom lip as you tried to press it flat beneath the pad of your finger. This book was a rental and you could NOT afford to pay for it if it wasn't returned in pristine condition. Bills had been piling up this semester. In itself, being broke wasn't a new problem. Your inability to cope with said bills, however, very much was.

You'd been treading the poverty line since you'd left for Columbia. School was expensive, your mom wasn't there to buy groceries, and the company managing your gas bill had increased their rates, meaning your previous budget was worthless. The high cost of heating, combined with the fact that your dad was once again flaking on his contributions to your mom's rising medical debt... It was adding up.

Sure, it was stressful. Money was the biggest cause of your anxiety most days, with your difficult curriculum following closely behind. But you'd been coping well enough.

Until your subconscious decided to pile more weight onto your already struggling psyche.

The image of Matt's pompous smirk hovering over you had been haunting you all week. Every time you closed your eyes, his deep rasp rumbled in your ears–praising you for your tenacity, your performance. Even days later, the thought was thrilling. And that made you feel unbelievably guilty.

Though nothing had actually happened between you and Matt, your brain was determined to brand you as an adulterer. Any time you heard from Everett, even if it was just a text, your stomach rolled with intense regret. You felt dirty and ashamed. For needing the thought of another man to get you off, for mentally cheating on Evs while being beneath him, and for exploiting your friendship with Matt by crafting this sinful image of him.

You’d unintentionally dragged your boyfriend onto the emotional rollercoaster you were stuck on, swerving between desperate lust and distant tension without a warning. One day, you’d need to be on top of him, lips locked, and the next you couldn’t stand being within ten feet of each other. After a week of continuous flip-flopping, Everett had reached his limit, telling you sternly to figure out what you wanted before teasing him further. The brief argument only added to the embarrassment you’d been wading in.

Sighing roughly, you pinched the bridge of your nose. Humiliation bubbled in your stomach, churning around your day-to-day anxiety. Your brain felt like it was being slapped around like a tennis ball, jumping between various reasons to spiral. You had no money. You were going to flunk out of school. You were unable to hold a relationship. You'd never be satisfied in love.

Groaning, you rubbed at your temples, the pads of your fingers flickering as your pulse pushed at them. You needed to fucking study, which seemed impossible when your brain would not shut up.

“Doin' ok there, bug?”

The familiar voice startled a shriek from you, your hands flying to grab the counter as you nearly toppled out of your seat. Wide eyes flying up from your textbook, you felt heat rush to your cheeks when you saw Foggy standing there. Foggy's brows were raised, an amused smile directed at your frazzled state.

“Jesus Christ, Fog. You're gonna give me a heart attack one day.” You grumbled, shaking off the lingering fear and smoothing your clothes in an attempt to regain your dignity.

“You sure that day isn't today?” The blond asked innocently, eyes twinkling with the jest.

Huffing, you raised the heavy text you'd been pretending to read, hiding behind it as you muttered, “Shut up.”

Foggy cackled, striding behind the counter and hopping onto a stool. “What’s so interesting? You clearly didn't hear me come in.”

“This stupid Contracts assignment.” You huffed, absently running your thumb over the corner again. “I can’t get through it and, trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Hamer v. Sidway?” Foggy clarified. When you nodded, a sly grin slid over his face. “Well, wouldn’t you be lucky to have a certain handsome friend who has already digested that opinion! If only you were in a study group with him…”

You shook your head as Foggy tapped chin thoughtfully, a smile breaking through your stony expression despite yourself. “Oh are we disbanding the 3 Musketeers? I wasn’t notified.”

“You missed the public hearing.” Foggy shrugged, sighing with exaggerated weariness. “With no opposing testimony, the vote was unanimous.”

“Mr. Nelson, you aren’t suggesting that I missed 10 days worth of public notice, are you?” You raised an eyebrow, tension rolling off your shoulders in Foggy’s presence. “Because I’d have to live under a rock to overlook those signs in my most frequented areas.”

“Oh woe is me!” Foggy crooned mournfully. “Losing my beloved Musketeers to a default judgment.”

“Your Musketeers?” You scoffed out a laugh.

“Well, as the founder of our little band of misfits–” Foggy puffed out his chest, barely stifling his grin as you protested incredulously.

“Excuse you!” Crossing your arms, you forced a scowl onto your face as Foggy giggled beside you. “The 3 Musketeers of Columbia will go down in history as nothing short of a team effort. Mark my words, Franklin: if you so much as insinuate–”

Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Foggy’s laughter was infectious. “Ok, ok! I concede. This ruse was a test of your loyalty, my fair lady. One that you’ve passed excellently, I might add.”

“A test of my loyalty? I’m not the one trying to break up the crew, Fog.” You narrowed your eyes at him, your smile most definitely undermining your ability to look threatening.

Averting his gaze as his expression softened a bit, Foggy kicked his feet like a child on a swing, scuffing them lightly on the ground at the low point of their respective arc. “Fair enough. It just…you haven’t been around this week. Thought maybe you’d found better people to study with.” All humor had drained from his face, his brow slightly pinched with anxiety as he continued to avoid eye contact.

Frowning in lieu of a response, you stood from your seat at the counter, snatching Foggy in a bear hug. Relievingly he chuckled, leaning into the embrace. Resting your chin on his beanie-clad head, you squeezed him tightly. ‘Listen here, Nelson. You and Matt mean too much to me for me to even consider replacing you as study group co-founders. Not to mention that 99% of the other students here don’t hold a candle to the pair of you in any respect.”

Releasing your friend from your hold, you dragged the empty stool closer. Your shoulders brushed Foggy’s as you plopped back on top of the chair. “I promise, Fog. I’m not leaving the group.” Your voice was grave as you made the vow, the seriousness apparently escaping the man next to you who, of course, laughed.

“Christ, bug, you make it sound like we’re a middle school band on the verge of collapse.”

“And what if we are, Fog?” You threw a hand over your chest dramatically. “You know your heart ain’t in it anymore. And Matt’s kazoo work hasn’t been the same since the tour.” Breaking off into a forced voice crack, you chewed the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when Foggy snorted.

“Ok, Matt would never step foot into a room with a kazoo in it, let alone select it as his instrument of choice.” He grimaced, no doubt imagining the assault of a kazoo on his roommate’s delicate senses.

“Well you’re lead vocals and I’m tambourine, so he doesn’t have many other options.” You explained, no longer hiding your grin as Foggy cackled.

“I’m vocals!? Ugh, we’re DOOMED!” He groaned, running a hand over his throat as if it was sore from imaginary over-exertion.

“Are we? I’ve heard legends of the Siren deep in the showers of Jay Hall.” You smirked as his jaw dropped.

“Oh that little–Doesn’t he know that making false promises is, like, unholy or something?” Foggy scoffed with embarrassed frustration. “I should’ve known he’d tell you. He can’t keep anything from you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks at the reference to your and Matt’s close relationship. Your brain began to spiral as you remembered the image of his smile hovering above you.

“Hey, I'm not actually mad, bug. It’s alright.” Foggy elbowed you, studying your face.

Nodding uneasily, you gave a weak chuckle. “I know, Fog. Sorry.”

“Did Matt do something stupid? Is that why you haven’t been around?” Foggy asked, turning his body to face you as his concern piqued.

“No!” You squeaked out in a rush, shaking your head furiously. “No, he didn’t do anything, Fog. I’ve just been stressed about school and my mom and stuff. I’ll make more of an effort to tell you guys when I need space, ok?”

The long-haired man didn’t seem to fully buy the excuse, but he swiveled back towards the counter. “Mmmhmm. Sounds plausible, but you know you can always come to me if something happens, right?”

There was clearly more to that promise than he was trying to let on, but you were too frazzled to decipher what the hidden meaning was. “Course, Fog. You too. With me, I mean.”

Knocking his shoulder against yours, Foggy’s nose crinkled as he smiled. “I know, jitterbug. Now stop worrying over me. My ego will get too big.”

Snorting at the thought, you linked your arm with his. “I’m going to ignore the slightly insulting nickname in favor of asking you how it went with Marcia the other day.”

“Marci, not Marcia. And it was AWESOME!” Foggy squealed, face lighting up as he began recounting his evening with her the weekend before.

Homework entirely forgotten, you were enraptured as Foggy animatedly walked you through his eventful evening with his bombshell classmate. Ignoring the fact that he was certainly embellishing the story for your benefit, but he'd clearly had a good time.

Just as he began to narrate how the night eventually ended, your phone buzzed.

“Saved by the bell!” You shuddered comically, smirking when Foggy scoffed in offense. Flipping open your phone, you tried not to cackle in Jen's ear as Foggy pouted beside you. “Hey Jen, what's up?”

“Did you see the email?” Glossing over pleasantries, Jen was obviously annoyed, sparking a rush of worry in your gut.

“Um, no? What happened?” You frowned, chewing the inside of your cheek as your brain began to spiral over the numerous mistakes you could've made that would result in a pissed off roommate.

“Our building won't have heat for the rest of the month.” She grumbled, definitely rolling her eyes on the other end of the line.

“The rest of the MONTH? You're fucking kidding.” Anxiety quickly turning to shared frustration, you held up a finger when Foggy looked at you quizzically.

Your building was ancient and the baseboard heaters were probably older than you, which meant they'd stood no chance against the bitter New York weather this winter. The heat had sporadically given out over the past few months, resulting in half hearted promises from the owner about new systems being installed–so this news wasn't necessarily surprising, but that didn't mean you wanted to deal with it.

“Super wanted us to know so we could 'make the necessary arrangements'. Piece of shit.” She sulked.

“Fuck, Jen, what are we gonna do? I can't afford a space heater.” Scrubbing a hand over your face, the resilient debt-induced panic that had faded to the back of your mind reared its mangey head.

“Well, good news and bad news. Good news is Oscar's parents are willing to loan us a pair that they have in their garage so we won't need to buy or rent any.” She trailed off, clearly not excited about the latter half of the plan.

“C'mon Jen, break it to me.” You huffed, not at all willing to let her ignore the less fortunate piece of the situation. If you wanted to prevent your impending nervous breakdown for another few weeks, you'd need to act on this issue immediately.

“Wewon'tbeabletograbthemuntilaftertheconference.” She muttered in a rush.

Drawing in a breath to extend your waning patience, you asked again. “Jen, in English please.”

An uneasy groan came across the line before she clarified. “We won't be able to grab the space heaters until after the conference.”

Shit. That was bad news. Most, if not all, of Columbia's 3Ls were at the Tri-State Justice Conference in New Jersey until Friday—three days from now.

“I'm sorry, but we both need the attendance credit and—” Jen explained, sounding like she was about to cry.

“Hey, it's ok, babes. I'll figure it out. Don't worry, ok? Just enjoy the conference as much as you can and I'll find a place to stay.”

“I'm really sorry, I—” She stammered.

“I promise I'll be ok.” Your throat felt tight, your efforts to stave off a breakdown over this clearly failing. ”I'll talk to you soon.“

Hanging up the phone, you dropped your head into your hands, digging your fingers into the bridge of your nose in an attempt to collect yourself.

Hesitantly, Foggy called your name. “Everything ok?”

“Uh, not really...but when is it ever?” You chuckled bitterly, your words muffled by your palms.

Two arms wound around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug that mirrored the one you'd given Fog earlier. Your face met his sturdy shoulder, and it took every ounce of your resolve to not let yourself dissolve into tears.

“What happened, bug?” Foggy asked, holding you tightly as you inhaled shakily.

“Apparently our heat went out. Again. And, uh, I don't really know what to do, Fog.” You admitted, craning your neck to look at him. “Everett, Jen, and Oscar are all out of town and I–”

“You can stay in our room.” Foggy stated simply, as if it was the obvious solution to the problem. “We don't have much, but we DO have heat.”

“Fog, you don't have to–” You protested, but he cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“I know I don't have to, I want to! It'll be a study group sleepover!!” He rubbed a circle into your back before taking his seat once more.

And that was that. The long-haired boy had already turned back to the book he’d pulled out while you were on the phone, considering the matter resolved. Sitting there dumb founded, you stared at him for a moment, half expecting him to yell “Psych!” and leave you to sort your own shit out. But he didn’t.

“Do Frodo and Sam kinda give you a gay vibe?” He asked suddenly, jarring you out of your anxious stance.

“What?” You blinked, trying to process the jump to a completely different topic while you were still thinking about a sleepover in Matt and Foggy’s shared room.

Giving a shrug, Foggy turned the page. “I mean, they’re soulmates for sure. But sometimes it seems like Tolkien did not mean for it to be platonic, ya know?” Glancing up at you with a grin, he giggled. “What? Is there something on my face?”

“Fog,” You chuckled in exasperation, shaking your head at his unfailing positivity.

“What?” Raising the book as he threw his arms up, Foggy’s smirk made you laugh harder. “See this is precisely why you need to sleepover. Matt never finds me this funny.”

“You were serious about that?” You asked hesitantly, fisting the cuff of your sweater sleeve in one hand, toying with a loose thread along its edge.

“Uh, yah? Why?” Foggy snorted, still reading and no doubt hosting a heated internal debate over one or more hobbits’ sexualities.

“I mean..I dunno, wouldn’t that be…weird?” Heat was clawing at your face, your insecurities making you cringe sheepishly.

“Ah, I suppose I’ve neglected to consider all the facts.” Sticking a folded gum wrapper in the joint of his book, he let the cover flap shut, crossing his arms as he pondered. “You are a girl, and the latest studies suggest a correlation between your gender and high levels of 'cooties'.”

Expression utterly serious, you couldn't help but dissolve into giggles as Foggy tapped a finger on his chin in deep contemplation. “Shut up, you know what I meant.”

“I'm not sure I do. Unless you DO in fact have cooties. In which case Matt and I would need to draft a contract to distribute liability in the event that we CATCH your cooties.”

“You know what,” You laughed. “Let's all be honest about who is catching 'cooties' from who. I have fantastic hygiene, counselor.”

“You're right. It's Murdock we need to worry about.”

Looking at each other solemnly, you and Foggy broke at the same time, cackling over the ridiculous notion.

“Of course I was serious, dude!“ Foggy kicked your shin lightly as you wiped a tear from your cheek. ”Did you really think I was just going to let you freeze to death? That Matt would allow that to happen?”

“No,” You murmured, tucking the toes of your sneakers behind the legs of your stool. “I guess not.”

Mouth squishing to one side with his skepticism, Foggy leaned closer to your hunched form. “In case I am not making myself clear, let me lay it out for you, jitterbug. Neither Matt nor I would ever object to you staying over if you wanted to, let alone needed to for your own safety. We care about you and we would never jeopardize a fellow Musketeer.”

Nodding bashfully, you linked your pinkies together, dropping them into your lap. “Ok. Thanks, Fog.”

“Anytime, bug. How much longer are you chained to this counter?” He frowned at the offending furniture with distaste, laying a palm over his stomach. “I'm getting hungry.”

Rolling your eyes, you glanced at the clock behind you. “About another hour. But you are more than welcome to venture out for a meal before that. Only one of us is contractually obligated to be here.”

“NO MAN LEFT BEHIND” Foggy declared, saluting you before turning back to his book diligently.

Biting your cheek to stifle a grin, you turned back to your own homework, grateful for the two men keeping you sane as your life crumbled into chaos.

Swallowing as your throat constricted with nerves, your knuckles hovered an inch away from the nicked wooden door. Your adrenaline-soaked subconscious was buzzing, telling every cell to enter “flight” mode, but your feet felt glued to the dingy carpet.

What are you so afraid of? You chastised yourself. It's just Fog and Matt. Not like you're about to have open heart surgery or something.

Tilting your entire body forward until your knuckles brushed the surface of the door, you'd barely made a sound before it opened, revealing a confused Matt and a beaming Foggy.

Greeting you simultaneously, Matt's perplexed tone didn't match his roommate's joyful one in the slightest. “Are you ok?”

Despite being evidently baffled, Matt ushered you into the room.

“Um, yes? Why…” Looking to Foggy questioningly, you watched as the long-haired boy grimaced apologetically. “Ah, I see someone did not fill you in on the situation.”

“I forgot!” Foggy smiled sheepishly.

Exhaling with a frustrated huff, you shifted from foot to foot as the ball of nervous energy fueling you tumbled around your body. “Um, my building has no heat for the rest of the week so Foggy said I could stay here? But if that's not ok with you–” You took a small pace backwards, giving you the option to completely eject from the situation, but Matt carefully reached for your arm.

His fingers brushed over your wrist, gently clasping around your arm. At his cautious touch, the air flew out of your lungs, your eyes widening as they focused on his face. Lips turned down ever so slightly, his brow was furrowed with his classic Matt Murdock concern. Whether you'd given yourself a papercut or received news of your mother's recurrence, Matt's worry and desire to fix whatever he could was etched deeply in his expression.

“Of course that's ok, sweetheart. The heat's out again? Did they say they were going to replace the baseboards?” As he asked his follow-up questions, his free hand came up to cup your other elbow, until he was practically cradling you in his arms.

Sighing, you didn't fight him as his grip tightened, morphing into a full body embrace. Hands spread over your back, Matt's chin landed over your head like it belonged there. Anxiety fading, you shrugged against him with a bitter laugh. “Sure, but they say that every time.”

Planting a kiss against your hairline, and coincidentally reigniting the swarm of murderous butterflies in your stomach, Matt withdrew his arms and stepped aside to wave you into the room. His mouth was still curved into a frown, the wheels in his head clearly turning as you set down your backpack and hopped onto Foggy's mattress.

“Thank god you're here, bug. I desperately need someone to read through my legal writing assignment. She only drops the two lowest and I need a decent grade in this class.” Foggy rummaged through his bag, yanking out a few pages filled with illegible handwriting and margin doodles, dropping them in your lap.

With a giggle, you made a show of copying Foggy's movements, dropping the assignment back into his possession. “Yah, sorry bud but you're going to need to read that to me if you want my help.”

“Oh come on, my handwriting isn't THAT bad.” Foggy protested, squinting at the essay.

“It might not be the worst print in the world, but I'm not a grade school teacher. I'm not practiced at–” You explained, smiling innocently as Foggy grew more affronted by the accusation.

“Woah, woah, woah, GRADE school–”

“Ok, you're right, 7th grade maybe?” You shrugged, laughing as the blond shoved you in response. The two of you were grinning at each other when Matt's question burst out of him.

“Have you complained to the board of health? Or the HPD?”

Meeting Foggy's gaze, you both blinked owlishly before turning to face Matt. The dark-haired boy was staring blankly at the pair of you, his face flitting between dark concern and pure fury.

“What?” You asked, eyes drawn to Matt's fists as they flexed at his sides.

“About the heat. It's..it's not safe for your landlord to be leaving his tenants without heat. Not when it's this cold.”

“Matt, buddy,” Foggy interrupted placatingly, throwing an arm around your shoulders. ”That's why she's here, remember? Problem solved.“

“Until it goes out again next month.” Matt growled.

Squeezing Foggy's leg, you shot him a knowing look. “Matt, I'll call HPD tomorrow when they open. Promise. You can sit with me to listen, if you'd like.”

Pursing his lips, Matt considered the suggestion. With a weary exhale, he nodded, his fingers sliding out of their rigid curls. “Ok.”

“Right, well, now that we've settled that, let's listen to Foggy read his essay aloud—since neither of us will be able to look it over otherwise.”

Grumbling, Foggy flopped onto his stomach, resolutely ignoring your chuckles as he cleared his throat. “Prepare to be dazzled—”

As much as you wanted to help your friend out with his assignment, Foggy’s words flew into one ear and out the other, briefly tapping your brain like a small steel sphere on a pinball bumper. Once you'd seemingly put his mind at ease, Matt had joined the two of you on the opposite side of the room, Snuggling in close and sandwiching you between the pair of men.

On any other day, the position would be comforting. Your limbs cloaked with their combined body heat, their soothing voices overriding the anxious buzzing in your brain. Today, the invisible swarm of bees in your skull only became more enraged. You felt trapped, cornered by your friends and your own tattered feelings.

Matt's shoulder flanked yours, his body pressed in so tightly to you that the thin hairs on your cheeks and neck fluttered with his every exhale. A small vibration in your pocket pushed you over the edge. Had Everett finally responded to your apology? Was he still upset? How could you accept his forgiveness when you were practically sitting in Matt's lap?

Shifting your weight uncomfortably, you tried to keep yourself separate from Matt, digging your shoulder into the wall rather than leaning it against his chest. Another buzz from your pocket had you gritting your teeth. It was too much, it was all too much. Foggy was talking so loud and the temperature of this room was stifling and how on earth could he sleep in these sheets–they must have the thread count of a fast food napkin.

Choking in a breath, you dove off the bed. “It sounds great so far, bubs. I have to check my phone real quick, someone is calling me.” Nearly toppling over in your haste to escape the room, the door shook as it closed roughly against its frame. Shakily pulling your phone from your jeans, you opened it, trying to get your breathing under control. It was like you'd been shoved underwater with a dwindling oxygen tank–given the sudden atmospheric pressure and your inability to take a full breath.

One text was from your father, reminding you to pay the most recent medical bill. I'll get right on that. You rolled your eyes, deleting the message.

The other message was from Everett. Your body went rigid as you read his name, your finger inching towards the button that would open it up, revealing whatever he'd sent you. As the screen flashed, pixels shifting to spell out the five words he'd deemed important enough to send, your heart momentarily stopped.

Talk when I’m back.

Nothing else. No indication of how angry he was, what the talk would be about, if you would still be together in a week. Fuck.

Behind you, the door creaked open, a worried Foggy appearing from the shadows. ”Everything ok?“

”Yep!” You squeaked, snapping your phone shut with a force that made you grimace. “All good.”

Sending your friend a smile that you hoped looked more honest than it felt, you shuffled back into the room, sensing that the energy had changed. “Sorry, just Everett and my dad bothering me.”

In your absence, Matt had returned to his bed. His posture was gracefully straight, a book lying across his lap beneath his fingers. If his stance hadn't clued you into his mood, the lenses now propped on the bridge of his nose had. Something was up, but you weren't in any state to handle both of your emotions right now. Foggy gave a weak smile, hopping back onto his bed.

“Matt pointed out that you might not want to think about homework all night. I actually rented some movies on my way home! I was thinking we could watch one.”

“That sounds fun, Fog. Matt are you–”

“No.” His answer was curt, pitched low. He must've sensed your surprise because the edges of his expression immediately softened. “I have a headache. Don't want to spoil the fun.”

“I'm sorry! We probably aren't helping. Did you want us to go to the lounge?” You asked, fingers grasping for your bag in case you needed to switch locations.

“No need. I'll put my headphones on if I need to.” Matt's lips flickered with the barest hint of a smile before settling back into the neutral expression he'd originally had on.

“Let us know if you change your mind, buddy.” Foggy chirped, opening his laptop. “Ok, bug. Take your pick.”

With a wave of one hand, Foggy displayed three DVD cases as if they were a winning poker hand. “We've got: National Treasure, Happy Feet, and The Ring.”

“What an eclectic bunch.” You snorted. “Scary movie first, Nick Cage last. We'll scream, cry, and laugh in that order.”

“Genius. She's a genius!” Foggy remarked, cracking the first plastic sleeve open. “This girl is going places, Murdock.”

Matt smirked, but said nothing, his fingers still dancing over the raised dots on the pages.

Lying on his side, one ear turned out to the rest of the room, Matt's own skin prickled sympathetically as you rolled over on the grimy carpet–each plastic fiber screeching as it dragged across your skin. The sound made him cringe, far too similar to fingernails on a chalkboard.

It was late. You and Foggy had indeed made it through all three movies, only pausing to run to the bathroom and the corner market for more snacks. Matt couldn't help but feel like he was intruding, eavesdropping on a sweet moment between friends and existing where he wasn't welcome. While Foggy was glued to his computer screen, your attention was sporadic, heart rate spiking whenever he so much as shifted on his bed.

You were paying more mind to him than the entertainment you were pretending to enjoy. Which was irritatingly amusing given how little you'd wanted to do with him recently. Something deep inside him was crying out in warning, telling him just how close you were to slipping through his fingers and disappearing forever. But how could he steady his grip when every pump of his heart had you spooking like a prey animal.

The rustling of fabric from your body on the floor nettled at his conscience. Your breathing was shallow, your vocal chords emitting small aggravated groans that should've been imperceptible, if Matt was a lucky man. Inches away from his bed, you were writhing in discomfort, lying awake just as he was—unlike Foggy who was snoring away, dead to the world. That couldn't be helping your frustration, it sure wasn't doing him any favors.

The tiniest of sighs slipped through your lips, wafting the scent of salt into his space. Frowning in concern, he set aside the pity party he'd been throwing himself and swallowed his nerves.

“Can't sleep?” His voice was barely a whisper, but you startled anyway, shooting up into a seated position.

“Christ, Matt.” You chuckled feebly.

“Language.” He joked, lips curving as you laughed again.

“Forgive me, Saint Matthew. I was taken by surprise. Thought you might be that little girl from the ring coming to get me.”

“Is my voice that feminine?“ He wrinkled his nose, feeling a bubble of pride when your heartbeat began to slow, his distractions working for now.

“No, but when you're expecting a ghost, everything seems ghastly.” You shuddered.

A jumble of words sat at the tip of his tongue, an accusation he needed to make if he wanted to get any rest tonight. It was as though you were expecting it, aware you'd done something wrong. Awaiting your punishment without a word.

“You don't have to sleep on the floor, you know. My mattress won't bite.” Avoiding confrontation for as long as he could, he attempted for another quip. Unfortunately, you'd picked up on his barely concealed aggravation, if your flinch was any indication.

Huffing out a laugh, you craned your neck to face him. “I know, Matt. But I'm not going to put you out like that. You didn't even know I was coming.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your heat?” He couldn't stop himself. He needed to know. He needed to understand why you were pushing him away.

“I mean, I only found out this afternoon–”

“I could’ve helped you report them.” He explained, still thoroughly confused.

“You still can!” Your muscles creaked as your arms tightened around your shins, instinctively defending yourself from his questioning.

“You just..showed up. And I had no idea what had happened.” His voice sounded hollow, even to him.

“I figured Fog would ask you, I'm sorry.” That was truthful, but it still didn't answer anything.

“So you're still avoiding me, then.” Your breath was cut short, fingers digging into your flesh. His own body was eerily still, trying to hold the immense guilt he'd been feeling back until the conversation was over. Until he knew what he'd done.

“Matt, I'm not—”

“No? Then why does it feel like you're trying to constantly escape me?” Snapping his mouth shut before his words revealed just how hurt he really was, he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“What are you—”

“When I hugged you earlier, you went all stiff. You’re clearly upset about something on your phone, but you refuse to tell me about it. And you keep calling me 'Matt'.” His throat constricted, fists clenching around his blankets.

“That's your name–” You reasoned desperately, but your heart gave you away. He wasn't crazy. It was deliberate.

“Not to you!” He hissed. Sitting up slowly, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to force the pain in his skull to subside. “You always..you used to call me Matty or trouble or bubs. Recently, I've just been Matt. I just..please tell me what I did so I can fix it?”

“Matt,” You sounded mournful. Defensive stance abandoned, you crept closer to his bed, falling into a sloppy heap beside him, still on the floor. “Trouble, you didn't do anything. I've been jumpy and in my head recently because of my own shit, not because of you.”

The steady thump of your pulse echoed in his ears. It didn't waver. Not once.

Blinking rapidly, Matt shoved his hands against his face again, this time to rub away the tears forming before you could see them.

Reaching one hand up, you brushed a knuckle against his rightmost calf. “I'm so sorry that I hurt you. It was not intentional. I care about you so much and I...” You trailed off, drawing in a ragged breath before speaking again. “I care about you. I always will.”

“I care about you too.” Tangling your hand with his, Matt ducked his head, feeling incredibly exposed. “You scared me.”

“I'm sorry.” There it was again. The consistent beat of your heart. Even as the patter of rain. He squeezed your fingers.

“I know.” Trailing a thumb over the back of your hand, he felt another icy current of fear in his veins. “And I’m serious about reporting your building. We can always host you but what if you get snowed in or something? If you’re stuck there with no heat..I don’t want that to happen to you, bug. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

Grabbing his bed frame with your free hand, you hauled yourself up and onto his mattress, collapsing into his open arms. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I've already forgiven you. But I just needed you to know that it matters. That you matter.”

“Fuck, trouble. You're gonna make me cry harder than that stupid bird movie.” You laughed, the puffs of air tickling his neck as they left your lungs.

“That one did seem especially sad.” He hummed.

“Don't know why they had to rip my fuckin' heart out. Seems a little unnecessary.” You scoffed, body slowly melting against him as he rubbed circles over your back.

“Definitely unnecessary.” He agreed, loosening his grip on you. “You should get some sleep before classes tomorrow.”

He started to unwind from you, intending to take your place on the floor, but you caught his waist with your arms, tipping you both onto the mattress. “If I'm not sleeping on the floor, neither are you, bubba.”

With a single hand, you grabbed the spare blanket off the floor, moving away from him as you bundled yourself up, a happy exhale tumbling out of you as you relaxed into the cocoon. Though you seemed to have worked through whatever mental block had existed before, Matt wasn't quite convinced.

“Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You wouldn't.” Was your sleepy response. “Besides, if that little bitch crawls out of Foggy's computer screen, she can take you first.”

A startled laugh escaped him and he shook his head. “Sure she can, bug. Sleep well.”

“You too, Matty.”

Taglist: @eugene-emt-roe @abbyhaslongshorts @mrs-bellingham @abucketofweird @yeonalie @spider-murdock @0ctober-writes @danzer8705 @supervoldejaygent @dorothleah @zomtart @marytheweefrenchie @cheshirecat484 @siampie @silas-aeiou @rev-glut @screechingphantommaker @spiderstyles04 @paradox-brody-chase @blue-devil-of-the-lord @pigeonmama @yarrystyleeza @cometenthusiast @harleycao

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obxthornton · 10 months ago

Text

Kitty Kat - Wolverine/Reader

Summary: Wade's friend comes into town

Warnings: Sexual humor, Sexual references

A/N: smutty part 2?

WC: 897

Logan sat on the couch, arms crossed as he stared at the TV, watching whatever trash reality show Wade had put on. Wade however was in the kitchen, passing around and making small noises of excitement. Logan closed his eyes and sighed, realizing he would cave to what the man wanted. "What?" he responded to the man's actions. Wade giddied with glee at the chance to speak freely, "Wolvie I'm just so full of emotions, do I look okay? Be honest." He walked in front of the tv, and motioned down at his outfit, wearing khaki shorts and a beach button-up. "you look awful." Logan said honestly, Wade smiled and nodded, "Perfect she'll love it." Logan rolled his eyes at the man, "Who Wade? Please tell me you are not going on a date with a poor girl dressed as a tiki hut waiter," his voice insulting the man on his choice of clothes. Wade shook his head, "My precious Kitty Kat, she's just staying the weekend, so there's no need to feel threatened by my best friend coming. And if you want to fuck her, I'm sure I can move bits of my long sexual fantasy I have planned so you can enjoy her company as well," Wade sighed alittle, putting his hands on his hips and smiling. Logan rolled his eyes yet again, at the man's antics, alittle confused by the situation at hand, "I don't like cats." Wade gave him a thumbs up, "Perfect."

A proper knock came out the door, causing Wade to gasp, "She's here. Be on your worst behavior she will love that, god she's going to eat you alive." Wade let out another sigh as if he were daydreaming yet another knock snapped him out of it. He quickly walked towards the door before he threw it open. "Hello, my kitten whiskers!!" His voice said with glee. A small snicker came from the door that Logan could hear, "Hi Wade, miss me?" She said. Her voice was laced with something that Logan couldn't figure out but it made him shift on the couch. "Silly question you know I did y/n." Footsteps carried her farther into the room, she looked around the place, "You look nice." This time logan could pinpoint what was laced in her voice, a patronizing undertone. Wade let out a jittering, sexual breath, "thank you." The footsteps stopped and she turned around to look at Wade, her head cocked lightly, "Did you get a dog?" Wade smiled largely, "That's just logan. Not a dog but defiantly close enough." He said dismissing the girl. Y/N turned around and sniffed once more, her eyes following the smell to the couch. "oh you shouldn't have Wade." She stated pursing her lips at the man, "he didn't." Logan huffed, interjecting into the conversation about himself, pushing himself off the couch. "a big dog," She corrected herself. He turned and looked at the girl, crossing his arms. She stood there in an all-black outfit, her bag held tightly in Wade's arms. She was smiling, smirking even, her eyes piercing into Logan's soul. He regretted standing up. She slowly walked up to the man, scanning over every ounce of his body. "The Wolverine," She stated the fact. "I must have been an awfully good girl to be under the same roof as you," Y/N said raising an eyebrow at the man. Logan stared down at the girl, "I must have been awful." She flashed her pearly teeth at him, "we can only hope." He rolled her eyes at the women, looking over at Wade who had a giddy look on his face.

Logan was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt a finger rub over his bicep. He looked down unamused, to see y/n running her fingertip up his arm. She eyed the area where she was covering thoughtfully as if she was searching for something. Her finger carried up to Logan's neck, and he was over the little game she was playing. He went to move her hand away but she had rested her hand behind his ear and scratched once with her finger. Logan's claws protracted causing her to smile, she went to move her hand down but Logan grabbed her wrist, his claws still out. His face was angry and his grip was tight, "how the hell did you do that." She grinned up at the man before protracting her own claws. They were thinner and shorter than logans, coming out from under her painted fingernails, resembling long cat claws. "we all have a place that just does it for us," She stated. "I won't tell you where hers is." Wade chimed in, a big smile covering his face, "But I will tell you it rhymes with slit. Or I guess that could be the same thing." Y/N rolled her eyes lightly at her friend before looking back up at Logan, who had dropped her wrist. They both retracted their claws, Y/N smiled, "Oh we're going to have fun. I've always wanted a dog." Logan scoffed, crossing his arms, "I'm not going to be your dog." She turned around and walked towards the spare bedroom, Logan's room, Wade following with her bag. A sigh caught in Logan's voice, "That's, my room." He could practically hear her grin, "Whatever you say, baby." She called out before slamming the door behind her.

#marvel #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #xmen #blurb #logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wade wilson #deadpool

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chosos-mascara · 11 months ago

Text

all my love, suguru

chapter 2

summary: after an unexpected night spent with your close friend, you find yourself pregnant, and unable to tell him so. will you be able to come to terms with this news, or will it destroy the delicate relationship you'd had left?

chapter warnings: pregnancy, mentions of declining mental health (suguru)

masterlist

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"Sugu, you look like you've seen a ghost." Satoru jokes, placing his cards face down on the table to lean onto his elbow. He rests his chin on the back of his hand, head tilted to the side as he examines Suguru's expression.

"Is it really bothering you this much?" Satoru pushes, noting the worn eyes of his friend, an offish demeanour. The game of cards is painfully quiet despite being two drinks deep, a heaviness that Suguru found himself burdened with now leeching into the evening. "Just tired, that's all." He reaches forward to take another sip of his drink, tipping his head back and causing stray hairs to flail with his movement, before realising the bottle is empty. His face flattens, lips curved downward as he peers into the glass. His solemn expression voices the predicament to the others. He slams the bottle down with a little too much force.

Shoko sighs, her weight resting in her hands, which are planted firmly within the carpet behind her. "I'll get more." She pushes her body upward, taking a second regretful glance at her friend. If she'd have known he would've been this upset over your question, she wouldn't have shared.

Satrou watches her leave the room, taking a second before leaning a little closer to the other brunette still seated at the coffee table. His hair is messily slung back into the bun he'd tied three or four times this evening, small kinks caused by a frankly absurd amount of fiddling he'd done with the strands. Once he's sure Shoko is out of ear shot, he opens his mouth to prod further.

"Suguru." The seriousness in Satoru's tone got through to him, brown eyes lifting from the stained table to meet blue. He watches his expression change slightly as Satoru reconsiders his actions, though he decides to push on. "Did you actually sleep with her?" There's a tang in his mouth as he asks, the words wading their way through stale air at an uncomfortably slow pace as Suguru doesn't reply for a short while. Eventually, he inhales sharply, closing his eyes before feigning a face of disgust.

Suguru could count the amount of times he's lied to Satoru on one hand. Each time he remembers clearly, once when they were newly in Jujutsu High, the second time shortly following their graduation. Both times held a valid excuse, and ultimately served good, with himself eventually spilling the truth.

"Satoru, she's like a sister to me." Guilt washes over him as he tries to desperately retain his ego, grasping at a flattering image he hoped Satoru held of him, though as he stares into the blue eyes he knows better than his own, his ego begins to crumble. It would only be a matter of time before his friend would find out that he'd shared those moments with you, especially with the divide of the group. For now, he would twist the truth and buy time, keeping that image clean.

Satoru can't deny the relief that coddles him, muscles he hadn't realised to be tensed finally released.

"Listen, Sugu. I'll just use my six eyes when we meet her on Monday - problem solved." Suguru's brow raises, his chest tightening with the prospect of his plan, but before he can protest the idea Satoru is already raising his bottle to the air to toast his own intelligence.

"Don't you think that's a little intrusive, Satoru?" Shoko returns, a six pack between two hands. They don't look chilled, probably stored within one of her cupboards, but today, Suguru doesn't care. She sits back at the end of the table cross-legged, tearing the cardboard before handing a beer to the others.

"What would you do? Ask her directly and make her upset?" He puts a bottlecap on the edge of the table and knocks downward firmly. There's a clatter on the wood as the cap is released. "If you ask me, we're doing her a favour." The bottle is finally at his lips, and he takes a swig of lukewarm beer, trying not to wear his distaste on his face.

"Why don't you just call her if you're so concerned?" It's spoken under her breath, but the pair hear her anyway, and guilt resides in the pit of Suguru's stomach. He hadn't stopped to consider how you must feel regarding this scare, and how isolating it must be to go through alone.

He hasn't spoken with you since that night, having left you in empty sheets the next morning. Suguru admits to himself it was a difficult choice when you laid beside him so peacefully; you'd looked like you'd belonged on that half of the bed, chest rising and falling in syncrony with his own. In your sleep you'd held him, and for those short few hours Suguru felt at ease, your warmth shared with his coldness. However, the decision to distance himself is one he'd had to make for everyone's benefit; it's simply easier to remain friends. Even if it doesn't feel right, or it pains you.

"I'll give her a call." Suguru's voice is low as he adjusts himself to stand. The confidence he felt seems short lived when he leaves the room and pulls your contact up, his mind lagging behind his body. His feet are still moving until he's slipping into Shoko's room, closing the door behind himself to look back down at his contacts screen. Your name is right there, his thumb hovering over it, yet he can't find it within himself to press call. He contemplates for a while, throwing himself to sit on the edge of Shoko's bed and reading over your name again only to lock his phone and toss it beside himself. With his palms to cheeks, he sighs. When did he become so pathetic?

He's felt drained for months now. Life seems to pass by, and while everyone able to progress through the years, bettering themselves and their situations, Suguru feels himself stuck in the same place he was years ago, from the moment he graduated. Sorcery is tiring at best, though depressive at worst - if it's his destiny to help the weak, why does it anger him so?

You're the only person to ask if he's okay. That moment, with your hand over his face and eyes locked into his, he felt so vulnerable. Suguru likes to think he has some semblance of self control, yet for some reason, he'd been unable to help himself. To be cared for so openly by you had been something he couldn't ignore in that moment, and reciprocated it the only way he knew how.

He brings his hands from his face, focusing back on his surroundings before he lost himself to his mind yet again. There's a dresser before him, a scratched up, old wooden set with four drawers on the left and four on the right. Like the rest of her home, it was littered in mess; stray specs of tobacco, almost empty lighters, screwed up recipts, and these were just the things Suguru could make out at first glance. Between all of the rubbish, thoughtless pieces of trash tossed in absentmindedness, sits one item that sticks out to him.

A dulled silver frame, one he recognises to belong somewhere in his own home's storage, surrounding a graduation photo. The four of you, dressed in stupidly formal outfits that hardly matched your personalities, though your grins were wide. He stands to grab the photo between clammy fingers to take a closer look. Satoru stands beside Shoko, his arm draped over her, followed by yourself beside Suguru.

It's funny, he thinks, holding this and being able to reminisce. On that day, he'd felt so nervous. He couldn't sleep properly for nights prior, picturing the ceremony somehow going wrong, it'd all felt to be such a big deal. But now, he stands with just memories to reflect on, and he realises there was nothing to be scared of.

Sitting himself down again, his phone between his fingers and the newfound drive of his younger self's ambitions, he goes through with his plan. It rings once, and twice.

You're laying on the couch, head resting at an awkward angle on the arm and a half eaten bag of chocolate on your stomach, when your phone vibrates. At first glance, the caller's name doesn't stick out, your attention diverted back to the flat screen. There's a few seconds in which you ignore those buzzes, but within that time you mull over the six letters that had accompanied 'accept', and double take.

You sit up, heart pounding with your phone clutched between suddenly weak fingers. No thought goes into answering, though when you do, you realise you're breathless.

"Hey."

Even over the phone his voice is smooth, eliciting a stirring within your stomach with only one commonly spoken word. Ten years of friendship and you still get butterflies at any one on one interaction with him. "What's up?" You don't want to sound too eager, the uncomfortable tension between the pair of you at the forefront of your mind. Yet, you still wish to squeal like a teenager.

"I just wanted to ask..." He trails off and the uncontrollable smile quickly begins to fade, an unsettling twist at your chest replacing those butterflies. He's quiet for a few seconds and you're unsure if the line has cut off, or if he's ruminating on his question.

"Sorry," He pauses, and you hear him breathe out. "I wanted to ask if you're okay?" You crease your brow in doubt. "I'm okay, are you?" You've never felt so distant from him during a conversation, waiting for his uncertain responses feels a bit like pulling teeth. Never has Suguru called just to ask how you are, and this weirdly uncharacteristic gesture is more unsettling than it is comforting.

"Yeah." He's lying, you think. There's stale air, and you're unsure whether or not to try and fill it. Really, you don't think you have anything you could say to him that would be natural, not when your mind is plaguing you with the weight of your actions. What if you slip up and mention something to do with the baby?

"Shoko has that photo of us framed, from graduation. Remember? We all look so young." Just like that, for the first time during this call, Suguru seems to be speaking genuine words rather than sparse replies or attempt at dry conversation. You relax a little into your couch. "God, life was so easy back then, wasn't it?"

You huff through your nose, a sarcatic chuckle through your frown. "Yeah, it was." Most of your school years were a blur in your mind, your graduation no exception, but one fragment sticks out in your mind from that day, clearly.

"You scared?" Satoru teases, and you shake your head with a glare toward his snide expression. He laughs at your seriousness, grin wide when he sees the pout on your lips. "Oh yeah, why are you shaking then?"

You immediately look downward, holding your hands at eye level to assess your physical state. You allow a few moments to pass as you stare at them, ultimately concluding in their stillness that Satoru was teasing you. "Leave her be." Suguru wanders out from the en-suite, his hair tied neatly back with black kimono covering the button down he'd worn earlier. He places onelargehand over your shoulder, a tender squeeze over the skin. "If you're nervous, it's not obvious."

His words of reassurance bring you back down from your heightened sense of anxiety, and you're a little less concerned over your appearance. You look to your side, beginning at the hand now slipping from your shoulder, and ending at the pair of brown eyes you hate to admit you love. They're gentle, and you feel warmth prickle at the skin on your arms, a blanket of comfort enveloping you. Suguru was your home, your comfort.

"Satoru always teased you, though. At least that's lessened with age." You wonder if Suguru was also thinking back to that moment, and your smile returns, even if it's much smaller that it was before.

"Nah, he hasn't changed at all." You sigh, just as lovesick over him as you were back then. As you adjust yourself on the couch, you realise those little chocolates had spilled from the bag, though you can't find it within yourself to care. Instead, you pass the time by putting them back in, one by one. Suguru laughs down the phone. "You're right, he hasn't, has he?"

For a brief few moments, you're offered reprieve in the presence on the other side of the line, forgetting the complications between you. But of course, the ease is soon offset by the daunting rememberance that this will all come to an end, and that things will never be the same as they once were.

"How's the night going?" The question isn't really something you'd actually cared to know, you just didn't want him to hang up yet. This may be the last positive interaction the two of you have, and you're not ready to let this turn into another distant memory.

"It's... alright." He doesn't sound like he's smiling much anymore, and you find yourself in mourning for the friendship you had. "Ah, I'm glad it's going well." You know the call is coming to an end, and this is it.

Suguru swallows thickly. The weight that seemed to ease had suddenly dropped back onto his shoulders, and he breathes out slowly, closing his eyes. Was he really going to ask you expilicty? How would he bring it up - by the way, are you carrying our child?

His mouth opens, and closes just as quickly. He can't do it. There it is, that emptiness, the settling heaviness that he can't seem to shake crashing around him once more, unable to feel anything more than a numness encasing his head. He wonders what you're doing, and why he can't just let you in.

"I should probably get back to them." He voices through soured air, ashamed he's unable to build the courage to ask you what he so desperately needed an answer to.

"That's okay, thanks for calling me, Sugu." There's a twinge of guilt that he tries to ignore. You don't know the real, selfish reason he called, lacking genuine care for your wellbeing.

Before returning to the others, he places the photo frame back in it's place among the mess of Shoko's room. In a way, it feels a fitting home.

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