#what do i need to be medicated for? who knows

[patricide1885]

This argument will never end for a specific reason. I know this is risky but I'd like to try to directly, albeit clumsily, address the elephant in the room that I think we all know exists but have been avoiding because we don't want conservatives and TERFs to use it against us.

Not all people under the trans umbrella are the same. By their own admission (as in, if you ask them directly what their socialization experience is), not all trans people of either gender have the same socialization experience, and at some point we need to accept that.

And yet we have to pretend that everyone is coming from the same place because obviously we don't want to say there are "real" and "fake" trans people. But regardless, the only thing we *all* have in common is that we identify as a gender different than what was assigned at birth. Which "identity" can mean multiple things in itself.

In the end, everyone should have full autonomy over their bodies regardless of reason. But to pretend that we are all doing this for the same reason of have the same gender experience is simply not true. And that's why a lot of trans people are so fucking transphobic/transmisogynistic towards other trans people - they're projecting because they don't actually see themselves as the gender they identify as in the same way, or have different understandings of what that means.

For example, in my experience FTMs might see themselves as simply a "guy with a medical condition", a "girl pretending to be a guy", a "a third gender that's guyish", "a female that identified as a man", "a person who doesn't think gender is real but likes being in the male category the best given the options". Some identify as lesbians as well as as men. Some people identify /as/ trans itself where others will identify as male or female, and view trans as either an adjective or a verb. Some view transness as "wanting to be" x gender, and others have an internal sense that they simply are and always have been the gender they say. And everything in between.

This also explains why so many trans people endorse the "gender/sex" divide. For me that's insane and hurtful. When I transitioned, gender wasn't even my focus, I was occupied by my sex dysphoria. Do I identify as a man? Well yeah, but, I can't comprehend being happy with calling myself a "female man". I am not going to say such people are not real, or valid, or that I am somehow "realer" or more valid than them, but they are different from me. Our self concepts and experiences are different.

So there are trans women and trans men out there who don't actually fully see themselves as the gender/sex they identify as or have the same experience of gender. And unsurprisingly they often act accordingly. I have seen plenty of a examples from both sides. And I have also met many trans people who absolutely were socialized as the gender they identify as. I also think a lot of people had a secret third thing.

I think to pick up socialization you have to either believe on a deep unconscious level that that socialization is for you or you have to fail the other socialization (among other things that also affect cis people). I don't think this decides whether you're a valid trans person or not, and I think it's a spectrum. Personally, I have noticed that in certain ways I'm more male socialized than a lot of the trans men I interact with. I did identify with a lot of male messages as a child, and I failed at being feminine despite myself in many ways. But I wasn't fully male socialized in that there are a lot of things I had to learn and unlearn, and there are things both positive and negative that I simply for one reason or another just didn't pick up. I don't think that makes me less valid as a trans person.

I know this opens up a horrifying can of worms that people can use for transphobia and transmisogyny. But it's the truth. And I'm tired of us tip-toeing around it. Until we face the messiness of transness head on, 1. Some people will be told real things they see aren't real, which will lead to full on reactionary beliefs as they are forced to either not believe themselves or be full on reactionaries (especially when the trans person themselves is saying that they are male socialized or only kind of a woman or what have you - that's kinda hard to refute then), whereas 2. Many trans people themselves will secretly feel that their validity is a house of cards that they have to keep on posturing to hide and be constantly terrified that others will discover this. But there's nothing wrong with the truth outside of the fact that we fear reactionaries won't accept it and we are afraid to be subject to intense gender scrutiny.

And again, the thing is - it's not a secret. Trans people say this stuff all the time. Some trans women casually say they were "male socialized", or that they don't have dysphoria, or they didn't identify as their gender until recently, or that they to this day still see themselves as a man with a female body. And the same goes for trans men, who often actively shrink away from being considered men-men and pointedly identify as a "trans man" rather than a "man", because they want you to know that they're not like those "evil" cis men - that they're intrinsically different somehow. And obviously many say all the time that they were "female socialized" and use that as a cudgel against trans women, because if they are "female socialized", obviously all trans men are too, and therefore obviously all trans women are male socialized too, right? That is the logical conclusion to understanding trans people as a sort of monolith who have a consistent shared experience.

Pretend you didn't see that.

This is a level of transmisogyny that is somewhat hard to comment on because the things that one would normally point out as transmisogynistic implications are said so brazenly that there can be no pretense about any of the involved parties being unaware of it. The authors know, the readers know, everybody understands that this is pure transmisogyny. There is no plausible deniability.

It's an attempt to establish proximity between transfems and cis manhood in every way possible. Their bodies, their histories, their "socialization", the way they are treated by others, the way they treat and view others, their ways of thinking, even their self-conception. Every aspect of their being is cast as essentially male. Transfems are being called "men" in all but name - and not just any "men", they are made into embodiments of the worst aspects of hegemonic manhood. Not just male socialized but continuing to benefit from male socialization. Not just engaging in abusive behaviors stemming from male socialization but being afforded the freedom to do so because they continue to be treated as men. (Suffice it to say that this does not align with reality)

This is unadulterated sex-essentialism and it's intentionally being used to delegitimize and devalue the standpoint of transfems in feminist discourses. It's clear that the author is projecting transmisogynist ideas onto transfems and simply assumes that these ideas must be correct without considering any alternative. (The fact that transfems do not internalize "male socialization" has been reiterated many times over and should not have to be continually reasserted. This is a baseline level of understanding that we should be able to expect and demand from members of our community.)

Misogyny is framed as being contained within the realms of sexed bodies and gendered socialization in such a way that it allows for the casting of transfems as people enacting misogyny without being primary targets themselves - like cis men.

The claim that the animosity some transfems exhibit towards men comes from wanting to "prove" their womanhood serves the double purpose of casting their womanhood as inauthentic and denying the misogyny they suffer at the hands of men. One would be hard pressed to find a more cruel mischaracterization of transfems' experiences than this.

The cynical misappropriation of the standpoint of the people this screed is directed at by the use of "we" despite making it abundantly clear that the behavior that is being criticized and its supposed causes exempt people such as the author from the possibility of engaging in it should also be noted as an attempt at weaponizing a compromised version of standpoint epistemology against transfems.

The only plausible target audience for this kind of rhetoric are those who carry extreme ressentiment towards transfems and are susceptible to softened formulations of TERF ideology. These are the same kinds of ideas that TERFs have tried to push into trans spaces numerous times, e.g. under names like "sex-conscious feminsim".

A formulaic "retreat" from this post consisting entirely of platitudes has been published after the author received backlash for it but nobody is under any obligation to accept it and they absolutely should not. A person who was very obviously attempting to promote TERF ideology in trans spaces and in the same stroke accused transfems of being uniquely prone to making false accusations is not trustworthy, even if that person backs down upon realizing that the reception is more uniformly negative than anticipated.

@genderqueerdykes @gateway-2000 is a transmisogynist, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Its entire worldview is permeated by transmisogynistic assumptions, ideas and biases at a fundamental level. It has straightforwardly expressed an understanding of transfems' interiorities, their experiences and their social positions that is so incorrect that one has to wonder how someone holding these views could have navigated trans communities for a considerable amount of time without encountering the many transfeminist rebuttals to all of its demagoguery. How could someone with even a passing level of familiarity with TERF ideology or "gender critical feminism" read and espouse these ideas without recognizing them? It's completely unthinkable. It's not unreasonable to assume that it simply misjudged the consensus within its audience as being sufficiently anti-transfeminist for ideas such as these to fall upon fertile ground and it is now going back to waiting until the time is ripe to reintroduce them and to expressing them in more subtle ways until then.

But you can't un-ring a bell.

We can and should assert boundaries against reactionaries engaging in obvious subversion such as this. Refusing to do so is a deleterious error in judgement. This is very far beyond the limits of what any trans community that wants to consider transfems a part of itself can be allowed to tolerate.

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Heartfelt Deception

Law x reader (she/her)

Modern AU, fake-dating, friends-to-lovers, like one swear word.

Summary: Law asked you to attend a charity event his hospital is hosting as his fake girlfriend. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s happening on Valentine’s Day.

Words: 7.5k

Notes: For the Valentine’s Week event. I had this whole fake dating-to-hospital event idea for the ficmas event, but I scrapped it because I didn’t have much time to write it then. I’m so glad I did, though, because I think the story turned out much better for Valentine’s Day than it would have for Christmas.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Dr. Trafalgar Law was pacing back and forth in the small office of the hospital. His fingers drummed anxiously against the table as he read the charity event invitation for the fifth time, each glance making his pulse race a little faster.

The truth was, Law never liked events like this. Fundraisers, speeches, fake smiles—it all made him itch with discomfort. His introverted nature clashed with the expectations of being a ‘people person’ in the medical field, and the last thing he wanted was to attend an event where everyone would be looking at him.

A month ago, during yet another relentless round of coworkers begging him to attend an after-work gathering, Law had casually mentioned that he had plans. But instead of letting it go, they kept pressing, demanding to know why he was always declining invitations. Frustrated, he blurted out that he needed to spend time with his girlfriend. Before he could even think, the hospital buzzed with talk about his mysterious partner, one no one had ever met. Now, he was cornered into bringing his partner to the hospital's prestigious charity gala on Valentine’s Day. The irony wasn’t lost on him—his colleagues were all too eager to point out how fitting it was to host an event focused on heart issues on a day devoted to hearts.

As one of the hospital’s top cardiac surgeons, Law was expected to be a key speaker. Worse still, he was supposed to bring his girlfriend. But the problem? He didn’t have one.

There was only one person he could turn to—you.

“You want me to do what?!” you asked, your eyes wide with shock, your coffee cup momentarily forgotten in your hand.

He sighed, running a hand over his face in frustration. “I need you to go with me to that stupid gala as my girlfriend.”

Your brow furrowed as you set the cup down. “You're serious?”

“Why would I joke about something like this?”

“Why would you make up a girlfriend just to avoid gatherings?” you shot back, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed. “You could’ve just said you weren’t interested in going.”

He glanced down at the table, clearly agitated, his fingers tapping against the surface in a nervous rhythm. “It’s not that simple. I’ve already turned them down too many times. They won’t leave me alone. And now I’m expected to show up—with a date. It’s just… ridiculous.”

You leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, as you considered his words. “Why not just say you broke up recently?”

“Because it’s obvious. Then I lose that excuse for the future,” he said, picking up his cup and drinking from it.

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to wrap your head around the absurdity of it all. “So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend for one night, just so you can avoid more gatherings down the line?”

“Yes,” he said simply, as if it were the most logical solution in the world.

You shook your head, unable to help the small laugh that escaped you. “You’re ridiculous. When is this supposed to happen?”

“February 14th,” he replied, avoiding your gaze.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Valentine’s Day?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they thought they were being so clever with that one.”

A grin tugged at the corners of your lips. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “So, is this your way of asking me to be your Valentine?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Who’s being ridiculous now?” But then, with a sly smirk, he added, “So... you’re in?”

A long pause hung in the air as you considered his request. The idea of pretending to be his girlfriend was insane, yes. Pretending to be someone’s girlfriend—for Valentine’s Day, no less—was the kind of thing you’d laugh about in a bad rom-com. But the look on his face was impossible to ignore. Desperation, tinged with just enough pride to keep him from outright begging.

Finally, you sighed, crossing your arms as if it might shield you from the insanity you were about to agree to. “Fine. But you owe me big time for this.”

“Don’t worry,” The smirk on his face widened into a grin, and you wondered what exactly you’d just gotten yourself into. “I��ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And with that, you sealed your fate.

The day of the event had finally arrived. Law was at your door, punctual as always, ready to pick you up just as you'd arranged. He stood there, dressed impeccably—his sharp suit tailored to perfection, exuding confidence and elegance. You tried your hardest not to stare too much, but it was impossible not to notice how effortlessly he pulled it all off.

“Ready?” His voice broke through your thoughts.

“Just a moment,” you replied, your voice betraying your hesitation as you moved closer to the mirror. You needed to make sure everything was just right. You were dressed in the outfit that made you feel good about yourself and was fitting for such an event. Yet, despite all the preparation, a knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. The idea of pretending to be Law's girlfriend made you nervous, no matter how hard you tried to pretend it did not. 

He sighed when you took your sweet time. “Can you stop checking yourself out?”

You glanced at him, an eyebrow arched. “Sorry for making sure people won’t judge your taste too much...” you grumbled, half-amused, half-defensive.

He scoffed as he moved closer, looking at you in the mirror. “Like I care what people think.” Then, with a pause, he added, his voice quieter, almost… sincere, “Besides, you look… stunning.”

You froze for a moment, surprised by his words. “Really?”

“Yes,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His gaze softened, and you swore you saw a hint of admiration there.

“Um, thanks. And… you look amazing too.”

He cleared his throat, somewhat uncomfortable but trying to hide it. “Let’s just go, shall we?” 

“You're sure this will work, right?” Law muttered as he turned to face you. 

“Yes, it’ll work.” You flashed a confident grin, trying to reassure him, though you were just as uncertain as he was. “You’re the one who got us into this mess.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

“Well, I can’t believe you made up a girlfriend in the first place,” you shot back. “But here we are.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face again, not sure whether to laugh or groan. It was one thing to get himself into this mess, but dragging you in was entirely a different matter. The pressure was mounting on both of you. Could you really pull this off? 

Then you caught his eye. A flicker of humor, a spark of something you couldn’t quite place, passed between you, and at that moment, you knew you could. Maybe this absurd charade wasn’t as impossible as it seemed.

He let out a long breath and straightened his posture, his decision made. “Alright, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way, then,” you replied, your tone playful, despite the nerves you were still trying to suppress.

He gave a curt nod, opening the door and holding it for you. With that, you stepped into the venue. The Valentine’s Day theme was apparent everywhere— pink and red lighting bathed the space, heart-shaped centerpieces adorned every table, and a live jazz band played romantic melodies in the background. You looked over at him and snorted seeing his expression.

“I take it Valentine’s Day isn’t your favorite holiday?” you teased, leaning just close enough so he could hear without anyone else catching on.

Law’s gaze flickered to you, his brow arching slightly. “What gave it away?” he said dryly, expending his arm to you.

“Oh, just a hunch,” you said with a small smile, slipping your hands through his arm. “You’re doing great, though. Really selling the whole ‘romantic evening’ thing.”

Law’s expression didn’t shift much, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips that told you he wasn’t entirely immune to your teasing. “I’m thrilled you think so,” he muttered as he led you through the crowd. You caught glimpses of the people who had been whispering about Law's relationship for weeks. Their eyes fell on you both with curiosity.

“Dr. Trafalgar!” one of the nurses called out, waving excitedly. She eyed you with a wide smile. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Law’s face remained neutral. “Yes,” he answered smoothly and introduced you.

The nurse let out a little squeal of delight. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” she exclaimed. “We’ve all been dying to know more about Dr. Trafalgar’s mysterious girlfriend.”

You gave a polite smile, taking the opportunity to slip into the role. “It's a pleasure to meet you, too. He talks a lot about his team,” you said lightly, with a little twinkle in your eye as you glanced at Law. He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

The nurse beamed. “Oh, I'm sure he does,” she said, her eyes still sparkling as she looked from you to Law. “It’s rare to see him... charming.” Her voice dropped to a playful whisper, though it was clear she wasn’t trying to keep it a secret. “We always wondered what kind of woman could put up with him.”

You gave a small, modest laugh, sensing the opportunity to keep the conversation flowing. “He’s not as difficult as he looks.” You turned to Law, flashing him a playful smile. “And I'm quite lucky he let me in.”

Law’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he quickly masked it with his usual impassive expression. “Enough about me,” he said smoothly, redirecting the conversation. “Let’s get you something to drink.” He turned toward the drink table, eager to move on.

As the two of you moved through the gala, a sense of ease settled between you. The people who approached were friendly, curious, and all too eager to meet the mysterious woman who had somehow captured the heart of the elusive surgeon. Law, as always, seemed somewhat distant, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, as if the weight of the event was just a little lighter with you by his side.

“Well, well, if it isn't the lovely girlfriend!” Shachi grinned, giving you a dramatic bow before standing up straight again. “You look awesome.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Shachi. You certainly know how to flatter a girl.”

Penguin let out a low, amused chuckle from behind him. “Yeah, well, Law’s been talking about you for weeks,” he added. “He was so worried about you not showing up and ruining his perfect plan. I’m surprised you agreed to it, honestly.”

You gave Penguin a knowing smile. “What can I say? Someone had to save his ass.” You shot a quick glance at Law, who stood beside you, his expression neutral, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Shachi leaned casually against the table, clearly enjoying himself, and turned to Law with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, how does it feel to finally have a real girlfriend? I mean, I’ve been hearing rumors about this for a while, but you’re actually pulling it off, huh?”

Law rolled his eyes but didn’t respond immediately, though you could tell he was trying to keep his cool. “This will be a long night,” he muttered under his breath, but his friends were far too eager to let him off the hook.

Shachi’s grin only grew wider. “I’m just curious—how’s the ‘relationship’ going so far?” He glanced at Law, whose jaw was tight, trying to suppress his frustration. “Any sparks flying between the two of you yet?”

“Shachi,” Law said in warning, but he wasn’t listening. Law rolled his eyes, though there was a slight curve to his lips, as if even he couldn’t help but be somewhat entertained by his friends' antics. “I told you I didn’t need this kind of commentary tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shachi continued, entirely ignoring Law’s attempts to rein him in. “But it’s so much more fun when we do comment.” He threw an arm around Penguin’s shoulder, giving him an exaggerated nudge. “So, Dr. Trafalgar, how’s it feel having your friends finally meet your ‘girlfriend’? You look so… happy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their behaviour. “I’m sure Law’s thrilled by all the attention,” you said, playing the part, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Law cast you a sideways glance, but there was something warmer in his eyes than before. “Let’s just get through tonight, shall we?” he said, attempting his best authoritative tone, though there was a clear undertone of amusement, as if he was enjoying it just a little more than he let on.

Just as the playful back-and-forth was beginning to die down, a loud, familiar voice cut through the chatter from across the room.

“YOOO! Look who it is!” 

Usopp’s boisterous voice rang out, and you barely had time to brace yourself before he was at your side, grinning like a mischievous cat. He was joined by Kaya, who was looking stunning in an elegant dress, her eyes sparkling as she waved.

Shit. How had you not considered the possibility that Usopp would be here? Kaya was a nurse at the same hospital as Law, and of course, she’d bring him as her plus-one.

“Usopp, Kaya,” you greeted with a smile, trying to remain composed despite the sudden attention being drawn your way. Usopp's loud voice had already caused a ripple of curiosity to spread through the crowd.

Usopp’s gaze darted between you and Law. “Wait a minute… what are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was just loud enough for the people around you to overhear, making you feel the weight of every set of eyes now shifting in your direction.

You glanced at Law, who was now wearing a mask of calm—though you could tell by the subtle shift in his posture that he wasn’t exactly comfortable with the situation. You quickly shot him an apologetic look, trying to keep things as casual as possible. “Isn't it obvious — I’m with Law,” you said with a playful shrug, hoping your tone would deflect any suspicion and begging to whatever higher power that Usopp won't blow your cover. 

Usopp blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief, as if you’d just dropped a bombshell. “With Law?!” His voice jumped an octave, loud enough to draw even more attention, and you felt the heat of a dozen curious stares. Your stomach churned as the pressure mounted.

“Well yeah, we’re dating,” you said quickly, trying to offer him a pointed look that screamed for him to lower his voice. You didn’t look forward to clearing that lie later, though.

“What?!” Usopp exclaimed again, louder this time, and you fought the urge to physically drag him into a quieter corner.

“Oh, for fuck's sake, don't be so loud,” you hissed, your smile strained as you resisted the urge to clamp a hand over his mouth. You just needed him to stop.

Your words earned a sharp glance from Law, who was now standing as still as a statue, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with irritation. Though his face remained unreadable to most, you could detect the flicker of unease behind his usually impenetrable demeanor.

Usopp sharp eye for detail and relentless curiosity meant he was undoubtedly piecing things together in real-time, and the last thing you needed was for him to say something he really shouldn't.

Kaya, sensing the tension, stepped in smoothly. “Usopp,” she said, with a small but knowing smile, “maybe we should let them enjoy the night.” She gently nudged his arm, giving you an apologetic look. “It’s good to see you both. I hope you’re having a good time tonight.”

You smiled, grateful for her presence. “We’re managing,” you replied before gesturing toward her. “And you? How’s the night treating you so far?”

She laughed. “Oh, it’s been lovely. Usopp keeps insisting he’s the best plus-one anyone could ask for.”

“Because I am!” Usopp interjected, puffing out his chest.

“Nah, I'm way better, right, darling?” you asked playfully, turning to your date. 

Law let out a quiet, measured sigh, his eyes narrowing at Usopp, who was still watching far too intently for comfort. Recognizing that all eyes were now firmly on the two of you, he shifted gears seamlessly. 

Without missing a beat, he slid an arm around your waist and pulled you a fraction closer. His hand rested lightly yet possessively against your side as he glanced down at you with a smirk.  “Obviously.” 

The gesture—and his confident tone—left Usopp momentarily speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Even Kaya seemed surprised, her eyes darting between the two of you before a knowing smile tugged at her lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, both at Law’s quick thinking and the way his response seemed to silence any further speculation from Usopp. “See?” you teased lightly, shooting Usopp a pointed look. “Told you.”

Usopp opened his mouth, ready to say something outrageous, but Kaya quickly stepped in, tugging on his arm with a bright laugh. “Come on, Usopp. Let’s grab some appetizers.” 

“This isn’t over,” he commented, but he allowed Kaya to steer him toward the other end of the room. You gave her a grateful smile.

“That was close,” you muttered, glancing up at Law. His hand was still resting lightly on your waist.

He tilted his head down toward you, “You call that close?”

“Oh, come on,” you whispered back with a grin. “You’ve got to admit, Usopp almost blew it.”

Law’s lips quirked upward in a barely-there smirk. “Almost,” he conceded. Then, lowering his voice  even more and murmuring into your ear, he added, “But I don’t mind setting the record straight when needed.”

The way his voice dipped sent a small shiver down your spine, but you quickly composed yourself, stepping slightly closer to him under the pretense of hearing him better.

“Well, you handled it like a pro, Dr. Trafalgar,” you teased softly, leaning just enough to let your words reach his ear.

“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally.

Before you could respond, the event coordinator’s voice echoed through the hall, announcing the upcoming speeches. The room shifted as the crowd began to find their seats, murmurs of anticipation filling the air.

“You’re up soon,” you reminded him. Reaching out, you placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve got this,” you said confidently.

He glanced at you, his eyes locking onto yours for a beat, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe just the comfort of familiarity—before he nodded, a small but grateful gesture. “Thanks.”

As he made his way toward the stage, you couldn’t help but watch him with a sense of pride, your heart swelling with admiration. Even surrounded by the polished elegance of the event and the watchful eyes of so many people, he carried himself with an unshakable determination.

When he reached the podium, the crowd fell silent. He cleared his throat, taking a moment before launching into the speech. He spoke about the advancements in medicine, the importance of community support, and the life-changing surgeries that the hospital’s team performed. But when he mentioned his team and thanked everyone for their hard work, his gaze subtly flickered toward you.

For a moment, he dropped the cold exterior. “None of this would be possible without the support of everyone here,” he said. “And a special thanks to my friends and…my better half, who has been my constant rock. It’s easy to get lost in the hospital. But she keeps me grounded.”

The sincerity in his words was unmistakable. His eyes lingered on you for a fraction of a second—long enough for you to feel the weight of his gratitude—before he looked away, the professional composure sliding back into place effortlessly.

The applause that followed was thunderous, but you barely heard it over the warmth blooming in your chest. As Law stepped down from the podium, his expression was back to its usual stoicism, but the slight flush to his cheeks and the quick glance he shot your way told you everything.

As the applause slowly died down, Law made his way back toward you, weaving through the clusters of guests who offered him brief nods and congratulatory remarks. His posture was relaxed, but you could see the faint tension in the set of his shoulders—a clear sign that he was bracing for your inevitable teasing.

When he finally reached you, you wasted no time, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “For someone who wanted to ‘get through the night,’ you sure know how to captivate an audience,” you teased. “And what was that about ‘the one who keeps me grounded’? Are you getting sentimental on me?”

He stopped in front of you, hands sliding casually into his pockets as his eyes met yours. “Don’t start,” he muttered, though there was no real bite in his tone. “I said what needed to be said.”

“Oh, I see,” you replied, crossing your arms and tilting your head. “So, I’m just ‘what needed to be said’ now?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in a little, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “If you’d prefer, I can take it all back.”

“Not a chance,” you shot back, unable to keep the playful edge out of your voice. “It’s on record now. Everyone here knows I’m the one keeping you grounded.”

Before he could respond, Shachi and Penguin appeared, clearly having caught at least part of the exchange. Shachi was grinning ear to ear, while Penguin’s expression held a more subdued amusement.

“That speech was something else,” Shachi said, clapping Law on the back with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Especially that part about being grounded. You’re getting soft.”

Law’s glare shifted to Shachi, though it lacked any real venom. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” he asked, his voice dry.

“Not when you’re providing this much entertainment,” Shachi shot back without missing a beat.

Law rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, he turned his attention back to you. “Are you enjoying yourself yet?” he asked

You pretended to consider his question, tapping a finger to your chin. “Hmm... between the impromptu Usopp interrogation, the surprise shout-out during your speech, and Shachi’s relentless commentary?” You grinned. “Yeah, I’d say I’m having a great time.”

Law’s exhale was sharp, but his lips twitched upward in a reluctant smile. “Good,” he sighed. “At least one of us is.”

Just as you were forming your response, the event coordinator approached the two of you with a bright smile. “Dr. Trafalgar, your presence is requested for some photos with the donors,” she said, her gaze flicking to you briefly. “And, of course, your lovely girlfriend is welcome to join.”

Law hesitated, his eyes narrowing. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he weighed the pros and cons of dragging you into yet another spotlight moment.

You decided to save him the trouble. “We’d be happy to,” you said smoothly, looping your arm through his. “Right, darling?”

The look he shot you was nothing short of murderous, but you only smiled sweetly, patting his arm as the coordinator led you both toward the photographer’s setup.

After the photos, you wandered back to the main room, weaving through the crowd. You spotted Usopp and Kaya near the dessert table, Usopp animatedly telling a story while Kaya giggled beside him. Heart-shaped chocolates and delicate pastries adorned the table, and you decided to grab a couple of treats before heading back to your corner of the room.

“Here,” you said, holding out a piece of chocolate to Law as you both settled near the bar.

He eyed it skeptically. “What’s this?”

“Chocolate,” you replied, popping one into your mouth. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re supposed to eat chocolate. It’s practically a rule.”

Law sighed, but he took the chocolate from your hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. He bit into it. “It’s good,” he admitted after a moment.

You smirked. “See? Valentine’s Day isn’t all bad.”

He gave you a sidelong glance. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

You just grinned wider and shrugged. Despite the occasional hiccup—like Usopp’s not-so-subtle attempts to sneak more information out of you—it was hard to deny that you and Law actually did have a great time. The whole evening felt surprisingly natural, even with the added touches and pet names that came with playing your part.

But as the night went on, the carefully constructed charade began to blur, leaving you to wonder if there was something genuine simmering beneath the surface. A fleeting warmth in the way he looked at you, a brush of his hand that lingered just a moment too long. You quickly shook the thought away before it could root itself further.

“You know,” you started, breaking the silence, “Usopp already texted everyone the news.”

Law’s brow furrowed as he glanced at you. “What news?”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look.

“Oh. Right,” he said, the realization dawning on his face.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, crossing your arms. “I had to turn my sound off completely—the group chat went insane.”

Law let out a quiet groan and reached for his phone, pulling it from his pocket with a resigned air. He turned the phone toward you, revealing a string of increasingly enthusiastic messages from Luffy:

This is amaizing!!!!

I'M SO HAPPY!!!

GOOD FOR YOU!!!

WHEN DID THIS HAPEN??

Tell me evrything RIGHT NOW!!!

You burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as you read the flood of texts. Law pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about how ridiculous Luffy was, but the small, reluctant smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Looks like someone’s excited for us,” you teased, still laughing.

Law rolled his eyes, though the faintest trace of a blush colored his cheeks. “Luffy’s always excited about something. This’ll blow over. We will explain it later or something.”

You swallowed your disappointment and tried to focus on anything other than the fact that today was not as real as it seemed. Your eyes drifted forward just as the band started playing a slow, romantic tune, and couples began rushing toward the dance floor. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down, the atmosphere practically begging for you to make a move.

“Well, darling,” you said, extending your hand toward him with an exaggerated flourish. “Care to dance?”

Law stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between incredulous and amused. “You’re joking.”

“Not even a little,” you wiggled your fingers at him. “It’s Valentine’s Day. What’s a fake relationship without a dance under the romantic lighting?”

He let out a quiet groan but took your hand anyway, his grip firm and steady. As he led you to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it felt.

For a moment, you both moved hesitantly, as if testing the waters. Law wasn’t one to engage in things like this—public displays of affection, no matter how fake, didn’t exactly come naturally to him. Yet, as the rhythm of the music settled between you, his movements became smoother, more confident. You matched his pace, the two of you falling into an unspoken synchrony.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “This isn’t exactly my idea of a great time.”

You chuckled, your fingers instinctively tightening their grip on his shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re surprisingly good at this.”

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Surprisingly?”

“Well,” you said with a smirk, “you don’t exactly scream ‘slow-dance enthusiast.’

Law huffed, but there was no real irritation behind it. He was paying more attention to the way your body moved in sync with his, the way you shifted your weight with each step.

The scent of his cologne was subtle but intoxicating, and the way his eyes stayed locked on yours made it impossible to look away.

“This isn’t so bad,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one,” you said, your thumb gently brushing the fabric of his suit jacket.  “I know this isn’t exactly your scene. Thanks for humoring me.”

For a moment, something shifted in his expression. The guardedness that usually defined him seemed to waver, replaced by something more vulnerable, something unspoken. His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer, and the distance between you narrowed until you could feel the faint brush of his chest against yours.

“You’re doing all of this for me, the least I can do is survive dancing for your sake,” he answered in his usual manner, and yet, it sounded somehow warmer. Then he added teasingly, “darling”

You tried to diminish how much you loved that nickname coming from his lips.

As the music faded, applause broke out around the room, snapping you back to reality. Law stepped back a little, his hand falling away from your waist, but the warmth of his touch stayed. He looked at you for a moment longer, his gaze searching, before he cleared his throat and glanced away, the mask of composure slipping back into place.

“Let’s get off the dance floor,” he said, his tone returning to its usual cool detachment. But there was a faint flush to his cheeks that you couldn’t ignore.

“Not bad for someone who doesn’t like Valentine’s Day,” you teased, keeping your tone light, even though your heartbeat had quickened as you followed him off the dancefloor.

Law smirked faintly, his amber eyes locking onto yours. “I never said I didn’t like it. Just that it’s… unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary?” You arched a brow, tilting your head. “Celebrating love and connection? That sounds pretty necessary to me.”

His grin grew. “If you need a commercial holiday to remind you of that, you’re doing something wrong.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. “Touché,” you admitted, the moment feeling strangely intimate despite the dozens of other couples around you. He put his hand on your back and gently led you to sit down in the corner. You sat in silence for a moment before speaking again.

“So, are you enjoying the night yet? Or are you still counting down the minutes until it’s over?”

Law let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m surviving,” he replied dryly, though the corners of his lips twitched as though he couldn’t fully keep the amusement from showing. “If I’m being honest, it’s… not as bad as I thought it would be,” he looked sheepish as he added. “Your presence makes it more bearable.”

A warmth blossomed in your chest at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in slightly, your cheek brushing his shoulder. You felt him stiffen for a split second, but then he relaxed, putting his head on yours.

“I didn’t think I’d be… enjoying it,” he continued, his fingers brushing through your hair as if absentmindedly. “But I think I might’ve been wrong.”

You lifted your head just enough to look at him, finding his gaze already locked on yours. There was no mask of indifference now—just a rare moment of vulnerability, one that you hadn’t often seen. It was disarming. His hand gently cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers.

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly, and you were unsure of what to say, or even if you should say anything at all. The quiet, unspoken understanding between you was enough.

“Well, well, well! Look at you two, all cozy!”

It was Shachi, followed closely by Penguin, and some other colleagues of Law from the hospital.  You froze for a split second, pulling away from Law just as his hand dropped from your cheek. Both of you turned toward the intruder, finding a group of Law’s colleagues standing a few feet away.

One of the surgeons, a tall man with a broad grin, chuckled as he shook his head. “Honestly, Law, I didn’t think you were the type to be so… affectionate.” 

Law’s face immediately shifted to that calm, composed mask he wore so well, but you could see the hint of a blush creeping up his neck. He scoffed. “What did you expect? For me to keep five feet away from someone I care about?”

“We’re just surprised,” the nurse you spoke with first today, smiled softly at the two of you. “But it’s nice to see you so… relaxed. We don’t usually get to see this side of you.” Her tone wasn’t mocking; instead, it held a kind, almost approving quality.

It was clear that they all weren’t just teasing for the sake of teasing—they were happy to see him like this. This side of Law, the one who didn’t always hide behind his usual walls, was a rare sight for most people.

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Law muttered, trying to keep the situation under control while simultaneously not looking entirely displeased.

As if they couldn’t resist, one of the younger doctors, a woman with long hair and a sly smile, smirked at you and asked, “So, come on, how did you two get together? Law didn’t want to say a word about it.” His grin widened as he leaned in, waiting for some kind of juicy story.

You chuckled, glancing at Law, who raised an eyebrow at you as if daring you to come up with an appropriate response.

“Of course he didn’t.” You nudged him playfully. “He’s never been the type to spill the details, has he?”

Shachi smirked knowingly. “Come on, Law,” he prodded. “We’re dying to know the real story.”

“Well,” you interjected, grinning as you looked at the group. “If you're looking for something juicy, I’m afraid I have to disappoint. We were just good friends for quite a while before it just clicked that there’s more and there’s no running from it. So, with a kiss, we sealed the deal, and are together just like that.” It seemed like a story that could be real, that would suit you both, and what kind of people you are together.

“That’s actually a pretty decent story, considering how tight-lipped you’ve been, Law,” he remarked.

Law shot him a sidelong glance. “I’m not in the habit of sharing my private life with everyone.”

The woman with long hair, delighted by the revelation, nudged Shachi playfully. “Well, it’s good to know Law isn’t entirely immune to matters of the heart. Who knew?” she said with a wink, enjoying the rare opportunity to see her usually composed colleague looking so flustered.

“I never said I was,” Law replied, though there was a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now.

You smiled at him, savoring the fact that, despite his usual reticence, he hadn’t shut down the conversation.

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way,” you turned to the group, “any more questions?

“Not if you want to keep your secrets,” Shachi teased. “I think we’ve learned enough for tonight.”

“Although…” Penguin started to say with a mischievous grin

“Alright, alright,” Law interjected, probably scared that more question may blow your cover. “You’ve had your fun.”

The playful banter continued for a few more moments, with the group lightheartedly poking fun at Law, but without pushing too far. It was clear they were genuinely enjoying seeing him in a different light. Even you couldn't help but smile at how the evening had turned out.

“Alright,” you said, nudging Law lightly with your elbow, “I think we’ve officially survived the interrogation. How about we grab some drinks and escape before they start asking for our love story in full detail?” you whispered.

“Fine by me,” he stated, standing up and offering you a hand. “Excuse us for a moment.”

You took his hand, your fingers curling around his with ease. He led you both to the bar and ordered your drinks. When you took them, you found seats nearby.

“They have a point, you know,” you commented, leaning back in your seat, sipping your drink as you shot him a teasing glance. “You’re surprisingly sweet with me.”

Law shot you a look, but his lips twitched upward in the barest hint of a smile. “Don’t start,” he warned, though there was no bite to his words.

“I’m just saying, the way you act tonight—” you paused, letting the words linger in the air, “it’s… kind of adorable.”

“You’re walking a fine line,” he murmured, his tone just low enough that only you could hear, and there was that familiar spark of challenge in it.

You grinned. “I think the real question is, why do you make it so easy for me to tease you?” You leaned back again, propping your elbow on the armrest, your eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Maybe I’m onto something.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have a stronger reaction to you, or I’d make sure you regret that.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the hint of seriousness in his voice. “Oh? Is that a threat, Law?” you asked, half-challenging, half-curious.

He leaned in just slightly, his gaze softening but still intense. “Only if you push your luck too far,” he replied. It was supposed to be a warning, and yet it sounded way…warmer. You felt the air shift between you, the playful tone fading into something more subtle.

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter from across the room caught your attention, and you noticed some of Law’s colleagues still milling about, their eyes frequently darting toward the two of you. They probably thought their glances were subtle, but they really weren’t.

“Wanna bet they’re talking about us?”

Law smirked, his gaze flicking toward the group before returning to you. “I’m not betting against something that is 100% true.”

You chuckled, lifting your drink to your lips as you watched them huddle together in hushed conversation, clearly intrigued by the dynamic between the two of you. The whole thing was both amusing and oddly satisfying, considering how little effort you'd actually put into keeping this charade together.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence with a light tone, “what now? Do we stick around and continue surviving this ‘unnecessary’ holiday, or do we make our grand exit?”

“I think we’ve done enough, surviving for one night,” he declared, standing and offering his hand to you with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You took his hand, your fingers wrapping around his with the familiar ease. “I like the sound of that.” 

As you made your way toward the exit, you said your goodbyes to everyone, your eyes catching a few lingering, amused glances from Law's colleagues.

“Well, I think we’ve both survived tonight, haven’t we?” you asked, glancing up at him with a teasing look, trying to gauge his mood as you stepped outside.

His gaze softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I suppose we have,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Though, I’m not sure what’s worse—the questions or your teasing.”

You laughed lightly, squeezing his hand gently. “I think you can handle both.”

“Apparently,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gesture that was almost imperceptible but undeniably intimate.

Instead of calling for a taxi, Law started leading you toward the nearby park. You certainly didn’t mind the extra time with him—after the whirlwind of the evening, the peaceful solitude of the park felt like a perfect escape.

When you reached a bench by a small pond, Law sat down, and you followed suit, the two of you settling next to each other. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. It felt like the perfect continuation of the night—no more questions, no more performances, just the two of you.

“Thank you.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the unexpected gratitude in his tone. “You're welcome,” you replied easily, your lips curving into a small smile. “I had fun.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” you answered, your smile widening a little. “Did you?”

“I did actually.”

“Good” you said simply. “You know now that they’ll just bother and tease you about me, right?” you added teasingly after a moment.

He gave you a side-glance, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but his gaze softened as it lingered on you. “I can survive that.”

You sat in silence, the quiet comfortable, with your hand still intertwined with his, even though there was no one around that you had to pretend for.

After a while, Law spoke quietly, “That story…

“Huh?” You blinked, trying to recall what he might be referring to.

“About how we apparently came to be… you made it quite believable.” You suddenly remembered your words from earlier: We were just good friends for quite a while before it just clicked that there’s more and there’s no running from it. So, with a kiss, we sealed the deal, and are together just like that.

“Well…um, it sounded plausible, did it not?” you said, as you tried to brush off the nerves creeping up.

“It did.” Silence fell again, but this time, it felt different. You wrecked your head as to what to say. You looked at him, hoping for something to break the tension, and found his gaze already focused on you. The intensity of it made it harder to find the right words.

But you didn’t have to say anything—his lips found yours in a tender kiss, slow and gentle, as if testing the waters for something deeper. The world around you seemed to fade away as you leaned into the kiss, your fingers threading through his hair. The moment felt suspended in time, perfect in its simplicity.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still resting against your cheek, you noticed a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was the kind of smile that made your chest tighten, the kind that carried a quiet promise, and the warmth that spread through you was more than just the remnants of the kiss.

“Well, that solidifies that it was all true.”

You heard the familiar voice of Usopp. The sudden intrusion snapped you out of the trance the moment had put you in.

You rolled your eyes, not even glancing in his direction, your focus remaining entirely on Law. “Get lost, Nose-ya. Now,” Law muttered, his voice stern, his gaze unwavering from yours.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Usopp chuckled, but you weren’t about to let him ruin your moment, not when it felt so real, so raw. You kept your focus on Law, and for a few seconds, there was just the two of you again, the world falling away once more.

“So, is my story true then?” you asked, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, his voice steady but carrying that quiet confidence you’d grown accustomed to.

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Can’t believe it happened on Valentine’s Day, after pretending to date for an event.”

“Maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all,” he said, the words almost an afterthought. And you couldn’t help but agree as you tugged him closer, your lips finding his in a kiss that was even more intense than the first.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, you looked into his eyes, and something settled in your chest—this was just the beginning of something, something you both weren’t willing to let go of. It was there in the way he looked at you, the way he held you close. You could feel it in your bones that whatever this was, it was real. And it was only just starting.

“Maybe you’re right,” you whispered, your thumb gently brushing over his hand. “Valentine’s Day might not be so bad… when it ends like this.”

He smirked at you. “We’ll see if you still feel that way next year,” he said, the challenge in his voice playful, but there was no mistaking the certainty in his words.

“You wanna fake-date me for Valentine’s Day next year too?”

His expression softened, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced by something more tender as his hand brushed gently across your cheek. “No,” he responded quietly, his voice warm and sincere. “I want to be with you—for real.”

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝙷𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

House doesn’t do Valentine’s Day. Not because he thinks it’s a meaningless, commercialized holiday (even though he absolutely does), but because he hates the pressure of it.

Romance? Grand gestures? Candlelit dinners? Please. That’s for people who don’t have better things to do—like solving medical mysteries and annoying Wilson.

And yet… you’re still not surprised when you come home to find a small, beat-up paper bag on the coffee table.

Inside? A single, heart-shaped lollipop, a pack of your favorite snack, and a crumpled sticky note with messy handwriting: "Because you’re annoyingly special. Don’t make a thing out of it."

House pretends like it’s nothing. Like he didn’t go out of his way to remember what you liked, or that he didn’t limp through three different checkout lines just to find the right kind of candy.

You smirk, holding up the lollipop. “This the best you got?”

“What, you were expecting diamonds?” He scoffs, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Maybe next year. If you behave.”

He doesn’t do flowers, but he does refill your coffee before you even ask.

He doesn’t do love letters, but he does make sarcastic, offhanded comments about how "anyone else would’ve dumped you by now, so I guess I’m stuck."

He doesn’t do candlelit dinners, but he orders greasy takeout and lets you steal fries off his plate without complaining (too much).

You don’t need a big romantic declaration to know how he feels. It’s in the way he remembers the little things. The way he lets you see parts of him no one else does.

And later that night, as he lazily drapes an arm over you on the couch, you hear a grumbled, half-asleep, “Don’t expect me to do this every year.”

You just smile, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But you both know—next year, there will be another lollipop. Another sarcastic remark. Another little, unspoken reminder that in his own House-ian way, he loves you.

▸ Everything

@alexxavicry

▸ House MD

@mayo-i @dustie-faerie

[magicalbats]

Persist and Resist (Sunday x Reader)

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7730

Warnings: afab!reader, handjob, cum eating, a pinch of femdom, canon typical Catholic guilt

A/N: Happy Valentine's everyone! I actually started writing this one in response to an ask I got back when I was working on last years kinktober but at some point in shuffling the text around from here to Google docs it seems Tumblr ate the initial message, which is a big bummer. I do, however, recall that the sender wanted to know what I liked about Sunday ... and the answer to that is clearly 7730 words long! lol Please enjoy the fic and if you're still around, anon ... this one is for you. ❤️

⭐

“Just relax,” you murmur, ignoring his startled gasp when you lean in from behind to rest your chin against his shoulder. “You’re always so stiff. That’s not good for your health, y’know.”

He hesitates, seems to think about it. Deciding how he should react. 

Forcing himself to draw a slow, carefully measured breath this time and further betraying his feelings on the matter, Sunday grits out a terse laugh. It’s soft and quiet. A barely there chuckle that carries with it only a very small fraction of the self assured confidence he’d displayed back on Penacony. 

You knew now that the real Sunday was not quite so sure of himself or as comfortable in his own skin as he’d first appeared, although he still tries very hard to hide that insecurity from you despite being far, far away from his old home. Like some sort of defense mechanism meant to protect and shield the delicate fragile parts of him from threat of the outside world, but it doesn’t work. Not when you were sitting so damn close to him as to feel every stuttering beat of his heart.

Pressed right up against his back like this, there’s not much he can keep from you, in fact. You’re keenly aware of even the most imperceptible shift in him, from the steady expansion of his lungs down to the loose flex of his hands where they’re resting across his lap. His body language makes it clear that he’s not accustomed to sharing such close proximity with another person and he’s not quite sure what to do with it. Right down to the molecular level it’s obvious he’s way out of his comfort zone given his subtle fidgeting, as if he just couldn’t help himself.

He was nervous. Maybe even a little scared, too.

“How interesting.” He finally murmurs. “I wasn’t aware you filled the important role of medical expert on board the Express. I’ll have to make note not to end up in need of your services again.”

Turning his head, Sunday pointedly looks elsewhere in your new room on the train, much preferring to focus on anything other than its owner at the moment. 

Situated above the party car and effectively cut off from the more heavily used common areas, the privacy here is absolute and precisely why you’d extended an invitation to him. There was more than enough room for you to share this space with the wayward traveler who, as far as you could tell, had been sleeping on the bench seats in the car below while you worked to get everything set up to your liking. But he never complained about it or tried to demand better accommodations even though you were certain it was a drastic downgrade in the comfortability he was used to. Like some self flagellating martyr, almost. 

The thought that he might be using the Express’ lack of additional rooms to further punish himself, convinced he deserved that or even less, was what ultimately swayed your decision to open your door to him. You wanted to show Sunday that there were still good things in this world that he could have, things he could enjoy and appreciate the same way he had in his previous life even if they weren’t quite as luxurious or posh as he was accustomed to. 

You also wanted to show him that you were willing to forgive him and, in the process, maybe even convince him to forgive himself. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” He insists, just a bit too tightly for it to be believable. “But I’ve seen you in action before. You’re not exactly what I’d call a gentle hand, and this … bedside manner is beyond me.”

That makes you smile into his shoulder as you wind your arms more securely around him, gently nudging Sunday back against your front. Still, he refuses to relent though. Staying perfectly motionless and straight as a board now, he almost feels like a statue made of solid granite sitting on the edge of the haphazardly made bed with you. Would have, were it not for the slightest hitch in his chest.

You realize in a distant, immaterial sort of way that his subconscious reaction was in response to your breasts pressing into his spine. He must like it then, even if he was loathe to say it. This was admittedly something you found to be charmingly cute in its guileless unassuming but it also made you want to tease him even more for it at the same time.

“That might be for the best,” You softly coo at him, keeping your voice light and barely more than a whisper as you trail a single hand higher up to pull at one of the clasps on his jacket. “I don’t have a medical license, after all.”

He sucks in another inhale, sharper this time. “You’re shameless.”

“That may be true, but I don’t see you trying to stop me.”

A strange little sound puffs out of him, something equally torn between indignation and fluster.

He either can’t or he won’t bring himself to reject your advances though, and he just sits there while you make careful work of unfastening his cozy coat. Idly, you wonder if this was the first time he’s ever had someone touching him like this. But he’s either making an attempt to be more polite than he otherwise would have been when someone was invading his personal bubble like this or, more likely, he considered it another facet of his penance. Further punishment for a sin he’s already been punished for twice over in your eyes. 

Sighing a quiet sound against his neck, you tentatively slip your hand into the inner layer of his shirt once you’ve got it nudged up enough to reach inside.

The skin along his stomach is enviously soft and smooth when you brush your fingers against it, and he outright jolts at that first hint of contact. Even then he still does not protest or try to pull away, though. His breathing deepens, coming slightly harder and faster now, but he makes no move to disengage from you, and you finally rouse yourself to tip your face up at him in question.

“I was only joking, Sunday. You can tell me if you don’t want me to keep going.”

“So you can hold it over my head later? I think not, Miss Stellaron. Against all odds, I still have some pride left in me.”

You frown at that. “I wouldn’t do that to you. You’re not a prisoner here and I’m not your jailer, so you’re free to make your own choices. I just want to help you.”

For a drawn out moment it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any kind of response from him, and you’re just a bit disappointed about that. But then, ever so slowly, he turns his head to cautiously glance back at you. The deeply embarrassed flush staining his cheekbones manages to surprise you, making your brows climb up to your hairline before you can suppress the reaction and stop it.

“I fail to see how this could be in any way helpful to me.” He intones, keeping his wing tucked forward across the lower half of his face so he can hide his mouth from your line of sight. Acting as a final barrier in case you were to decide to take that last inch from him. 

“I thought this might help you relax. You are pretty stiff, you know. I wasn’t joking about that.”

That defensively tucked in wing gives a brief flutter to make the soft feathers ruffle slightly, like a helpless bird trying to puff itself up to look bigger. It would have been adorable had his eyes not narrowed at you in warning in the same breath.

“I’ve never heard of such a method for relaxation. This isn’t how the Family does things.”

“But you’re not part of the Family anymore, are you? It’s okay to do things differently now.” Holding the air in your lungs, anticipating the coin drop, you slide the hand inside his shirt a little higher up to rub over a tiny nipple. “Let me show you, Sunday. Please?”

He twitches at the touch of your fingertips and quickly swings his attention back around to avoid having to look at you any longer. You can feel the shudder that runs through him but he still refuses to utter the one word that would make you back off. ‘Stop’. That’s all he needed to say. And you would, if he really wanted that. 

Something told you he didn’t completely hate what you were doing though, and it’s not like he’d ever admit to liking it anyway.

So you take your time softly petting over the petite bud, coaxing it to full stiffness which even then doesn’t leave much for you to play with. Every part of him was so slim and compact that as you feel over his chest you find yourself wondering if he was perhaps malnourished despite the life of relative luxury he’d lived back on Penacony. He shouldn’t have had to go without food, at the very least.

Deciding to find him a slice of cake in the kitchen after this, or at least a cookie, you redirect your hand to the opposite side of his chest to tease that nipple as well. Sunday stiffly arches against you in response, nudging his narrow chest up at the sensation even as he whimpers a quiet noise into the still room. He was slowly getting more and more fidgety, like he wasn’t quite sure how to react to what you were doing. How to process it or how to reconcile any of it in his mind. 

But a simple glance down at the front of him tells you everything you need to know without having to break the static charged silence by asking him how he was feeling. He wouldn’t have been honest with you anyway, of that you were certain, so there would have been no point in it.

The reluctant tent pushing up through his pants speaks for itself though, and this part of him could not lie. No matter how much he tried to fight it or wrestle it back under control, there was simply no subjugating the natural urges of his body. He couldn’t fully control it no matter how much he might want to and you can tell that bothers him a great deal in the way he softly seethes under his breath.

He was supposed to be disciplined and steadfast, not easily swayed by the compunctions of flesh and blood. And after rejecting it for so long, stuffing it down into a sealed box in the back of his mind where he wouldn’t have to look at it or think about it, he was now quickly succumbing to the full brunt of his neglected sensitivity. All you’ve done so far was tease his nipples a little bit and his cock was already needily flexing up into the placket of his slacks as if with a mind of its own. A hungry beast that couldn’t be contained no matter how hard its master might yank on the leash trying to bring it back to heel. 

It’s a little sad, in a way. You can’t help feeling sorry for him and all the simple pleasures he’s denied himself for the sake of exerting some amount of control over his own existence when he otherwise had none, but you also feel a sharp stab of arousal too. There were so many things you could teach him, if given half the chance. So many different avenues of pleasure and satisfaction, and intimacy that the two of you could explore together if he’d just allow himself the freedom to experience them for once in his life.

In truth you’d found Sunday quite interesting from the moment you first set eyes on him in front of the check-in counter of the Penacony Grand Hotel, like there was some sort of magnetic force at work urging you closer into his orbit. You knew now that at least part of that compulsion was a result of the Harmony and the other was his natural charisma as a Halovian. But there’s something else there too, something not so easily explained or written off.

He was not that much unlike you, was he? Someone who was so utterly bereft of a home to call his own in this vast cosmos that the nomadic existence of a star-bound wanderer was the only feasible option left to him. Everything from his identity right down to his own sister had been taken from him and he was alone now, save you and the rest of the Astral Express crew. You could understand that well enough even if you didn’t have any memories of what you’d lost before ending up here, just the same as he eventually had.

But you wanted to show him what having that freedom was really like, even if it was just a tiny glimpse of what awaited him on the other side now that he was free of Penacony’s slumbering birdcage.

“Do you trust me, Sunday?”

He tries to laugh again, fails miserably at it, and all that comes out is an odd little croak instead. “I don’t see that I have much of a choice in the matter, do I?”

“Of course you do.” 

Carefully sliding your hand out of his shirt, you reach down to tug at his belt buckle with deliberate slowness, giving him ample opportunity to protest. He just groans the most threadbare little sound you’ve ever heard though, and finally allows himself to reluctantly ease back into you. Still unfalteringly stiff and halting, but at least you were making progress.

With a brief clink and a rattle, his belt comes loose. You set your sights on his pants next, fumbling with the top button just as slowly so as not to spook or startle him. He really was like a defenseless bird caught in the sights of a much larger predator and unable to fly, to flee or to fight. He remains passive in your arms, luckily, but the building anticipation of what you were doing does make him start to squirm. He quickly forces himself to stop and be still though, merely watching what your hands are doing with his face tipped down towards his lap.

Soon enough you have those neatly pressed slacks open and you slip your fingers inside to feel along the band of his underwear before trailing even lower. You find his straining cock easily when it’s already stiff and rigidly pushing up from his body, giving it a gentle squeeze through the last layer of laughably thin cotton, and he responds with a tortured, half choked gasp.

“M - Miss Stellaron …”

You can hear the hoarse rattle in his voice as much as you feel it where you’re pressed right up against him like you are. At some point your breathing seems to have synced with his and you find yourself quietly panting right along with him as you work to nudge his pants down far enough to free him from them. 

Clearly picking up on your intent, Sunday hesitates to do it and he sways almost unsteadily between your arms before he at last manages to shyly angle his hips off the edge of the mattress to help you in your endeavor. He whimpers softly while he does it, and you consolingly coo at him as you press your face into the crook of his elegant neck to breathe deep the smell of him. Soap and clean linen, and a hint of downy fuzz that makes your head feel light with the impression of warmth. Perfect for cuddling. 

“Shh. Just relax for me. I promise I’ll take good care of you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Tipping forward, you place a tender kiss to his drooping wing and you’re delighted by the sensitive inhale he sucks in at the sensation of your lips brushing against the feathers. You’d always wondered if they were as delicately receptive as they looked and you were glad to have your answer even as you tug at his underwear to slide the band underneath his straining length.

And it immediately springs up into the air, already flushed and leaking as it weakly twitches in his lap as if in a desperate bid for attention. You’re amazed at not only how beautiful his cock is, average in size at best and yet so perfectly shaped as to look somehow beyond the pale of mere flesh, but also at how satiny soft and smooth it is. The flawless texture almost makes it look like something made of alabaster, and you eagerly reach around to take him in your hand.

“Oh!” His back dramatically arches against you, his hands flying up where they hesitate over yours for a harrowing moment before he allows himself to latch onto your wrists. It’s the first hint of reciprocity on his part, intentionally touching you instead of remaining a bystander as he had up until now, but you still hold your breath as you wait to see what he’ll do next.

If he was going to push you away this would be the time. The situation had clearly escalated beyond what could be excused as simple platonic affection and you brace for his reaction. His rejection. 

To your genuine surprise, however, Sunday just holds onto you by the wrists and weakly rolls his hips up in a shuddering, painfully stiff thrust. The motion sends his cock stuttering across your fingers before pulling back when he eases down to sit fully on the mattress again, wheezing softly at just that brief stimulation. You sorely wished you could see his face again but Sunday’s attention remains down and that fluttering wing stays an ever present screen for him to hide behind as well. 

No matter though. You didn’t really have need for visual cues when you could feel everything in stunning high definition through the point of contact between his body and yours. 

Closing your fist tighter around his cock, you gently begin to pump him, hand dragging from the base where ticklishly coarse hairs tease your knuckles straight up to the tip to make his foreskin bunch over the head. You can hear the sticky wet click of precum but it’s quickly lost under the harsh, frazzled gasp he raggedly pulls in. And it almost manages to surprise you, how sensitive he really is and how vigorously he twitches at your ministrations. There was some part of you that hadn’t been sure if he was even able to put on such an animated display, thinking he’d fight tooth and nail to keep up that implacable facade no matter what manner of duress he was made to endure. 

That is not what happens though. 

Instead he suddenly comes alive, unable to stop himself from full on shuddering and twisting his narrow hips against your hold. Hissing an overwrought sound into the otherwise still and silent room, he clutches at your arms in such a tight deathgrip that the leather of his gloves softly creaks. Not to stop you or to push you away, you dully realize when he groans your name like a plea. But because it felt good and it overwhelmed him, and he needed to hold onto something or risk shattering into a million pieces right then and there. 

Stealing another quick, almost giddy look down at the cock gripped in your fist, you don’t think that’s going to help him or stop the inevitable though. He’s flushed pink and raw from nothing more than just a few brief pumps of your hand, and you can feel the intense throb of him pulsing under your fingers. Not only was he going to cum quick and hard, considering how fiercely he shakes for you, but it was also going to take an embarrassing lack of effort on your part to get him there. 

“Oh, Sunny. Are you enjoying yourself now?” You purr into his shoulder, delighted at how abruptly he’d changed his songbird’s tune. From proud and immovable to a writhing, pathetically whimpering mess in just the blink of an eye. And all it had taken was the firm hold of your hand on him. It was in many ways astounding. “I always knew you had it in you.”

“I told you — nnghn! Not to … not to call me that.” 

Humming a low sound of agreement, you slowly drag your hand back down the length of him to peel away his foreskin in a tortuously stilted motion. Another sticky click hits your ears and he grunts a harried noise of distress when the cool air wafts against his exposed glans unimpeded, making him judder wildly in response. But you keep him held tightly against you even when his back dramatically bows, using your anchoring arm wrapped around his flexing stomach to keep Sunday pressed into you while the opposite hand gives his base a pinched squeeze to stave off his release. It wouldn’t hold it back for long but you were happy with even just those few extra seconds you’re given to admire him. 

And admire him you do. He’s sticky with an excess of eager, dribbling precum that coats the glistening head in a filmy sheen, inviting you to reach out and rub him there. You knew that would undo him in alarmingly short order though, so you hold off for the moment. Rather, you gently smooth your touch down to caress over his balls and wrap your fingers around their delicate weight, cradling them in the palm of your hand. 

Surprising you a great deal, Sunday outright yelps at the sensation and jolts as if you’d just electrocuted him despite how careful you’d been in handling his testes. Slim chest heaving on an uncontrollable, stuttering rhythm, he heavily leans back into you and tips his head to keen up at the ceiling. The sound itself as much as the volume of it makes your heart leap into your throat where it threatens to suffocate you. He was getting much too loud, wasn’t he?  

Your thoughts immediately flash upon the idea that someone might be just downstairs in the party car but you aren’t sure how well sound travels between the two floors, and that makes you nervous. Would they be able to hear him clearly and figure out what was happening just over their heads, or would it only seem like muffled and distant noise? Hell, even if one of your other crewmates wasn’t down there Shush almost certainly was. That damned robot hardly ever moved from behind the polished bar unless it was to pester someone with its awful jokes. What would it even say about the things it could hear going on up in your room? 

Quickly deciding you really didn’t want to test fate like that, you unlock your arm from around his middle and reach up to lightly palm over the graceful line of his throat instead. His Adam’s apple bobs thickly under your hand with the rough inhale he pulls in, swaying between your thighs when he turns his head to blink at you as if he were drunk and seeing double. But at least it looked like you had his attention again. 

“You need to watch your volume. If someone hears us, that's going to make having breakfast together way more awkward than I’d like.” You warn him, keeping your voice gentle and soft. For someone who’d acted with such overwhelming confidence on his home turf he’d quickly proven himself skittish and easy to fluster once you got your hands on him. You didn’t want to scare him off after all the effort you’d had to put in just to get this far. 

“I … I’m sorry.” He mutters with no shortage of Herculean effort. Gone are the impeccable manners and lofty words of the head of the Oak Family, and in their place there was now only a raw vulnerability you hadn’t expected to see in him. “It seems I’ve — forgotten myself. How embarrassing. I - I’ve never …”

“Been touched like this?” You supply, giving his balls a featherlight palpitation for emphasis. 

It’s enough to make Sunday hiss through tightly clenched teeth though, squeezing his eyes shut against the sensation as he turns his head away. “Yes. I mean n - no. This is my … first time.” 

That makes you smile. “I can tell. You’re so sensitive, Sunny. Haven’t you ever thought to touch yourself before?” 

His little wings flutter in response, flapping an irritable rhythm that makes the feathers softly smack against your face as if to bat you away. It’s hard to say if he was offended that you would even think to ask that of him in the first place or if it was because you’d used that insufferable nickname again but either way his reaction makes you laugh. 

Yes, there were a great many avenues of mischief the two of you could get into. It would be fun exploring them together, and this was only the first activity on a very long list of things you wanted to introduce him to. It was a bit out of order but maybe you could try kissing next. 

Your own excitement grows at the thought, and you eagerly swing your attention back around to Sunday’s lap. Giving his balls one last, gentle squeeze, you curl your hand upward so you can wrap it around his shaft and feel that silken skin under your fingers again. The seething noise he makes sounds suspiciously like that of a tea kettle getting close to boiling but he makes a valid attempt to keep his voice in check when you offer that rigid length another slow, savory tug. 

Unfortunately he quickly loses hold of that threadbare control as you reach the glans and the drag of your fist makes his foreskin slide up to bunch over the fleshy slit. The sensation seems to nearly bowl him over and he judders helplessly, squawking an oversensitized sound. Even with the threat of discovery an ever present danger, you still can’t quite stop yourself from grinning at his decidedly innocent, unassuming reaction. 

“Oh, Sunday … what are we going to do if someone comes knocking on the door because they heard you? Something tells me that look on your face would give us away no matter how we tried to explain ourselves.” 

He full on whimpers at that, sounding sad and deeply ashamed in at the implication of guilt. It’s clearly getting harder for him to maintain his usual cool the longer your hands are on him though, and you realize you’re going to have to do something to help him out. He was much too sensitive, too easily overwhelmed to roll the dice in this particular situation when getting caught together could mean the end of everything. 

Licking your lips, you momentarily consider choking him just enough to cut off his air supply and make it impossible for him to cry out. Your fingers idly flex around the bobbing curve of his throat at the thought. Although it’s certainly a tempting idea you ultimately think better of it, sliding your hand higher up to brush over his jaw instead. 

Finding Sunday’s mouth, you slide your palm over it and press down firmly to elicit a startled yet blissfully muffled sound from him. He jolts and lurches in your hold, as if only just now realizing the true scope of the danger he was in, but it’s much too late. 

Readjusting your hold on his cock in the other hand, you firmly drag your fist down and then back up, settling into a steady rhythm that continuously works the foreskin over his receptive glans. Back and forth, back and forth, up and down; rubbing, sliding, sticky slick clicking in your ears. And Sunday outright shrieks behind your fingers, twisting and tossing his head like a wild animal caught in a trap. His belt rattles softly where it’s spread open across his thighs, still twisted up in his pants, and his wings slap a furious beat that has you turning your face into his shoulder to avoid the full brunt of his ratcheting alarm. 

He’s hard to keep ahold of like this, especially when he digs his heels into the floor and tries to wrench himself free, but your physical strength proves greater. Despite being a man and in spite of having a few inches on you in height, he just isn’t equipped to fight you off. Not when you’ve got his cock in one hand, stroking it with the continuous glide of your palm over all of that sinfully smooth flesh, and the halfhearted way he shoves at your arms quickly morphs into desperate grabbing instead. 

Blindly, he latches onto you; your thighs where they bracket his shuddering hips, the bend of your arm, so he can squeeze tight and hold on for dear life. His muffled sounds of pleasure turn dazed and intoxicated as he rigidly slumps against you at last. And when he tips his head back to rest along your shoulder, tiny wings still fluttering helplessly but starting to weaken and droop, you dare to lift your face to look at him. 

Wrecked is the only word that immediately comes to mind. His usually perfectly styled hair is tousled and sweat damp where it sticks to his skin in a few places. Cheeks so hot with color you know he’d be warm to the touch. It’s the far-away glisten in his golden eyes, once so sharp and pointed, now distant and too heavy to keep fully open anymore, that really seals the deal though. Sunday’s higher functioning mind may still have been fighting against it but his body was singing like a deftly plucked chord while the violently crashing waves of pleasure slam into him with every slide of your fist. 

Feeling devious and a little too eager to stop yourself, you take advantage of his draining will to fight it and adjust your hand over his mouth so you can plunge two of the fingers inside. He squawks a decidedly undignified sound at the sudden intrusion but even his attempt to turn his head away is half hearted at best. Only somewhat reluctantly does he allow you to probe at his squirming tongue, feeling the perfect line of his teeth scrape over your knuckles when you reach back just far enough to make him gag. 

The compulsion is an odd one, you understand that much, but it’s as if your own pounding excitement won’t be satisfied until you’ve thoroughly torn down every one of his mile wide defenses. You needed to leave him debauched and utterly disillusioned from his old role, his previous identity, or this wasn’t going to accomplish what it was supposed to. How else could he be expected to move on and undertake the journey ahead of him if he was still clinging to his old ways and holding himself to the same standards as before? 

Sunday needed to see that despite his once high-minded ideals he was still just human, that his flesh and blood body was not some great sin for him to reject or punish. That he didn’t need to self sacrifice and martyr himself just for his life to have meaning. You wanted him to understand that it’s okay to be a little messy sometimes, and there’s nothing wrong with letting go of his almost fanatically held control. 

So it is with a great deal of pleasure that you keep his jaw wedged open with your fingers, carefully moving them back and forth over his tongue while he whimpers and whines so sweetly for you. It doesn’t take long for the excess of saliva to build up and dribble out at the corners of his lips, his spine dramatically flexing when he feels that first unseemly rivulet run down his jaw. His mouth works futilely around your digits, alternating between trying to spit them out or to somehow swallow around them but it doesn’t work. The drool just keeps coming, slowly bubbling out to track sticky paths down his face. 

You even catch a glimpse of shuddering moisture wetting his lash lines but you politely look away despite the eager jump in your pulse at the sight of those tears. It would have been all too easy for you to tease him for them, really lean into the humiliation he was probably feeling, but that was not your goal here. Not this time, at least. 

Instead you focus your attention back on the hand wrapped around his cock. Your ministrations had slowed to a stop while you were stuffing his mouth full and now you can see the length of him, flushed a pretty pink that almost matches his face, flexing needily against your hold. He was leaking enough precum to smooth the glide of your next upward stroke, watching in fascinated wonder as the fleshy hood of his foreskin comes up with another soft click to make the clear discharge slowly ooze down the sides of his shaft. 

His hips wildly buck and he wails a garbled noise as he needily arches up off the bed, jutting his pelvis out as if in desperate supplication for more. Both of his hands have latched onto your thighs now and he squeezes them tight enough to hurt. But you give him what he wants, what he so clearly needs, pumping your fist up and down the length of him on a steady, energetic rhythm. 

Sunday freezes like that, poised with his back bowed and his body flexed away from the mattress. Distantly, you realize that he seems to have stopped breathing altogether, holding the air in his aching lungs while the rest of him stiffly shudders and twitches steadily closer to the edge of oblivion. He was beautiful like this, like something out of a tawdry, lurid painting of some ethereal being from legend or myth. 

“Oh, Sunday,” You coo at him, so soft and gentle. Coaxing him ever towards his own ruination. “Are you going to cum for me?” 

Wailing a frazzled sound of distress around your spit soaked fingers, he gives his head the barest shake as if to deny the simple reality of what was happening. Unfortunately his own body betrays him almost instantly, and you stare in rapt fascination when his narrow hips stiffly lock up before nudging forward in a reluctant thrust. He’s holding himself far too unrelentingly to execute the full range of motion but it’s enough to have him fucking into your hand in painful, tortuously slow increments. 

He just can’t seem to help himself or smother the urge completely, even when the rolling grind of his pelvis was clearly something foreign to him. But it’s instinctive and hard coded, muscle memory carved into the very atoms of his body more than anything else. And you can see the musculature in his slim thighs trembling fiercely, the flex of his stomach dramatic while he wheezes and gasps his pleasure into the otherwise still air. You knew your fingers weren’t doing as sufficient a job at muffling him as your palm would have, but you can’t quite bring yourself to move or even care very much about that right now. 

Especially not when he gives one final, stuttering thrust into the squeeze of your hand and his cock positively erupts in a sudden spray of white. Creamy and thick, it shoots up into the air on what you would consider an impressive arc before splattering across his front. A second jet quickly follows the first, and then a third, while Sunday all but sobs through his orgasm, wetly choking on it even as he gradually sinks back down to the bed in a drained heap of splayed limbs. 

The eager pulse along his length quickly slows, oozing yet more of that clear discharge to dribble down the length of his shaft in sticky tracks before at last subsiding completely. He’s already a complete mess with various bodily fluids coating his skin but you still give him one final squeeze and drag your hand up to draw the last little bit of his release out of his flagging cock. He seethes a delirious sound in response, head lolling back in doped out bliss while he tries to even out his breathing again to no avail. 

“How was that?” You prod, smiling to yourself as you withdraw your fingers from his mouth. A sticky wad of saliva follows after you, catching on his bottom lip, and you brush your thumb up to helpfully wipe it away, ignoring the mirthless, gasping laugh he rattles out. “It looked like you enjoyed it to me. Was that really your first orgasm?”

Somewhat awkwardly clearing his no doubt dry and scratchy throat, Sunday pointedly turns his head to look elsewhere. Still shy and reticent to openly show any of his emotions, but he certainly felt more relaxed in your arms than he had before. “I wouldn’t have any reason to lie about that, would I? Or do you take me for some kind of shameless masochist?” 

Allowing a brief giggle to slip out, you lean further into him so you can find his neck and deliver a soft peck to the still thrumming pulse under his skin. Sucking in a deeply flustered inhale, he snaps his attention back around to look at you with wide, startled eyes. That makes you laugh too, much to his pouting confusion. 

“What?” He demands at last. 

“Nothing. I was just thinking how cute you really are, that’s all.” 

His brows shoot up almost too fast for you to track the motion. “Cute? M - me? But I don’t —“

“It’s alright, Sunday. Just go with the flow. You feel pretty good right now, don’t you?” Grinning at the uncertainty that flashes across his face, you lower your chin to rest against his shoulder, much like how you’d first started. Realistically only a few minutes had passed but it felt like an entire lifetime had come and gone, and yet you were still right back to this again. 

In the following silence while Sunday chews on that and mulls it over, you rove your attention down to inspect the damage you’d caused. Luckily his coat had been more or less out of the way where you’d spread it open earlier, and it looked like the quickly cooling evidence of this sneaky tryst had mostly landed in harmless flecks across the darker inner shirt underneath. That was a small relief, if you were being honest. You didn’t even want to think about all the fussing he’d do if you stained his white jacket like that. 

“Well,” he says at last, rousing you from your thoughts. “While I still think your methods are unscrupulous and incredibly underhanded … I suppose I still owe you my thanks. I do indeed feel more at ease than I did before. Now if you’ll excuse me —“ 

Quickly looping your arms around his middle when he makes a move to stand up, you yank him back against you with another laugh. “Nuh-uh. We’re not done yet, Sunny. I need to help you clean up that mess first.” 

Choking on a protest, he reaches down to shove at your arms but you don’t budge, pointedly nuzzling into him from behind as if to prove that he wasn’t going anywhere until you decided to let him go. After another brief moment of cursory struggle, he finally gives up and slumps against you with a terse click of his tongue. 

“Really, is this truly necessary?” He grumbles under his breath, lifting a hand to subconsciously wipe the remaining spit off his chin with an air of distaste. “Haven’t you gotten what you wanted out of me already? I'd think you would be satisfied by now, Miss Stellaron.” 

You hum a sly sound at that, coquettishly walking two of your fingers up the front of his shirt to one of the bigger globs of milky white bleeding into the material. He goes still against you, mouth dropping open in what could only be abject shock when you swipe one of the digits through the mess before lifting it up to your face. 

Looking appropriately scandalized now, Sunday tracks the motion with wide, horrified eyes. “Wh - what are you doing? That’s —“ 

Popping your cum coated fingertip into your mouth earns you a strangled gasp and he tries to reel back from you as if in disgust. But you keep your arm locked around his middle, holding him firmly in place while you suck the digit clean. Sunday’s wings flutter an anxious beat and tuck forward to curl defensively over the lower half of his face but it does very little to hide the furious blush staining his cheeks. He looked even more like a ripe cherry ready to be plucked than when you’d been holding his cock in your hand. 

“It’s nothing to be so embarrassed about.” You tell him candidly when you slide your finger out and reach back down to swipe it through the sticky fluid on his shirt again. “You don’t taste bad, if that’s what you’re thinking. I like how you feel in my mouth.” 

His eyes nervously darting from side to side, up and down, anywhere but directly at you, he tries to speak, croaks, and then awkwardly clears his throat again. “But - but that’s … unhygienic, isn’t it? That came out of my … my - -“ 

Softly laughing at how dangerously close he seems to fainting dead away like some sort of swooning maiden in an old movie, you catch a clinging glob of his spend and lift it up towards his face this time. “It’s fine, I promise. You taste good, Sunday. I wouldn’t lie to you. Here, try it for yourself?” 

He makes a face at that, reminding you of a kid that doesn’t want to take his medicine, but at your gentle prodding he slowly lowers his wings. The drooping feathers brush against your curled fingers just so, almost making you tremble at their light touch as you watch him differentially drop his gaze. Submissive and pliable, a clear sign of his bending to your will. 

Your earlier arousal flares back to life with a vengeance, making you feel uncomfortably warm and damp between the legs. Holding the air in your lungs, you nudge your hand closer and he obediently parts his lips for you with a tiny, shuddering whimper. Eyes slipping shut when you slide into his mouth again so you can drag your fingertip across his tongue and smear the salty discharge, making sure he got a good taste of it, he issues a faltering breath that puffs against your knuckles. 

“See? Not so terrible, is it?” You murmur, your voice drawling at a lower octave than usual. Watching him come to terms with his own body was almost as distracting as the need pulsing in your loins, demanding attention and relief in equal measure. You wanted him. More of him. All of him. 

But would he have you? 

Groaning a threadbare little sound, Sunday flutters his lashes and cautiously opens them to peer over at you. For a drawn out moment the two of you just stare at one another, gazes locked and searching. Questioning. Begging. 

And then, ever so sweetly, he closes his mouth and gives your finger an experimental suck, swallowing down the evidence of your illicit activities. A stuttering exhale escapes him as you slowly withdraw your hand, giving him just enough space to breathe for a second. You wanted him to decide for himself how he wanted to proceed, what his next move should be. 

Because what you’d said earlier was the truth. You were not his jailer, nor were you going to willingly facilitate that self flagellating streak of his either. If he wanted to come to you it would be in mutual pleasure and enjoyment, as equals with a vested interest in each other's happiness. Not as punishment or penance for something you’d already decided to forgive him for. 

“M - Miss Stellaron, I …” 

The way his wings start to shyly curl inward again, wanting to hide behind them, brings another smile to your face. He really was too cute like this. “What is it, Sunny?” 

He sucks in a mildly bothered breath at that. “I told you not to — never mind. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. And you were right. It wasn’t terrible. In all honesty, nothing you’ve done today was … entirely disagreeable in my eyes. So if you’d like to … I mean, if it pleases you we could …”

“Keep going?” You helpfully offer up, making his expression pinch in obvious embarrassment. 

“W - well, should you insist I … I guess I wouldn’t have any complaints about that. But only if you want to. I don’t care either way.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Practically grinning from ear to ear now, you place your hand against his shoulder and push to get him turned around. He still refuses to look directly at you, evidently finding the pattern on your bedspread far more interesting in that moment, but he doesn’t change his mind or try to pull away when you lean into him. 

Tipping your head so you can dip into the space between his nervously fluttering wings, you find Sunday’s mouth and kiss him. Tentatively at first to see how he’ll react, but when all he does is whimper a flustered sound against your lips you press harder, letting your hunger for him dictate your actions. His hands carefully come up to slide around your neck while his wings slowly fall open, letting you in as he holds you against him, and you feel like you just might burst. 

To be wanted by someone like him felt like a blessing and a curse all wrapped up in one. By initiating this had you only sped up his ruination from perfect and holy to mere mortal, or had you just engineered your own downfall in the same breath? 

You’d find out soon enough.

⭐

Cross posted: here

[ltwilliammowett]

What have they done? They're abolishing women's sex-based rights like the right to fair play in sports, single-sex rape crisis centres, single-sex medical care and the right to request a female for intimate services, single-sex bathrooms.... These have real impacts on women and girls health and wellbeing in real life, from girls stopping using the bathroom at school and getting UTIs, incarcerated women being raped and impregnated in prison by their cellmates, to women and girls losing thousands of dollars in scholarships and sporting awards.... This is because instead of adding trans-specific resources, like an additional universal bathroom for example, they are taking away the women's bathroom instead. These events are well documented in the news and women's rights organizations have been raising the alarm for years as trans identity gained traction with big pharma and opportunistic grifters alike. Please look into this honestly if you think any of this is far fetched. Women and girls deserve better. We need our sex-based rights, dignity and safety protected because misogyny has not yet been solved and eradicated from our societies. Of course trans people of both sexes also deserve humanity, safety, and to be treated like normal people. But not at the expense of the rights and protections that women and girls still need.

I was struggling whether to publish this here or not. And I decided to do it. Even if it will cause me even more problems and hate messages than it already did yesterday. No kidding my inbox has changed to the seventh circle of hell and this is not really how I envisioned my return. And as you know, I'm not political on my blog and don't want to be, so this will be my last public comment on the subject, especially as I find it hard to find the right words in english anyway, you know my problems with that. But into the thing:

What your statement begins and first and foremost implies is that you make all trans people out to be perverted monsters. That everyone, especially trans women, want nothing more than to discriminate against and harm women. And the way you write it says that everyone is like that and creates a fear that leads to mistrust and hatred. Yes, there are cases where it has led to harm, but you can't apply it to everyone. If a person/group/company wants to harm someone they will do it regardless of gender, colour, religion or other identity, society etc. A criminal should be punished, but by the courts and not by society.

As for the sport, you are talking about a few cases here and even then there are already approaches to a points system like the one in para sports. As for separate washrooms, gym, honestly, why? Do you also separate at home? Should there be a gender test before entering? And as for prisons, there is also a lot of violence and abuse among women themselves. So be careful with things like that.

It is incredibly difficult to find solutions, especially when it comes to special shelters like women's refuges. I see that too and I am also a woman who has experienced situations with men who have behaved in am agressiv, insulting manner. But we can not start to tar everyone with the same brush, that leads to fear and that in turn to irrational behaviour, statements and hatred. Individual cases are exaggerated and generalised and instrumentalised. And that leads to enormous problems and to activities that harm people and not just one group but ultimately everyone.

It just increases the division and divides people even more, regardless of gender, origin, etc. Talk to everyone and try to find a common denominator. Together we can find a solution, not against each other and not over others.

Women worldwide have much bigger problems and many have to deal with religious or government policies, but not because a trans person is in their area. These are such rare cases and can be dealt with. As I said above, talk together and find solutions together and fight against the rules that a religion or a government wants to impose on us.

[wee-larceny]

Time to Orbit: Unknown liveblog Chapters 011-020

Chapters 001-010

So recently I've been reading Time to Orbit: Unknown by @derinthescarletpescatarian who may or may not appreciate being tagged in this thing again; a sci-fi mystery you've probably heard about if you're on this webbed site. I am definitely having Thoughts about it, so I'm abandoning my uncomfortably long post for a shiny new one, and also grabbing the opportunity to organise some of those thoughts; we have 180+ chapters and any minor detail might be key. It's only getting more complicated, so let us go through unanswered questions and assorted fuckery. Mysterious, frankly bizarre, and/or outright shady behaviour exhibited by characters:

Captain Joshua Reimann: grabbed an axe and started attacking the walls. Wrecked CR1 and his own arm in the process. Died of an untreated infection. Science Officer Claire Rynn-Hatson, possibly also Science Officer Mohammed Aziz and/or Maintenance Officer Ash Dornae: did some sort of experiment involving dangerous chemicals: the experiment ended in disaster killing Rynn-Hatson on the spot and Aziz&Dornae later due to poisoning. The experiment was conducted for unknown reasons despite the lack of any available medical professionals. Captain Kinoshita Keiko: did not authorise the jettisoning of CR1 even though it cut more than half the crew off from her and made it impossible to turn fore engines on from her position. To be fair it's kind of understandable considering the number of people in there. She also died trying to move a giant, heavy crate of protein bars for some reason. Engineer Leilea Arc Hess: spilled coffee all over a keyboard and didn't clean it up. Also kept a physical calendar even though I don't think you need the AI for the calendar or timed reminders to work. The ship's AI: so many things. Didn't wake any new crewmembers when the deaths started; didn't decrease "gravity" or do anything else to save Captain Kinoshita; woke Aspen and Aspen alone when the fore engines needed turned on; needed Aspen to identify by chip even though it was the one that woke them up just a bit ago, who the fuck else would they be; is definitely lying about CR1; is definitely acting outside its parameters; other stuff probably. The organisation that sent them up here in the first place: doesn't allow personal effects which is comic-book villain behaviour. Also made the AI. Doctor Aspen Greaves: upset the bees.

My questions at this point: Why did Captain Reimann try to damage the ship? I've read Solaris, I know that sci-fi characters don't just go crazy for no reason. Why did no one treat Captain Reimann's wounds? Whose body is missing and where is it? There were only three frozen corpses for four potential dead people in the back of the ship. What is in CR1? How did the 120-something people die there? If a guy with an axe in the process of being subdued can actually cause a hull breach then that's not a spaceship I'd like to travel on. When and why was CR1 locked ? We know when it was damaged but not when it was password-locked. Which captain did it? Riemann probably didn't have the opportunity (it was still open during his rampage and I sure wouldn't have allowed him computer access after.) If it was Kinoshita, why? Why didn't the two halves of the crew reestablish contact? What killed the people at the front of the ship? What's up with the disgusting air filer? What was the experiment that killed three members of the crew? Why can't the new captain override the previous one's orders? Captain locks a door, dies, door is locked forever. That's just bad design. How did the aft engines get irreparably damaged? What happened when the ship lurched sideways? It can't have been just the rotations slowing, because that would decrease gravity unless there's a complicated science reason as to why it doesn't. There can't be a complicated science reason because Derin explains those immediately. Did the crew keep logs? If yes, read them. Current suspects:

Captain Reimann: convenient scapegoat but probably not the root of the problems. The AI: could be. Computers sometimes do stupid shit. My company had to change one of their domains once because a widely used cybersecurity AI decided that we're a phishing scam pretending to be ourselves and wouldn't let the programmers whitelist us. The organisation that launched the Courageous, whatever their name is: programmed the AI. Aspen: no, that's stupid.

[multiheadcanons]

A LITTLE EXTRA FOR THE DOLLS. HEAVY AND MEDIC GET MARRIED. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY

heavy proposed in a very unconventional way. medic did not take it very well.

they were reading separate books, together in the hall leading to the infirmary, in silence. he slid a golden band on the side table that was between them. he didn’t speak, or make a grand statement of it, just made sure to angle it so the glint caught the doctor’s eye.

and the doctor did notice. he was not cool about it. “that’s not funny.” is all he could say. as heavy insisted, the doctor’s face notably scrunched up in a strange combination of emotions. he looked like he just got shot. but he was also bright red.

it was time to share some secrets.

medic opened up— very hesitantly— without removing his face from the book, about his prior marriage. a woman he called the love of his life. his childhood best friend, the woman who knew him better than he dares to ever know himself. genevieve. and the doctor isn’t paying any attention as heavy’s face pales.

and heavy isn’t thinking as the only thing that exits his mouth, as the doctor is genuinely baring his soul to him, talking about this brilliant woman who fundamentally shifted his view in love and marriage and life itself; the only thing heavy can think to say is “isn’t that… demo’s genevieve?”

the silence that fell in that room. the doctor stopped mid sentence and did not close his mouth. he turned, so controlled in the slow movement, to the heavy weapons guy. and stared at him, slack jawed. harder than he’s ever stared at the man before. an active craze brewed in the doctor’s eyes. heavy kept calm, hoping that if there was any time the doctor would follow suit it would be right now. and for a solid twenty seconds, he had confidence. nobody spoke, but they maintained eye contact and heavy felt he had a handle on the situation. he was so confident he was going to disarm this bomb.

he was confident until he saw the book snap shut. and they held eye contact. and then the doctor carelessly tossed the book up. that is where heavy made the mistake of breaking eye contact, and in a swift motion, medic grabbed the ring and stormed away.

heavy had officially lost control of the situation. before he moved to chase, he went for the medigun.

and the doctor was like a robot. it did not take him long to locate where the louder teammates were. he was honed in, ring grasped tightly in his hand. and him slamming the door to the common area caught their attention immediately.

he took stock of who was in the room.

scout. soldier. pyro. engineer. demo.

there’s the son of a bitch.

and frankly, demo could tell from the look in the doctor’s eyes exactly what was about to transpire and for exactly what reason. there was nothing he could do but brace for it, and maybe do him the favor of meeting him halfway. he didn’t have time for the second before the doctor had crossed the room.

maybe he could’ve told medic earlier and moved past this.

it didn’t matter, demo hit the floor before anyone had time to react. luckily, they were close enough to grab the doctor before he could really start to do damage. he didn’t fight them either, and everyone looked at demo for answers as he stumbled to his feet and shook his head.

“it’s alright; i’m alright… i had that coming. long time coming. alright, doc…” he cracked his neck, and stared at the doctor, notably sobered from the hit. “firstly: hell of an arm you got there. we need to have a chat.”

“you need to be rotting out in the desert. we do need to have a chat.” the doctor replied, calm for a man who literally walked in swinging.

“are you gonna hit me again?”

“yes.”

“…fair enough.”

and they left the room as heavy entered, medigun slung across his back.

“…am i too late?”

the team didn’t see much of demo, or the doctor for about a week, initially. and when they did, they were engaged in silent conversation, their faces set in grief. in anger. in regret and contempt and pity and ache and despair. the team watched as their faces shifted through the days to broken resignation. sometimes the team would walk by and see them both with their heads on the mess hall table, slumped against each other, the bags under their eyes evident as they caught precious seconds of sleep that they weren’t getting otherwise. they would see the men crumble out of their peripheries. their tear streaks would hit the light as they passed by and they would simply continue to walk. but cries echoed through the halls of the base for weeks. the doctor wouldn’t look at anyone, his hands remained balled into fists and his face twisted in snarls. demo wouldn’t speak to anyone, even if he was addressed first, just shook his head and continued on. it showed in battle as they caught their breath in alleyways, and as their enemies passed they would catch glimpses of them on their knees, head in their hands, and the wracked hoarse sobs were drowned by gunfire. it took months for them to begin to show signs of returning to normal. with each other. with the team.

it took a month still from normality returning on shaky legs for medic and heavy to resume their reading together. the first time was tense. talking was off the table. just the repeated tap of the doctor’s foot against the floor, getting louder and louder until it was just him slamming his foot against the ground.

“i can’t do this.”

at that point medic threw his book against the wall and stormed into the infirmary. heavy did not follow.

neither he nor that wedding band were seen again for a few days.

heavy had resigned himself to the fact that he would never see that ring again. and he had mostly resigned himself to the knowledge that if he didn’t permanently ruin his professional relationship with the doctor, they definitely weren’t together in the way that heavy wanted them to be.

he thought that until a glint caught his eye.

he gave a brief glance.

a single silver band sat on the table. large enough for his ring finger.

he closed his book. “that’s not funny. that’s not funny.”

“it’s not funny at all.” the doctor closed his book as well. “i made my decision.”

he set the book down and began to pull off his glove.

“misha. i loved genevieve. i loved her with everything i could give her. it haunted me. she haunted me, her willingness to put her life on pause to be with me and save myself from my own… shame of attraction. i couldn’t thank her enough for that. there was no display of devotion i could make, past giving her a child, to show my gratitude, and i couldn’t do that. to her, to myself, to a child.” he paused in the removal from his glove, before continuing, revealing a single golden band around his ring finger.

“then i find out she didn’t. her life never stopped. only mine did.” herbert stared at the ring around his finger, sparing a slight glance towards misha. “…i’m ready to move on. i held onto her for so long. and i’m ready to let her go.”

misha stayed quiet. he gingerly reached for the ring. he wasn’t sure it was real. but the cold metal confirmed he could believe what he was seeing. he held it in his hand. so small in comparison to his palm. so small in comparison to the scars they give each other. he stared past the ring to the scar slashed across of the life line of his palm.

he gave himself that. for his doctor.

they were already bound by blood for life.

a ring wasn’t needed, he had told himself. he’d been telling himself that for weeks now, in the certainty he had been rejected.

“i don’t want a wedding. i don’t want a honeymoon. just put it on, and we can continue to read. or give it back, and we can continue to read. either way, it’s… it’s okay. it’s alright. i’m alright. we’re alright.” misha couldn’t stop the breath of laughter. the smile that crept on his face. a ring. a ring. and he couldn’t stop a couple of tears from falling. he wiped them away quickly. it felt a little silly to cry because he got what he wanted. it took months, but he got exactly what he wanted.

“it’s… not what i expected from you. when have you ever done what i expect from you?” misha finally found words to say that made sense in his mind; sliding the ring onto his finger.

a perfect fit.

“…i want a honeymoon.”

“…we may have a honeymoon if you would like.”

misha laughed. he couldn’t help it. he looked at his hand, at its new adornment. rotated his hand. saw the glint from every angle. looked at herbert. looked back at his hand. his face felt hot, and a hand naturally reached to feel the heat. he couldn’t stop the smile from getting wider. he laughed again.

he patted the seat of the chair next to him, and held out his other hand.

“come sit next to me. properly.”

herbert’s eyes narrowed, if only slightly and for the moment. but he took a breath. he forced himself to relax. he made this decision. he needs to stick to the commitment he made.

it took many days of working, and thinking, and crying, and not sleeping to decide to say yes.

he didn’t know if he had it in him to do it again. he didn’t know if a commitment he had made, by all means at this point except traditionally, by all means felt traditionally was the right thing to do; was the best thing to do for either one of them at this point. herbert was getting older. he had held onto the ghost of a woman, held onto what he thought was love so tightly for so long, and it was shattered in less than five words. everything he thought he knew about his life was shattered in less than five words.

and herbert was no stranger to hurt. he was no stranger to misha hurting him. he was no stranger to hurting misha. physically and emotionally. they’ve fought. they argued. they’ve said things to each other they can never take back. that still hang in the air some tense days. but they’ve always made it through. come back stronger, held onto each other tighter in battle. learned each other better, maneuvered with and around each other smoother. every force against them has made them a stronger unit, closer friends, better partners.

misha completed him in undefinable ways. understood him enough to accept him fully, wholly. never asked for more than herbert said he could give. respected it. respected him. it’s obviously not a far throw to say misha loved him.

he owed the man a commitment to the grave.

he took misha’s hand and stood, closing the distance and taking his rightful place at misha’s side.

they sat, shoulder to shoulder.

hand in hand.

misha squeezed. herbert squeezed back.

they looked at each other.

spared each other uncertain smiles.

then they opened their books and continued to read.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ death by a thousand cuts

chapter summary: After trying to get pregnant for a year, you and Logan go see a fertility doctor.

word count: 5.8k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: this is probably the shortest chapter i've wrote for this series, oops—

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, trying for a baby, talks of pregnancy and fertility, hormones, fluff, slight angst

series masterlist - chapter 4 → chapter 6

After over a year of trying the two of you made the decision to see a fertility doctor.

You sat in the waiting room, your fingers nervously twisting the strap of your bag. Logan sat beside you, his hand resting on your knee, grounding you with his quiet presence. The sterile smell of the clinic mixed with the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead, making the space feel too clinical, too impersonal for something so intimate.

“You okay?” Logan asked softly, his thumb brushing against your knee.

You nodded but didn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah, just... nervous, I guess.”

“Nothing to be nervous about, darlin’,” he said, his voice low and steady. “We’re just figuring out what’s what. No rush, no pressure.”

You glanced at him then, his calm demeanor easing some of the tension in your chest. “I know. It’s just... I don’t know. I feel like we’re opening Pandora’s box or something.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning in closer. “Pandora’s box, huh? Thought you were supposed to be the scientist between us.”

You managed a small smile, your nerves settling just a little. “I am. And scientifically, Pandora’s box didn’t end well.”

“Maybe not, but we’re not dealin’ with myths here. We’re dealin’ with you and me—and we’ve faced worse than a box full of trouble, haven’t we?”

Before you could answer, the nurse called your name. You stood, Logan’s hand brushing your lower back as you followed her into the consultation room.

---

The doctor was kind, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile and a straightforward manner that you appreciated. She went over your medical history, asked a series of questions, and explained what the process would involve.

“We’ll start with some basic tests,” she said, her tone reassuring. “Blood work, ultrasounds, and a sperm analysis for Logan. From there, we’ll have a clearer picture of what’s going on.”

You glanced at Logan, half-expecting him to bristle at the mention of his part in the testing, but he surprised you by nodding without hesitation.

“Whatever we need to do,” he said simply.

The doctor’s smile widened. “That’s a great attitude. And I’ll be here to guide you through every step, okay? You’re not alone in this.”

---

After the appointment, the two of you walked back to Logan’s truck in comfortable silence. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot, and the crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of leaves and woodsmoke.

Logan opened the passenger door for you, waiting until you were settled before climbing in on the driver’s side. As he started the engine, he glanced over at you, his hazel eyes steady and warm.

“You feel better?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think so. The doctor was nice. She made it seem... manageable.”

“Good,” Logan said, his hand reaching out to rest on your thigh as he backed out of the parking space. “We’ll take it one step at a time. No point in gettin’ ahead of ourselves.”

You placed your hand over his, squeezing gently. “Thanks for coming with me. I know this isn’t exactly your comfort zone.”

Logan smirked, his eyes flicking to you briefly. “Darlin’, my comfort zone’s about ten feet away from a fight. This? This is easy. ‘Cause it’s for you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, warmth spreading through your chest. You leaned over to press a quick kiss to his cheek, your glasses bumping his temple in the process.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft.

Logan gave you a small smile, his hand tightening on your thigh. “Anytime.”

---

That evening, you found yourself in the kitchen with Jean, who was chopping vegetables for dinner while you leaned against the counter, a mug of tea cradled in your hands.

“How’d it go?” Jean asked, her green eyes flicking to you as she placed the knife down.

“Good, I think,” you said, exhaling slowly. “The doctor was nice. She explained everything really well. It’s just... a lot to think about.”

Jean nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “It’s normal to feel that way. But you’re not alone in this, Y/N. You’ve got Logan, and you’ve got us. Whatever you need, we’re here.”

Her words brought a small smile to your lips, and you reached out to squeeze her hand. “Thanks, Jean. That means a lot.”

“Anytime,” she said, her smile matching yours.

The sound of the front door closing signaled Logan’s return from the garage, and a moment later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway. His gaze immediately found you, and the soft look in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded, setting your mug down and crossing the room to meet him. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Logan wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close enough to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmured against your skin.

Jean watched the two of you with a small smile before turning back to her vegetables, giving you the space to share the quiet moment with Logan.

---

“Rogue? What’re you doing? You aren’t my student anymore.”

You adjusted your glasses as you spotted her lingering near the hallway outside the classroom, her gloved hands tucked behind her back. She turned around, wearing a sheepish smile.

“I know, but Bobby said you’re takin’ the kids to the New York Hall of Science,” Rogue said, brushing a strand of her two-toned hair out of her face. “Thought maybe I could tag along?”

“You want to come on a field trip?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rogue shrugged. “Well, it’s better than sittin’ around the mansion all day. And I’ve been wantin’ to see that museum anyway.”

Before you could answer, Kitty’s head popped out from behind Rogue, her grin wide and unapologetic. “We thought it’d be fun! Plus, you could use some extra chaperones, right?”

“Extra chaperones or extra trouble?” you teased, though you couldn’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. Bobby appeared a moment later, looking far less guilty than he should have.

“We’re all adults now,” he said, a little too smugly. “Technically, we’re helping.”

You folded your arms, trying to keep your expression stern. “Technically, you’re supposed to let me know before inviting yourselves.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” Kitty said, clasping her hands dramatically. “We’ll behave, promise!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. But if you distract the students or cause chaos, I’m leaving you in Queens.”

“Deal,” Rogue said quickly, already grinning.

---

The drive to the museum was lively, to say the least. The younger students buzzed with excitement, while Rogue and Kitty kept up a steady stream of commentary from the back of the bus. You tried to focus on the road, but you couldn’t help glancing in the mirror every so often, smiling at their antics.

When you finally arrived at the New York Hall of Science, the group poured out of the bus, their energy palpable. You gave them a quick rundown of the rules before leading the way inside.

The exhibits were an instant hit. The students scattered to explore interactive displays, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Rogue and Kitty stuck close to you at first, their curiosity about the exhibits almost childlike.

“This is pretty cool,” Kitty admitted, tapping the glass of a display case showcasing early quantum mechanics experiments. “Bet it’s right up your alley.”

You smiled, adjusting your glasses as you read the plaque beside it. “It’s fascinating. Physics helps us understand so much about the universe—and how much we still don’t know.”

Rogue leaned closer, examining the display. “You ever think about where we fit into all that? Mutants, I mean.”

The question caught you off guard, but you answered honestly. “All the time. I think… we’re just another piece of the puzzle. We might not always fit neatly, but we’re part of the picture.”

Rogue nodded thoughtfully, and the three of you fell into a comfortable silence as you continued exploring.

As the day went on, you felt yourself relaxing. For a few hours, the worries that had been weighing on you—doctor’s appointments, tests, and the ache of waiting—faded into the background.

By the time you returned to the mansion that evening, the students were tired but buzzing with excitement, chattering about their favorite exhibits as they spilled out of the bus. Logan was waiting for you by the front steps, his sharp gaze scanning the group until it landed on you.

“How’d it go?” he asked, his voice low as you approached him.

“Good,” you said, smiling. “No one got lost, and no one broke anything. I’d call that a win.”

Logan smirked, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you inside. “Told ya you’d survive.”

You leaned into his touch, letting out a content sigh. “Yeah, yeah. You were right.”

“Damn straight,” he teased, his smirk softening into something more affectionate as he glanced down at you.

And just like that, the weight of the day disappeared, replaced by the quiet comfort of knowing Logan was by your side.

---

When you started taking Clomid three weeks ago, you thought it would speed things up—help you. Instead, it left you with hot flashes, cramps, and, worst of all, mood swings.

You’d read about the potential side effects, of course. The medical literature had been clear, and you prided yourself on being well-informed. But reading about it and living it were two entirely different things.

The latest mood swing hit you like a freight train when Logan entered the kitchen. He was carrying an empty coffee mug, his usual calm demeanor unbothered by the chaos of breakfast cleanup around him.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greeted, placing the mug in the sink. “You alright?”

His voice was gentle, concerned, and yet it lit a spark of irritation in you. You didn’t know why, but the question made your chest tighten.

“Do I look alright?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

Logan blinked, taken aback. His brow furrowed, and his eyes searched your face for a clue about what had just happened. “I, uh, didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean anything,” you interrupted, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “But maybe I’m tired of people asking if I’m okay. Maybe I’m not okay, Logan. Is that what you want to hear?”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, and as soon as they left your mouth, regret settled in. Logan didn’t deserve this. You knew he didn’t. But the mix of hormones and frustration bubbling inside you didn’t care.

Logan stepped closer, his expression softening. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, his hands reaching out to rest on your arms. “Talk to me. What’s goin’ on?”

You pulled back slightly, tears pricking at your eyes. “I don’t know! I just... I feel like I’m losing my mind. This stupid Clomid is supposed to help, but all it’s doing is making me feel awful. And I hate snapping at you like this. I hate it.”

Logan’s hands slid down to yours, his grip firm and reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it. You’re dealin’ with a lot, and it’s not easy. But you’re not doin’ this alone, remember? I’m right here.”

You sniffled, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I know. I just... I hate feeling like this. Like I’m not myself.”

Logan tilted your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re still you, Y/N. You’re just dealin’ with somethin’ tough right now. And if you need to yell or cry or whatever, that’s fine. I can take it.”

A small laugh escaped you, even as tears rolled down your cheeks. “You’re too good to me.”

He smirked, his thumbs brushing your skin. “Damn right I am. Now, how about I make you some tea and we sit down for a bit? You don’t gotta push yourself so hard.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Okay. Tea sounds good.”

Logan pressed a kiss to your temple before releasing you to put the kettle on. As he moved around the kitchen, the weight in your chest started to lift. You weren’t in this alone, and no matter how many mood swings or bad days came your way, Logan would be there.

---

Later that night, Logan surprised you with a hot bath. He didn’t say a word about it—just took your hand and led you to the bathroom, where he’d set up candles around the tub and filled it with steaming water and a bit of your favorite lavender bath soak.

You stared at the scene, your chest tightening with emotion. “Logan, you didn’t have to do all this.”

“Maybe not,” he said, his hands resting on your shoulders as he gently guided you toward the tub. “But I wanted to. Figured you could use a break.”

The warmth in his hazel eyes melted away any lingering guilt, and you leaned up to kiss him softly. “Thank you.”

He smirked, stepping back to let you undress. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me. Take your time.”

As you sank into the hot water, the tension in your body slowly ebbed away. You closed your eyes, letting the warmth soothe you, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

---

When you emerged from the bathroom later, wrapped in one of Logan’s oversized flannels, he was waiting for you on the couch with a mug of tea and a soft blanket. He pulled you down beside him, tucking you under his arm without a word.

“I’m sorry again,” you murmured against his chest.

“Don’t need to apologize,” Logan said, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. “Just glad you’re feelin’ a little better.”

You nodded, letting yourself relax into him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain: Logan would be right there with you, every step of the way.

---

You’re in your bedroom folding laundry, trying to distract yourself from the mild discomfort that’s been following you all day. Logan’s boots catch your attention—the heavy leather pair sitting next to the closet instead of neatly inside it, where you’ve asked him to put them a dozen times. Something snaps.

"Why can't you just put them away, Logan?" you huff, pointing at the offending boots with all the energy of someone starting a revolution.

Logan, stretched out on the bed with a book resting on his chest, blinks at you like you’ve just spoken another language. "Darlin’, they’re not even—”

"Don’t ‘darling’ me!" you cut him off, your voice sharpening. "I’ve been cleaning all afternoon, and you can't even manage the closet! It’s right there!" You gesture toward the closet door like it's miles away instead of two feet.

He sets the book aside, sitting up slowly. “Okay.” His voice is calm, steady. “Lemme fix that.”

You cross your arms, watching as he stands, grabs the boots, and tucks them neatly inside the closet. No argument, no eye-roll, no sass. Just... compliance.

Somehow, it makes you feel worse.

By the time he turns around, your anger’s dissolved into a rush of tears that blindsides you both. Logan freezes, brows pulling together as he steps closer. "Hey, hey, what’s this now?”

You hiccup through a sob, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to snap! I don’t know why I’m crying; it’s so dumb—”

His hands land gently on your shoulders, and he’s looking at you with those warm, steady eyes, like nothing in the world could shake him. “It ain’t dumb,” he says firmly. "You’re just feelin’ stuff. Nothin’ wrong with that."

“I yelled at you over boots,” you whisper, mortified, pressing your hands over your face.

Logan chuckles softly and pulls you against his chest, his voice rumbling against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe I deserved it. Don’t mean I’ll stop leavin’ ‘em out now and then, though—keepin’ you on your toes.”

You let out a watery laugh, half-hidden in his shirt. “You’re impossible.”

“But I’m yours.” He kisses the top of your head, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Come on. We’ll figure the rest out after we lay down for a bit. Boots’ll be here to argue about tomorrow.”

Still sniffling, you nod and let him guide you to bed, the weight of the day slowly slipping away as his arms wrap around you.

---

You grabbed your toolkit and headed to Jean’s classroom, determined to fix the sagging bookshelf that she’d mentioned Scott was supposed to take care of weeks ago. She’d been busy helping Ororo with a project, so you figured it was the perfect opportunity to step in and help out. You were midway through tightening a screw when Scott appeared in the doorway, his brows lifting slightly in surprise.

“Y/N?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you shot back without looking up. “Fixing this bookshelf that’s been on your to-do list since forever.”

Scott blinked, clearly taken aback. “I was gonna get to it—”

“‘Gonna’ doesn’t cut it, Scott,” you interrupted, your voice rising as you stood up and placed your hands on your hips. “Jean’s been patient, but this thing’s been wobbling like a drunk giraffe for weeks. What if a kid leaned on it and it collapsed? You’ve been too busy polishing the visor or whatever it is you do instead of actually taking care of the basics around here.”

Scott’s mouth opened and closed, his expression cycling rapidly from shock to mild indignation to confusion. “Polishing the—what? I’ve been—”

“Don’t even start,” you cut him off again, waving a screwdriver for emphasis. “This isn’t just about the bookshelf. What about the training room light that’s still flickering? Or the squeaky hinge on the front door? Or—or the fact that the coffee machine still sprays everywhere every time someone tries to make espresso? All things you said you’d take care of!”

Logan had been passing by when he heard the commotion. He stopped just outside the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with amused curiosity.

Scott’s face was a study in restrained emotion—shock, embarrassment, a touch of frustration. “Y/N, I—”

“Don’t!” you snapped, jabbing the screwdriver toward him. “Some of us actually follow through on our responsibilities, Summers. Jean shouldn’t have to remind you a hundred times, and I shouldn’t have to come in here and do your job for you.”

From his perch at the door, Logan chuckled under his breath. Scott shot him a quick glare, but you were too fired up to notice.

“Okay,” Scott said, his tone unusually placating. “You’re right. I’ll take care of it, alright? No need to—”

“To what? Be upset?” you interrupted, throwing your hands up. “You think I want to yell at you about this? I don’t. But someone’s gotta hold you accountable.”

Scott stood there for a moment, clearly unsure how to respond. He nodded stiffly, turned on his heel, and walked toward the door. As he passed Logan, he muttered, “Not a word.”

Logan raised his hands in mock innocence, but the smirk tugging at his lips was impossible to miss. Once Scott was gone, Logan stepped into the room, his smirk blooming into a full grin.

“Well, that was somethin’,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, darlin’.”

You turned to him, still holding the screwdriver, your cheeks flushed. “I—I don’t know what came over me,” you stammered, the fire in your tone extinguished as quickly as it had flared. “I just... snapped.”

Logan stepped closer, taking the screwdriver from your hand and setting it aside. “Snapped is right. Poor Summers looked like he’d been run over.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Oh God, I probably scared him. I’ve never yelled at anyone like that before.”

Logan chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against his chest. “Well, you got a point about the bookshelf. And the coffee machine.”

“It’s the Clomid,” you mumbled into his shirt. “It’s making me crazy. I can’t believe I just did that.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your back. “You’re not crazy, sweetheart. Just feelin’ things a little stronger than usual. Summers’ll survive. Might even get his act together after this.”

You let out a weak laugh, peeking up at him through your glasses. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” Logan said, his grin softening into something warmer. “And if he doesn’t, well... you’ve got me to back you up.”

You sighed, letting yourself relax against him. “Thanks, Logan.”

"Anytime, darlin’," Logan murmured, holding you close. "But maybe give me a heads-up next time before you tear into someone. I’d like a front-row seat. In fact," he paused as his hands slid under your knees, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, "I think I’d like a demonstration."

You blinked up at him, your cheeks flushing instantly. "Logan—"

"Don’t start," he teased, his grin widening as he kicked the door closed behind him. "You’ve got me all worked up, Y/N. Not every day I see you take charge like that. Hell, I’m half tempted to leave my boots out again just to see what happens."

You squirmed in his arms, though not enough to make him let go. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, you married me," he shot back, smirking. "What’s that say about you?"

"That I make questionable decisions," you quipped, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Logan carried you into the bedroom, setting you down on the edge of the bed with a deliberate slowness that made your pulse quicken. He crouched in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees as his gaze met yours, warm and teasing.

"Questionable, huh?" His voice dropped slightly, the rough edge of it curling around the words. "Guess we better make somethin’ about it that’s real certain."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing as his hands slid up your thighs. "Logan..."

He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss that started slow and deepened quickly, his hand slipping behind your neck to pull you closer. When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your glasses slightly askew.

"You keep kissin’ me like that, and we’re never going to get anything done," you murmured, your voice softer now.

Logan smirked, reaching up to adjust your glasses with an exaggerated care that made you roll your eyes. "Who says we’re not gettin’ somethin’ done? We got work to do, darlin’."

"Work," you echoed, half-laughing. "That’s one way to put it."

He stood, pulling you to your feet with him, his hands warm and steady against your hips. "You’ve been stressin’ over all this, Y/N. We’re in this together, yeah? You and me. No matter how long it takes."

You nodded, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. "I know. I just... I don’t want to let you down."

Logan’s expression softened, and he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "You could never let me down. Got it?"

"Got it," you whispered, leaning into his touch.

"Good." He grinned then, a wicked glint in his eye as he pulled you closer. "Now, how ‘bout that demonstration?"

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, slower this time, his hands slipping to the small of your back. You melted against him, letting his warmth and steady presence ground you. Whatever came next, you knew you were in this together.

---

Kitty poked her head into your classroom, right now it was in between periods, students trickling in and out of classrooms. “Hey! I wanted to ask you ‘bout that article you recommended…”

You hummed, an ice pack pressed against the back of your neck. “Yeah? What about it?”

Kitty stepped further into the room, her usual bounce tempered by curiosity. “So, I read that article you told me about—the one on quantum superposition and neural networks? It was fascinating, but I got stuck on the part about entanglement thresholds. Like, how do you measure that without collapsing the system?”

You smiled despite the warmth blooming uncomfortably along your collarbone. “Good question. It’s tricky because you’re working with systems that are inherently unstable. The key is minimizing external interference—usually through isolated environments and precise calculations. I could lend you a book that explains it better.”

Kitty nodded enthusiastically. “That’d be awesome! I’m trying to connect it to this idea I had about alternate timelines—like, how they intersect and... hey, are you okay?”

Her sudden shift in tone made you blink. “What?”

“You look kind of flushed,” Kitty said, tilting her head. “And you’ve got an ice pack. Are you sick?”

You waved a hand, brushing off her concern. “I’m fine. Just a hot flash.”

Kitty’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Ohhh. Is it... you know... related to the Clomid?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks heat even more—not from the hormones this time. “Yeah. Side effects are no joke.”

Kitty frowned sympathetically. “That sucks. Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you’ve invented air-conditioning I can carry in my pocket,” you joked lightly. “But thanks, Kitty. I appreciate it.”

She smiled, though her eyes were still tinged with concern. “Anytime. And hey, if you need a distraction, I’m always up for more physics talk.”

“Noted,” you said, smiling back. “Now, get out of here before you’re late to your next session.”

Kitty grinned and backed toward the door. “Alright, alright. But seriously—take it easy, Y/N.”

As she left, you leaned back in your chair, letting the ice pack cool your neck. The day felt like it was stretching on forever.

---

Later that afternoon, you were walking down the hallway, carrying a stack of freshly graded papers for your advanced physics students. Logan’s heavy footsteps caught your attention before you saw him, and you weren’t surprised when he appeared at your side, his usual scowl softening the moment he looked at you.

“Here.” He reached out and took the stack of papers from your hands without waiting for permission.

You gave him a small smile. “I can handle it, Logan.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, his tone gruff but affectionate. “Doesn’t mean you gotta.”

Before you could respond, he pulled something from his jacket pocket—a small, folding hand fan. With a flick of his wrist, he opened it and started fanning you as you walked.

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. “Logan. What are you doing?”

“Coolin’ you down,” he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Where did you even get that?”

“Picked it up from Jubilee,” he said with a smirk. “She’s got a stash of these things. Said they’re ‘aesthetic.’ Whatever the hell that means.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “Logan, I’m fine. You don’t have to—”

“Don’t start,” he interrupted, fanning you with slow, deliberate strokes. “You’re dealin’ with enough. Let me help.”

Further down the hall, Bobby and Rogue were leaning against a locker, their conversation trailing off as they watched the scene unfold.

“Is... is he fanning her?” Bobby asked, his tone equal parts disbelief and amusement.

“Looks like it,” Rogue said, her Southern drawl soft with surprise. “That’s... kinda sweet, actually.”

“Sweet?” Bobby snorted. “It’s Logan. The guy who growls at people for breathing too loud. And now he’s walking around with a fan like he’s auditioning for Pride and Prejudice.”

“Maybe he’s just different with her,” Rogue suggested, her gaze lingering on the way Logan’s expression softened as he looked at you.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

“Just... softer,” Rogue said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

---

By the time you reached your classroom, the fan had done its job, and you felt marginally less like you were melting. Logan set the papers on your desk and tucked the fan back into his jacket.

“Thanks,” you said softly, adjusting your glasses as you looked up at him.

Logan shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched in a way that told you he was pleased. “Anytime, darlin’.”

As he turned to leave, he paused in the doorway, glancing back at you. “Oh, and don’t forget—peppermints are in my other pocket if you need ‘em. For the nausea.”

You felt your heart swell at the gesture, even as you shook your head in exasperation. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Damn right I do,” he said with a smirk before disappearing down the hall.

You sighed, a soft smile lingering on your lips as you turned back to your work. Whatever challenges this journey threw your way, Logan’s steady presence made every step feel a little lighter.

---

You didn’t train much, your powers weren’t exactly something you could easily fight with. So while you occasionally participated in the Danger Room sessions you rarely hit the gym.

But in all your research, exercise is supposed to help with your fertility. Which is why you started training with Ororo rather than Logan—after last time that was never happening again.

You adjusted your glasses as you pushed open the heavy door to the gym. The faint clang of metal weights and the low murmur of conversation met your ears. You weren’t here to train, of course—you were looking for Jean, who’d promised to help you reorganize some of the chaos in your physics lab. She’d mentioned something about hitting the gym with Scott earlier, so it was your best bet for tracking her down.

Your plan to slip in and out unnoticed, however, derailed the moment you spotted Logan. He was leaning against the boxing ring ropes, wiping sweat from his brow after what looked like an intense sparring session with Scott, who was already halfway out the door. Logan glanced up, his sharp gaze locking onto you before his lips quirked into that familiar smirk.

“Look who’s wandered into enemy territory,” he teased, straightening up.

“I’m not here for this,” you said quickly, waving your hand at the gym in general. “I’m just looking for Jean.”

Logan grabbed a towel from the corner and draped it over his neck, taking slow steps toward you. “Jean left about ten minutes ago. You missed her.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Of course, she did. That’s my luck today.”

“Well, since you’re here,” he said, his tone shifting, “why don’t you step in the ring with me for a bit?”

You blinked at him, startled. “Logan, we’ve been over this. Last time I ‘trained’ with you, you nearly broke my wrist.”

“That was a love tap, and you know it.” His smirk widened, but his eyes softened in a way that made your heart flip. “Come on. Humor me, darlin’. It’s not every day you wander in here.”

You hesitated, glancing around. “Logan, I’m not exactly dressed for—”

“You don’t need to be dressed for anything fancy. Just step in the ring and show me what you’ve been learning with ‘Ro,” he interrupted, gesturing toward the ropes.

Your head tilted in confusion. “You… know I’ve been training with Ororo?”

He crossed his arms. “Course I do. I ain’t blind, sweetheart. I’ve been lettin’ you do your thing, but I’m curious now. So, get up here and show me.”

There was no talking him out of it—you knew that look all too well. With a sigh, you handed off your things to a nearby bench and climbed into the ring. Logan watched, waiting patiently as you faced him.

“I haven’t been learning much,” you admitted. “Mostly just stuff to keep me… in shape.”

“That so?” He took a step closer. “Guess I’ll be the judge of that. Come at me.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

With a resigned sigh, you brought your hands up, recalling the basic stance Ororo had drilled into you. Logan’s brow quirked approvingly.

“Not bad,” he said. “Now throw a punch.”

You hesitated, then jabbed toward him. He deflected it easily, nodding for you to try again. The first few attempts felt clumsy, but his corrections were patient, guiding you through the motions until you gained a rhythm.

“Alright, not bad at all,” he said after a few minutes. “Now let’s add some flair. Show me somethin’ you’ve picked up from Ororo.”

You inhaled deeply, your nerves threatening to surface. “Okay, but… you asked for this.”

With that, you stepped back slightly, feinted a jab, and then leaped toward him. Your legs hooked around his neck, and with a sudden twist, you executed a move Ororo had shown you in one of your sessions. Logan’s body slammed to the mat, your weight holding him down as your thighs pinned him firmly.

For a long moment, there was silence, save for your panting breaths. Your arms braced against the floor for balance as your legs stayed locked around his neck. Logan’s hands instinctively came up to grip your calves, his calloused palms firm but cautious, as though testing if the moment was real.

“Where the hell did you learn that?” Logan’s voice was hoarse, slightly winded, though his lips curved into an almost feral grin.

“Ororo,” you answered, surprised at your own breathlessness. “She said… it’s a last-resort thing.”

Logan laughed, a rich sound that sent heat to your cheeks. His grip shifted slightly, his thumb brushing your skin in a way that made you hyperaware of the position you were in. “Not bad for someone who claims she doesn’t know much.”

Your cheeks flamed, and your confidence faltered. “I—I wasn’t trying to—”

“Don’t backpedal now,” Logan interrupted, his grin widening. “This is somethin’ else.”

You stared at him, your glasses sliding slightly down your nose, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. His hands remained on your legs, his touch warm and grounding, and it occurred to you just how close you were.

“Uh, should I… let you up now?” you asked awkwardly.

“Probably,” Logan said, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. He made no immediate effort to move, and for a moment longer, the tension thickened.

Finally, you unlocked your legs and scrambled off him, adjusting your glasses with a nervous laugh. Logan got to his feet with his usual grace, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Y’know,” he drawled, “next time, don’t wait so long to show me somethin’ like that. Hell of a way to knock me on my ass.”

You rolled your eyes, your shyness kicking back in full force. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t expect it to happen again.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he said, his tone playful but his eyes watching you with unmistakable fondness.

and that is 2006!

i wanted to give a little clarity about reader's trouble conceiving. i actually briefly hinted to it in with you i'm free. i know there are a lot of women who have trouble conceiving because of various issues.

anyways, i'm not going to specify what 'condition' reader has or why she's having trouble because i want people to be able to insert themselves in her shoes, whether they have something like endometriosis, pcos, something else, or nothing at all!

as someone who has a lot of medical issues myself, one medical problem i have would make me a high-risk pregnancy. though i am not worried in the slightest because i'm 20, never dated, and the thought of children makes my skin crawl.

sorry for the rant, just thought i'd share why i'm writing this the way i am :)

[junhanism]

Emergency contact - Han Taesan

pairing. han taesan x gn!reader

genre. fluff, badboy!taesan ? (he gets into fights and reader treats his wounds), friends to lovers, tiny bit of angst?

warnings. just a TINY BIT of blood (obv), probably some typos and/or grammatical errors i wrote this at 1am

NOTE : inspired by the song ‘Emergency contact’ by PTV and this fic (hope its not too similar tho 😓)

wc. 1.7k

Your phone lit up with a small ‘ding’, tearing your attention away from your study cards you desperately needed a break from.

You touched the screen before it could go black again and checked what the notification was ; it was a text. Your eyes traveled up, checking the time : 23:57.

who would text you this late in the evening?

The contact name read ‘Taesan’.

of course, it could only be him and you knew exactly what the text was about without even having to read it.

Your fingers hurriedly swiped up and entered your passcode, opening the message app and landing on Taesan’s text : ‘can i come over ?’

You let out a sigh as you type a ‘everything’s ready’, getting up from your chair before you could even hit the send button.

After answering his text you let go of your phone and immediately made your way to your small bathroom, looking through your drawers for some bandaids and ointment that could sooth his bruises. You stored them all in the same drawer since this has become a daily occurrence now ; Taesan showing up at your door late at night, knuckles bruised and face tattooed with dried blood and hues of purple and blue.

You then went into the kitchen and took out a small bag of ice from your freezer that you bought especially for his late nights visits.

You made your way back into the living room just in time to hear faint knocks against your wooden door, indicating that he was here.

As you opened your door, your hands immediately made their way to his face, examining every centimeters of it.

He had two big cuts adorning his cheekbones just below his right eye and a bruise in the corner of his lips as well as a small cut on it. His usual confident and composed demeanor was replaced by exhaustion and noticeable pain as soon as he stepped inside your place.

It was always the same ; he tried his best not to let his facade crack and not show any sign of pain but you knew him better than anyone to know that he was hurting.

Your eyes fell on his bruised knuckles as you grabbed his wrist to pull him inside of your appartement, directing him to the living room.

You sat him down on your couch and without a word you stood in front of him and started dabbing a wet cloth on his cuts, getting rid of the dried blood around them. It was almost automatic now.

Taesan hissed slightly at the contact but let you do it nonetheless, he knew better than to stop you.

As you applied the ointment on his face Taesan searched for your eyes. The way you were silently treating his wounds was unusual and the silence felt almost suffocating to him.

You would usually scold him for getting into another fight, tell him how worried you got everytime, but this time you didn’t utter a single word. And that somehow stressed him out.

“Im sorry you have to do this so often” he spoke, cutting through the silence.

You momentarily stopped your movements, slightly taken aback by the sudden confession but kept on applying the creme on his skin.

“its okay,” you say as you hand him the ice pack “someone has to do it” you smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes and he didn’t fail to catch on that detail.

But Taesan was not convinced by your answer and you knew it.

He squinted his eyes at you as he pressed the ice against the bruise on his lip.

“Scold me”

“what ?” you ask, letting out confused chuckle as you carefully applied a bandaid on his cuts. A beat passed without him answering and you started to put away all the medical supplies but you could feel Taesan eyeing your every movement —which made you heart beat abnormally fast but you tried your best to not let it show.

You looked up at him and met his eyes that were already waiting for yours. They were filled with confusion and a hint of something you couldn’t quite decipher.

“You always scold me for getting into fights, why don’t you scold me tonight?” he asked, sounding almost offended by your behavior.

You let out a small laugh at that, taking a sit next to him and grabbing the ice pack from his hand. “Because no matter how many times i scold you it doesn’t stop you from getting into fights ‘san” you took a hold of his hand and pressed the ice against his red knuckles “i know it’s useless” you finished.

He didn’t answer, he knew you were right.

His eyes were fixated on your hand holding his and the way you carefully applied the ice on his bruises.

“Can i stay the night?” he looked at you

“Of course you can, Taesan”

You met his eyes and a soft smile made its way to his lips, gaze filled with something you would assume to be gratefulness “Thank you Y/n”

You gathered everything you used to treat him and went to the bathroom, putting the supplies back in their respective drawers.

As you made your way back to the room you found the boy sprawled out on your bed, making himself comfortable. You were not surprised given the amount of times this very situation happened in the past— this kind of evening happens at least once a week.

Taesan patted the space next to him, indicating you to join him on the bed. This action, as mundane as it was, never failed to wake the butterflies in your stomach, wondering if this is how dating Taesan would be like.

You turned off your desk lamp and climbed on the one-person-sized bed, squeezing yourself as best as you could to prevent falling off, but sharing your bed with him happened often and not once did you wake up on the floor as his hand would always coincidently find its way to your waist in the middle of the night.

You comfortably lied down next to him and silence took over, both of you starring at the dark ceiling, lost in thoughts

Just as your eyes started to close Taesan broke the silence ; “Thank you”

You turned your head in his direction, confused.

“You already thanked me Taesan” you chuckled

“No i didn’t,” he turned his head to you, meeting your eyes.

You faces were so close to one another your noses were almost touching “not for everything.”

Your breath hitched at the sudden closeness and you could just hope he didn’t hear it.

“what do you mean ?” you quietly ask

“You’ve been taking care of me for the past years but i never properly thanked you,” he started “and i feel sorry everytime. I know im disappointing and burdening you but i come back to your door every time”

“why though ?”

“I don’t know,” he turned his head back to ceiling, giving you a perfect view of his side profile. “you might or might not be my emergency contact” he licked his lips in slight embarrassment.

You were surprised by his statement. Why would he choose you out of everyone to be his emergency contact ? Aside from treating his wounds late at night you were not sure if you’ve ever been of much help in case of emergency.

“Me? Why?”

The boy turned his head back to you, looking at you as if the answer to that question was obvious.

He let out a sigh, realizing that he’ll have to explain himself more for you to get his point.

“I guess… i feel safe with you. I don’t feel ashamed or judged about getting into fights,” he said, gaze flickering down to your lips for just a millisecond before starting again “you’re the only person who’s ever been worried about me, everyone else just gave up, saying im hopeless”

You stayed silent at that, what were you supposed to say ? ‘The reason im so worried is because im so in love with you and this ever since the first time you came bloody, knocking on my door’ ?? That wouldn’t work.

Instead your hand traveled down to his, softly brushing against it, testing the waters.

Taesan got the message and grabbed your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“You know,” he spoke after a while “i actually considered stopping, for you” he brought your intertwined hands to his lips, hovering them against the back of your hand.

“But then i realized that if i stopped i wouldn’t get to see you every nights” he planted a peck on your skin.

Your eyes widened — was it from his action or the truth he just spoke out, you were not sure but Taesan could see from your expression that the scolding he was waiting for was about to spill.

“Are you out of your mind ?” you loudly asked, a contrast from the previous, quiet conversation. “Getting into fights just to see me ? Putting your life on the line when you could just text to come over ? Taesan what if you would’ve gotten badly hurt ? Something i couldn’t treat ? Worse, what if y-“

You were so caught up in you rant that you failed to see the amused smile that took place on his face, failed to see the way his face got closer to yours, only realizing when his lips pressed softly against yours, shutting you up.

It took a few seconds for you to kiss him back, to realize that it was actually happening and that it wasn’t just another fantasy of yours.

He let go of your hand to hold your jaw gently, deepening the kiss.

After a while of your lips moving in sync, Taesan broke the kiss, keeping his face just far enough to look you in the eyes. A soft smile formed on his lips upon seeing the flustered look on your face— and he thanked god it was dark or else you would have seen the way his own face changed colors to a deep red.

“promise me that you’ll stop getting into fights”

“I’ll try” he teased

You gave him stern look to which he just chuckled.

“I promise. I have no reason to anymore”

You smiled at this and he leaned in to peck your lips, sealing the promise.

That night, his hand didn’t coincidentally land of your waist and the bed didn’t feel too small to fit two people anymore.

j𖤐y.

likes and reposts are appreciated !

[supernova2205]

Hearts and Ammo

Medic x 141

Summary: After a painful breakup, Specter struggles with her emotions as her team the 141 take it upon themselves to bring her comfort. Through a series of cheesy pick-up lines and thoughtful gestures, they remind her that love and laughter can heal even the deepest wounds. As Valentine’s Day approaches they all remind her that family is the cure to a broken heart.

Specter had been in the field for years, known by her team as the silent guardian who always had their backs. She had learned how to move through the chaos of warzones, appearing only when needed, a steady presence in the most chaotic of circumstances. But even a field medic like Specter needed time to heal after emotional wounds.

A week ago, she’d been heartbroken after her breakup. It had been a quiet, brutal thing, not loud, not dramatic, but it left a sting that felt deep. Her teammates, the 141, had noticed the change in her mood. It was subtle at first, but over time, it was clear that Specter wasn’t her usual self. She was distant, quieter than usual, and the sparkle that had once been in her eyes seemed dimmed. The heartbreak was something that couldn’t be fixed with bandages or quick fixes. It was something only time could soothe.

The first to take action was Johnny, always quick to try and lighten the mood. It was a part of him that Specter always admired. Johnny was the one who often joked around, keeping things light even in the most dire of circumstances. He had his quirks, his bad jokes, and his tendency to tease, but in that moment, he became something more.

He knocked on Specter’s door late one evening, knowing she’d likely be alone in her room, nursing the wound that was deeper than any physical one she’d ever treated. He opened the door to find her sitting by the window, staring out at the moon, the sadness in her posture undeniable.

“Hey, Specter,” Johnny said softly, his voice gentle despite the usual playful tone. “Thought you could use a little distraction. Got something for you.”

Specter raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak, her eyes not leaving the moonlit horizon. Johnny stood there for a moment, his fingers fumbling with something behind his back.

“Knock, knock,” Johnny finally said, his playful grin apparent even in the silence. “Who’s there? Lettuce.”

Specter’s lips twitched, the first sign of amusement she’d shown in days.

“Lettuce who?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Lettuce in, it’s cold out here!” Johnny finished, laughing at his own terrible joke.

Despite herself, Specter let out a small laugh. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed his stupid jokes. It was a soft thing, but it was enough to make her heartache ease for just a moment.

For the next few days, each member of the 141 took their turn to bring Specter a little light, with each of them doing it in their own way. Gaz was next, sitting with her in the rec room, offering her some of his tea and asking about her day, carefully dodging any talk of the breakup. Instead, he gave her a terrible Valentine’s pickup line, as if it was just part of the job.

“You must be made of copper and tellurium, ‘cause you’re Cu-Te,” Gaz said, trying to stifle a grin as Specter looked at him in mock disbelief.

“Really?” Specter asked, fighting a smirk. “That’s what you’ve got for me?”

Gaz shrugged, raising his hands in defeat. “What can I say? It’s a classic.”

That moment of laughter didn’t fix everything, but it was a reminder of the family she had in the 141. Still, it was Price’s turn the following day to test out his own skills with bad humor. But the man was as serious as they came, and his approach was much more blunt. He handed her a small box, which contained an old leather-bound notebook.

“I thought you might want to write about something else for once,” Price said quietly. “Maybe it helps take the edge off.”

Specter opened it to find a simple message inside. “Sometimes, healing takes more than a medic. It takes a friend.” It was enough to make her throat tighten, and she found herself staring at the message for longer than she intended. Price’s words felt like a lifeline, one she didn’t know she needed until it was handed to her.

But then came Ghost’s turn. The quiet, stoic figure who, despite his stone-cold exterior, always seemed to know when to be there. He entered her room wordlessly and placed a small gift on her bed before sitting beside her without saying a word.

“You’ve been through a lot, Specter,” Ghost said after a long pause. “You’ve earned your rest. Take a moment. We’ve got your back. Always.”

It wasn’t the usual heavy-handed comfort she was used to from him. It wasn’t an attempt to fix things, but more like an unspoken promise that they weren’t going anywhere. They understood. They were family.

And then came Valentine’s Day, the culmination of the week of bad jokes and small, thoughtful gestures. The team had quietly arranged a small dinner, just the five of them, in a makeshift dining area in the compound. The table was set with candles, a touch of romance in the air despite their usual battlefield surroundings. Small bouquets of roses decorated the room, each with a little note from one of the men. The food was simple, but the love they had for Specter was evident in the way they set the scene.

Johnny grinned first, breaking the silence.

“Alright, alright, here goes. I’ve got a good one for you this time,” he said, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.”

Specter rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the laugh that followed. Gaz and Price exchanged looks, and then it was Price’s turn.

“I might not be a photographer,” Price said slowly, “but I can definitely picture us together.”

Specter chuckled, shaking her head. The tension from the past week seemed to lift with each joke, each act of kindness.

Gaz leaned in next. “Are you a parking ticket? ‘Cause you’ve got ‘fine’ written all over you.”

By the time Ghost spoke, his voice was as smooth and quiet as ever. “Do you have a map? ‘Cause I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Specter looked at each of them, her heart lighter than it had been in days. They had been her family before all of this, and they continued to be, now more than ever. The small gestures, the jokes, the moments of quiet understanding it wasn’t about fixing her heartbreak, it was about reminding her that she wasn’t alone. In the midst of their lighthearted teasing and Valentine’s Day jokes, Specter realized that she had everything she needed right there her team, her family.

The evening continued, the laughter filling the room as they shared a meal and lighthearted moments. The men took turns telling corny pickup lines, each more ridiculous than the last, until they were all in fits of laughter.

Specter found herself relaxing, something she hadn’t done in what felt like ages. She wasn’t sure how they did it, but with each bad joke, each thoughtful gesture, they had managed to pull her out of the pit of her own sadness.

As the night wore on, Specter’s heart felt a little less heavy. It was still tender, still raw, but the bond she shared with her team, with her family, was something that couldn’t be broken. She was grateful for them, for this strange, makeshift celebration of love and camaraderie, a reminder that, no matter what, they had her back.

Valentine’s Day had been a reminder that love didn’t have to come in the form of grand gestures. It could be found in the simplest moments in bad pickup lines, shared laughter, and knowing that, no matter how much life hurt, you weren’t alone.

Authors note: Hey everyone! I really hope you enjoyed this little Valentine’s-themed fic I put together for you my lovely readers. I just wanted to share something special and sweet! Sending lots of love your way HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!!!🫶🏼

[thezombieprostitute]

Nurse Heartthrob

Summary: Your son is in the hospital and his nurse makes sure to take care of him and you.

Warnings: Ex-boyfriend angst, Hospital setting, Sick child. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Word Count: ~2.5k

As always, many thanks to @bigtreefest for her help with the medical stuff!

It's a phone call no parent ever wants to get. Your son, Val, had passed out on the playground and they were rushing him to the hospital. You let your boss know what was happening and drove out to the emergency room where the school said they'd sent him. Dr. Rogers was very reassuring about everything but insisted Val get admitted to pediatrics.

Given your son's medical history you were quick to agree. Val had been diagnosed with Long QT Syndrome just a few months after he was born. That was, apparently, the final straw for your ex-boyfriend, claiming he couldn't handle the responsibility of taking care of a sick child. Never mind that having a kid was his idea to begin with. Never mind that you'd already been doing most of the work. He left the two of you and, last you'd heard, he'd been hitting up younger women at the same bar where he'd met you.

For now, though, you had to focus on your son. The pediatrics nurse, Jake, was incredible. He had Val smiling and feeling at ease in minutes while also putting you at ease with his competency. Watching your baby getting IVs, shots, blood draws never got easier but, thankfully, Jake was proficient and you know Val's not hurting more needed. The doctor comes in, asking the usual questions. You always keep a folder of Val's medical history, always updating it with each appointment.

She looks over everything and finally says, "I agree Val should stay in the hospital for a bit but we don't have room in pediatrics. Thankfully there are a few open beds in cardiology and that'll make it easier to get Val the tests he needs."

You nod in understanding and the doctor gives Jake the go-ahead.

As he starts prepping the bed to move you ask, "how long do you think until someone takes us to cardiology?"

"I'm taking you now," he smiles.

"Aren't..aren't there designated nurses? Techs? Who move the beds between departments?"

"Normally, yes," Jake nods. "But my wife works in cardiology so they let me escort patients there so I can get a few minutes with her."

"That's sweet," Val pipes up. His voice is tired, weak, and it breaks your heart.

"It really is," you agree. You stuff down the jealousy you feel. It's clear Jake loves his wife and you really wish you had that for yourself.

Jake makes conversation easy throughout the walk. Val tells him about his latest Lego creation and he gets almost cartoonishly animated, making you and Val smile.

You know you've reached the cardiology wing when Jake stands up and waves, "Dr. Wifey! Over here!"

One of the doctors stops what she's doing, her face beaming with happiness, and walks over.

Following her is one of the biggest nurses you've ever seen. He's got a buzz cut, a slight beard, and eyes that look like a clear blue sky in winter. But his build, the tattoo covered arms especially, is making your own heart flutter.

"Dr. Wifey" introduces herself to you with her actual name, though you're certain you'll always think of her as "Dr. Wifey." She asks the nurse, Curtis, to take over pushing the bed so Jake can get back to pediatrics. While she looks at Jake affectionately, get actions and tone are professional, for which you're grateful. As cute as they are together, you can only stomach so much sweetness. Less so during times like this.

You get the impression that Curtis feels the same with how he rolls his eyes a little. He smiles at you and Val, introducing himself before taking over moving the bed. He and Jake banter a little and you're not sure if they're actually friends, if they're trying to make things easier for you and Val, or both. You hope it's both.

"Okay, Jake, we've gotta get Val to his room and you gotta get back to work," Dr. Wifey says with a kiss.

"Later, Nurse Puppy," Curtis waves as he starts moving the bed.

"See ya, Nurse Heartthrob," Jake returns as he starts walking back.

While Val is giggling at the banter you see Curtis turn pink, making you not ask about the nickname. Truth be told, the way your own heart reacted to him, you're pretty sure you already know the source.

Along the way Dr. Wifey is looking over Val's chart and praising your detailed, organized folder. Her questions are so much more relevant than some of Val's other appointments. You don't have to repeat information and her follow up questions show she's actually listening. It's a nice change of pace from the doctors who never seem to believe anything you tell them.

She asks some questions directly to Val about what he was doing right before he passed out. He shakes his head and says he was just sitting around at recess. You sense there's something he's not saying and encourage him to tell the whole truth, that he's safe.

"How about we start you off with a nap?" Dr. Wifey suggests. "You've had a long, scary day and could probably use the rest."

"Yes, please," Val pouts.

"Okay," you nod. "You get some rest and I'll run home and get our hospital bags, okay? The ones with Legos?"

"Thanks, Mom," Val smiles. You smile back and say a quick goodbye before heading out.

As soon as you're out of hearing range, Curtis turns to Val, "so what were you really doing? Get into a fight with some of the other kids or something?"

Val hesitates and Dr. Wifey adds, "patient doctor confidentiality, Val. Anything you tell me is just between us."

"I tried playing kickball," he confesses. "I know I'm not supposed to. That I have be careful with my heart. But it looked like fun!"

Curtis feels his heart wrench at that. He just wants to be a kid, but because of some inherited disorder, he can't even run around.

"Why didn't you want to say anything in front of your mother?" Dr. Wifey follows up.

"Because I don't want her to get upset."

"Upset?" Curtis raises an eyebrow, immediately on guard for something horrible.

"She cries so much," Val tells whispers. "Sometimes, when she thinks I'm asleep, I'll hear her crying about wishing she could give me a normal life. I don't want her crying because I tried to play."

Curtis fights to keep himself under control. If the kickball comment wrenched his heart, this was a punch to the gut.

"She sounds like a good mom," Dr. Wifey chimes in. Curtis recognizes the emotion in her voice. Val only nods in response.

"She said the hospital bag included Legos?" Curtis chimes in.

"Yeah," Val smiles softly. "They're fun and...and normal. They help me play while not hurting my heart."

"They're definitely fun," Curtis agrees. "When you get them, can I play with them a little? I could use the diversion during my shift."

Val's smile widens, "yeah. That sounds good."

As you park in the hospital parking lot for the second time that day, you take a minute to steady yourself. You know the nap suggestion was a ploy so they could ask Val questions without having you answer for him. Normally they wait until they start doing tests but Val probably could use the rest. Maybe it was so the doctor could get some more time to look over Val's history and not duplicate any needless tests. You only hope Val finally told them something so they can take care of him properly. It's killing you that Val thinks he needs to keep secrets from you, but you suppose it's part of what happens as kids get older.

You'd been so distracted on your way last time you'd forgotten to make note of the directions to Val's bed, so you stopped at the Nurses' Station.

"Oh, Val's your kid!" Teresa, the nurse, comments. "He's such a sweetie!"

"Thank you," you smile.

"He and Nurse Heartthrob have become fast friends, too."

"Nurse Heartthrob?" Though you'd heard the nickname before, you thought it was between Curtis and Jake.

"We call him that because his appearance always makes the patients' heart rates spike," she chuckles. "He's quite the looker. Have you seen those arms?"

"I have," you half smile. "Trying not to, though. Guy that looks like him has to have a partner or something already."

She sighs, "I know. As far as we can tell he's single, but no one knows for certain. He just says he doesn't date coworkers which, honestly, don't blame him. A few girls were tempted to switch to other parts of the hospital."

That makes you chuckle. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one who's got trouble getting a date with a hottie."

"As much as I'm enjoying the compliments," Curtis's voice interrupts you, "how about I lead you to Val's room?"

Teresa's eyes widen almost as much as yours. You cough from surprise, your face heated with embarrassment. Who knew such a large man could move so quietly? Or maybe you're just that tired.

When you get your bearings you turn to Curtis, "yes, please. Thank you." When you're far enough away from the Nurses' Station you apologize. "I'm sorry about that conversation. I...should have been more respectful."

Curtis shakes his head, "not the first time I've heard something like it. Probably won't be the last."

"Still, I feel like I should be past the whole high school thing."

"Lotta people should be but aren't. You get used to it, especially in a hospital."

"I suppose people who work your kind of job do need whatever outlets they can get."

Curtis nods. "For a lot of nurses it's the gossip, the trash tv. Other times it's meditation or yoga. Stuff you don't have to think about. Lets you keep your mental energy for the patients."

"Can I ask what your outlet is?"

"Only if I can ask you a question about you and Val."

"Sure."

Curtis stops walking and leans in, conspiratorially. "My outlet is junk food. It means I have to spend a ton of time in the gym, but I'm addicted to those thousand-plus-calorie snacks and fast food. It's food I don't have to cook, don't have to worry about clean up, and it gives me the energy I need for the day."

"I can relate," you nod, smiling. "With Val's health we always have to be careful with what we eat but sometimes I'll treat myself to something on my way to work."

Curtis smiles and you feel your heart speed up. "I'm glad you treat yourself from time to time. From what Val's told us, you work really hard to take care of him."

Your smile drops, "he's my world. Such a good kid who never asked for any of this."

"But that also leads me to my question, what's the story behind Val's...Y chromosome contributor?"

"I gotta remember that one," you snort. "Last I heard, the contributor is at a bar he's way too old for hitting on women who are way too young. He swore up and down that having a kid would be great for us, that it was his life's dream to have a child. Then, when Val was diagnosed, he bailed saying he couldn't handle the pressure or something."

"Well that's bullshit," Curtis scoffs. "How much did you tell Val?"

"I told Val his 'dad' is a liar who doesn't deserve us. That he lied about being faithful to the two of us. It's enough of the truth without Val needing to worry about his health being the reason he doesn't have a dad like so many other kids."

"Your secret is safe with me," Curtis says in such a way that you believe him.

"Thank you."

"By the way, you have two hospital bags for Val? Is one of them just for his toys or something?"

"One of them is for me," you explain. "I still need to work, but I can spend all my non-work time here with him. Got myself some toiletries, a phone charger for my books, a couple changes of clothing, all that."

Curtis just nods, silently wishing more patients had someone willing to stick around for them.

When you get to Val's bed he's sleeping soundly. You're careful to get things settled so that you don't wake him. You put his latest Lego creation on the patient table so he can see it when he wakes up. You called his school while you were getting the bags and they promised to have materials for you so you can keep up his lessons.

Throughout the week, every time Curtis arrives to work, he makes sure to get you a coffee. He says it's the free stuff from the break room. You have no idea he's buying you the better stuff from the cafe and pouring it into one of the generic cups from the coffee dispenser. Some of his coworkers give him questioning looks but he pretends he doesn't see; he's not entirely sure why he's doing it either.

Sometimes when you get to the hospital after work, you'll catch Curtis and Val playing with his Legos. It warms your heart to see Val smile and laugh so much. Even when he sleeps, he's smiling. It makes you wonder if you should try getting back into dating, giving Val someone else who cares for him. Giving yourself someone who cares for you. You're not sure anyone could compare to Curtis, but that's not really a fair comparison to begin with. It's his job to be caring and supporting. To check in on you and Val. Besides, someone like him can do much better than a single mother with a sick kid.

The morning before Val gets released to go home, you go for a drive to the nearest McDonald's and order some of the worst sounding foods you see.

Back at the hospital, you spot Curtis and hand him the bag. "Just a small thank you for taking care of me and Val so much."

Curtis feels his mouth watering at the smell of the food. It's such a big bag, too! He smiles, "any time. And, uh, if it's not too forward, can I give you my number? In case you or Val need some help?"

Your eyes soften and Curtis feels his heart lurch, worried he overstepped. "I can't ask that of you, Curtis. You have such a taxing job already. You don't need to work outside of the hospital, too."

"I wouldn't consider it work," he tells you. "I'd consider it...getting to know someone better? Someone I'm...I'm interested in getting to know better?"

"Oh? Oh!" you exclaim as your eyes widen. "You...you really mean that?"

His eyes soften as he smiles. "Yeah, I mean it."

"Thank you, Curtis. I'm looking forward to calling you."

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @kmc1989; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[angelsfuzzyslippers]

Stolas, kink, and violence

This is something I've been thinking about while both having an appreciation for the nature of Stolitz's past kinky relationship and anticipating/hoping for a trend of Stolas getting more hands-on with defending himself and working alongside IMP in future seasons: I really really like that Blitz became something of a safe space for Stolas to experience pain and violence.

Like, this is a guy who's been a victim of physical abuse for a long portion of his life and who is very much feeling the impacts of that abuse on his pysche and his ability to handle conflict. Stolas clearly demonstrates on multiple occasions that he is generally uncomfortable with violent confrontation/conflict (disliking the human sacrifice/refusing to stab the cake in Apology Tour, being horrified by M&M's behavior in Sinsmas, and even the fact that he chose to intimidate the agents in Truth Seekers rather than kill them outright is a sign of this, I think). Of course, push him far enough and he will turn to violence (Andy is very punchable), but in general he has a distaste for it, particularly with respect to interpersonal relationships, that very likely stems from his trauma. So the fact that he's not only willing but excited to indulge in extreme levels of pain play with Blitz (I'll never get over fucking bear traps, my god) is very telling. Obviously, there's a whole book you could write about people processing and coping with abuse via kink that plays to elements of the abuse and I am not the person to write that book. I just wanted to take a second to really marvel at how wonderfully trusting it is of Stolas to allow that with Blitz and how amazingly Blitz must have handled it for Stolas to continually find it enjoyable. Like, as far as we know, Blitz doesn't even know about Stella's abuse - and abuse like that is a landmine-and-a-half to navigate in kink even when both partners are aware of it. So for Stolitz's kink relationship to proceed so well, when only one of them isn't in the dark about potentially triggering information - (btw Stolas, I don't blame you because I know it would've required a million different interpersonal skills that you don't have to navigate it, but it was really unsafe to not tell him at some point) -isn't just a miracle, it's a testament to how attentive of a Dom Blitz must have been (especially since Stolas absolutely gives me the vibes of the kind of sub who wants to please beyond his limits). As for what this has to do with the future, I'm very very hopeful Stolas will have a bit of a training arc, so to speak. He no longer has magic, but still very much has reasons he'll need to defend himself and as much as he enjoys the fantasy of being a damsel, I think actually being one will get old for him quickly (especially as he cares more than ever about the people who'd actually have to risk themselves to save him). Violent confrontation is something he's going to have to get relatively comfortable dealing with and participating in (and without the aid of an un-medicated mental breakdown fueling him), especially as he continues to work and associate with assassins. And who better to help him settle into that, than Blitz? The man who supported and guided him through pain and violence intimately. I could easily see a scenario where Millie is trying to teach him weapons or Moxxie is trying to instruct him on sniping and he's just viscerally uncomfortable the whole time, but the moment Blitz steps in, it eases because of that trust they've cultivated. Violence doesn't need to be flinched away from if he's facing it with Blitz. And this could easily extend to the rest of IMP as he faces more challenges with them and gains trust in them as well; likely never as much as he has with Blitz, but enough that the thought of a sparring match for fun wouldn't have him grimacing. And that's something I'd love to see. .....now as for how Blitz's own past with physical abuse and the violent nature of his life as an imp and assassin impacted his role as Stolas' Dom and shared test for extremity in the bedroom... I have no clue where to start with that one, but I know Blitz loved using those bear traps as much as Stolas did 😂😏

[changingplumbob]

Introductions: Berenice - Part 1

Ciao, welcome to Dating Deanna! I'm Devin Villareal and I will be your host. My younger sister Deanna is hoping the paradise that is Tartosa will set the stage for her to find true love. Without further ado, let's meet today's contestant.

Berenice (Burr-ra-niece) Smalls

As if being a genius wasn't enough, Berenice is also an overachiever. Valedictorian of her high school in Copperdale and captain of the championship chess team, Berenice knows what it takes to be the best.

That is, the best academically... she is a straight A student and freelance programmer after all. However this soul admits she is cringe, socially awkward and on occasion a touch paranoid.

Joey *offscreen*: All the best people are

Great, you made her faint! Well done Joey. Can I get a medic?

*ten minutes later*

Berenice is also a budding Plopsy empire builder, seeing knitting as a great outlet for her creative side. Her top seller is her "pairs" of mismatched socks, because life is too short to wear matching socks. She also likes to donate her handmade infant and toddler onesies to No Sim Left Behind.

Devin: Buongiorno Berenice. Are you feeling better now

Berenice: *squeals* YES! You're Devin Villareal! I'm actually here!

Devin: Did you apply for the show or did someone do it for you?

Berenice: Um, I applied myself! I applied for myself. Totally. And by emphasizing that, I totally look like I didn't now, don't I?

Devin: *chuckles* It's fine, you applied yourself. Does anyone know you'll be on the show?

Berenice: I don't think anyone knows, other than the Watcher, but I didn't try to keep it a secret either? I mean, apart from the Watcher… who must be watching *looks around scared*

Devin: That's why they're called the watcher after all. Now I have to ask, how are you feeling about meeting Deanna?

Berenice: Pretty good? Ish? I don't think I make a great first impression on people. I need to grow on them. Like a fungus

Devin: Delightful. Let's get you to my sister. Through the doors when you're ready. Break a leg

Berenice: Will ah... will Joey be listening?

Devin: Yes but he's going to curb his interruptions for now or he knows I'll complain to Pa and then he'll be in for it

[vidjauser-player-206]

Dae-ho x Pregnant F!Reader

Pairing: Dae-ho x F!Pregnant reader

Triggers: Squid game typical violence and death, brief mention of trafficking, mention of abusive baby daddy, Dae-ho is NOT the father, cursing

Tags: Pregnancy, fluff, 2 endings, 1 angsty ending, 1 good ending

Words: 3.2k

Read on Ao3!

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BlueSky

I have a couple more chapters planned for this, and two endings. Possibly some bonus smut after this is all finished? : ) I've been on such a hype for this fella. I love him so much.

Also happy Valentines everyone!

CHAPTER ONE

The two of you met in the games. You were approximately 8 months pregnant, so close to popping out your child, but not quite there yet. The only reason you were in these stupid games was because you were desperate. Your baby daddy ran off shortly after you had told him about the baby, around your second month of pregnancy. You weren’t too surprised, however, what did surprise you was the fact that his loan sharks started lurking around your place. You had guessed that he had gone fully into hiding, and they sought out the first person they knew he was close to. 

One of the loan sharks had pressed you against the wall, threatening to do awful things to you if you didn’t get the money by the end of the month. He stared at your belly greedily as he said it. 

After that, you feared what would truly happen when the end of the month came. You weren’t sure how you were going to afford to pay such a big debt, but also your rent and impending bills that would come with all the baby related medical appointments you needed…

You knew your baby was a girl, and you feared the worst would happen once they found that out. 

Despite not knowing what you would be getting yourself into, you still found yourself playing Ddakji in the subway station on your way to a doctor’s appointment, which you ended up skipping after getting slapped a few times by the Recruiter, who wasn’t light on the slaps despite your obvious predicament weighing your stomach down. That card you held in your hands felt like your own hope and savior, so you had called and confirmed your information. 

Being drugged in the limo was scary, and what was even scarier was the fact that you woke up in a room of what felt like a thousand people, now in different clothing. Which meant that someone undressed you. This wasn’t where you thought you would wind up. The room only had bunk beds stretched nearly to the ceiling. You never thought that they could go that high. The walls were mostly blank, other than some childlike paintings. It reminded you of a pediatric waiting room but the doctors had forgotten the colorful paint, scaring the children⁠—and you⁠—rather than making them feel welcomed. You could almost smell the foul stench of bleached floors, making your nose crinkle as you got out of your bunk. At least the person who changed you had the decency to put you on a lower bunk. 

You avoided the people who emerged from the bunks, though when you met the eyes of a couple of them, they always fell down to your stomach with a surprised expression. 

You ignored them and proceeded through a big door to a wacky set of stairways that came straight out of a surreal painting, took your photo, and ended up on a field of sand. Once again, you felt like a kid, though rather out on the playing field, ready to play sports in Physical Education. The first game was…Red Light, Green Light? That threw you off. This felt too weird to believe that you were just playing kid’s games for money…What was the catch? 

It would be a whole lot worse than you thought, and your survival was only thanks to Player 388. The number burned in the back of your mind, becoming your lucky number at that moment. 

After the first gunshot and once everyone scattered⁠—being promptly shot once they moved even an inch⁠—Player 456 called for shorter players to get behind taller ones, claiming that the robot couldn’t see things behind the players. 

“Green light!”

The man in front of you turned and grabbed you by your shoulders. 

“What the hell⁠—” You cried and slammed your fists against his shoulders, afraid he was going to pull you in front of him and use you as some sort of human shield. 

“Get behind me.” He says firmly. 

Instead, his strong arms yanked you behind him, and you got a faceful of that number you would never forget. 388. He kept one hand behind him so he could keep his hands on you while the two of you ran. You kept his shirt balled in your fist but let go when you two stopped, fearing you might knock him over. 

“Red light!”

There were only a couple of gunshots. 

With each gunshot, Player 388 trembled, and you could feel through his grip that it was hard for him to sit still when he heard the gunshots. You couldn’t blame him though, you were trembling too. The two of you remained brave, especially him— for not only carrying himself, but you and your baby too. 

You couldn’t help but admire him from behind. A hero…your hero.

In the beginning, everyone only had five minutes to make it across the finish line, now it was down to one. You swore that you weren’t going to make it. Player 388 should have left you there,but he didn’t. 

There was cramping everywhere in your abdomen and below. Your baby was protesting against all the new movements you had avoided throughout your pregnancy. You pleaded quietly for her to stop kicking your bladder. 

“Green light!”

Everyone moved forward again. 

Soon, close to the finish line, a few players behind you lurched forward after tripping, knocking you in the same direction. Player 388 dug his heels into the ground, and it was like running straight into a stone wall. Your body and stomach were pressed right into him, almost intimately. 

“Red light!” The robot’s head spun around, eyes scanning furiously. 

The players who had knocked into you all stood right as the robot’s head moved. They weren’t so lucky, and you heard the gunshots. Thank God you were behind Player 388 because your head naturally creaked to the side as you peered at the bodies that had thumped behind you. You regretted looking immediately. You realized you moved and waited for another gunshot. Though, it never came. 

After what felt like their final minute was up, the robot’s head spun back toward the tree. “Green light!” 

“Come on!” Player 388 spun around, and for a second you saw his face. You could barely register it though, unable to process details in the heat of the moment. All you knew was that he was handsome and sweaty. 

Player 388 grabbed your elbow and you grabbed another handful of his shirt, the two of you booking it. 

Running across the finish line felt like you were running in slow motion, but you felt a wave of relief when you did. You were safe. You were alive. You and your baby made it. 

Your feet caught and tangled on the man’s and the two of you went down, though your fall was cushioned by his body. It didn’t stop the twinge of pain in your abdomen, however, and you feared that the fall might be the thing that does you in, until your mind focused back onto the playing field. 

Other players either made it across the finish lines themselves or they were promptly shot and killed. Your eyes were glued on the merciless scene, and your own pains were momentarily forgotten, until you broke yourself out of the spell. 

You looked down to your body and Player 388’s, tangled together on the ground. His hand was still on your elbow, and only in that second did he lighten his grip. There might be a bruise later on, but you didn’t care. He saved your life.. 

You looked at his face. His mouth was slightly agape, giving a far-off expression, like he wasn’t there anymore. His dark hair was swept back in a sweaty ponytail but strands of his hair were falling on his forehead. You had to resist the urge to reach up and brush it out of his face. You didn’t want to spook him so you kept your hands to yourself. 

There was one last gunshot, and you saw his face flinch, taking him out of his far-away expression and he met your eyes with his dark ones. 

His grip on your arm tightens. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, his eyes casting down to your stomach for only a second. His hand moved to rest on your upper arm. “Are you both okay?”

You cradle your belly and quickly nod. “Yes, thank you. You really saved my ass out there. I thought it was all a game, until…” You couldn’t say it out loud. Instead, you brought your hand to your mouth, fighting choked up tears. Everything was catching up to you, making you feel overwhelmed. You were sure he was feeling the same way. 

His fingers cupped the back of your neck, tugging you forward. You lean your forehead against his shoulder, and he moves his hand to your trembling shoulders to comfort you. You stayed there momentarily but finally pulled back to look at his face, to take in him fully. You were drawn to the sharp yet somehow soft lines of his face. His hair was dark and so were his eyes as they bore down into your soul, almost touching you in your heart in a way no one else’s had before. You were used to expressions of fury, or the scrunched up eyebrows of someone who was screaming at you. This face was different. It brought you comfort when you most needed it. 

You continued, forcing yourself to snap out of the trance this man had you under, “You could have left me out there when that man said for everyone to get into lines. You didn’t have to risk your life for mine.” Yet he did.

“What kind of man, let alone Marine, would I be if I left a mother and her unborn baby out in danger? A piece of shit…That’s the kind of man I would be. Here, let me help you up.”

Player 388 had to untangle your bodies before he could stand. He helped you up by pulling you up by your forearms, then stabilized you when you faltered.

You were about to thank him when the guards led everyone back to the exit. A lot of the other players didn’t hesitate and listened immediately, rushing for the exit. Player 388 wrapped an arm around your waist, hand resting against the edge of your pregnant belly. “Let’s go. I have a feeling we shouldn’t piss these guys off.”

“Yeah…They’re the ones with the guns.”

“Agreed.” He nods his head firmly. 

For once, you didn’t mind that a man’s hands were pulling you somewhere. You just wanted out of that damn arena more than anything. It was a bit awkward once you got to the stairs, so he moved behind you to help you up. Still…you had no complaints for now. You weren’t sure if you had enough mental or physical energy to support yourself at this point. You kept your hand on the edge of the stairs and the other on your stomach, pushing yourself beyond today.

“I think we’re close to the dormitory now, then you can rest.” Player 388 said close to your ear. 

“Thank god,” you said gratefully. 

You would have jumped for joy when you saw those big doors if you didn’t have a whole ass baby in your stomach.

“I’m never taking a bed for granted again…” You sighed. 

“You and me both, let’s get you sitting down…” Player 388 walked with you back to the bunks stairs. 

Looking around the room, you couldn’t be sure of the exact number, but you could tell that the crowd was thinned out by at least a hundred or so. Now, you felt like your swollen belly stuck out like a sore thumb. 

The entire atmosphere of the dormitory completely changed, it was worse than a hospital, you felt like you were in a prison. 

Player 388 interrupted your thoughts, “Do you want to stick with me?” He asked softly, “I think the more people we have, the better off we’re going to be…” He looked down at your stomach. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but you knew he was thinking about saying something about protecting the baby. 

As the two of you walked to the bed, you noticed how his arm felt large around your shoulders, he definitely had a lot of muscles. The pair of you looked like a couple, really. The way he was clinging to you probably gave others the impression that he put the baby in you. You didn’t know the man that well, but if he really was as sweet as he was acting right now, then you wouldn’t have let him become your ex. If you were one of the other players staring at you two, you would have thought, what kind of stupid man lets his wife join these games and what kind of stupid bitch would you be to put yourself in that situation too?

Wait, why were you even thinking of this?

Player 388 stared at you, expecting an answer but not rushing to get it out of you.

“...Yes.” You nod. “But I think I need to know your name first.”

The man nods in agreement. “Let’s get you seated first.”

You were touched he was so thoughtful about you and your baby’s wellbeing. 

Bringing you over to the lower bunk’s stairway, the man helped you waddle over and then sit. He shifts, sitting down on your left, his legs slightly apart as he sits. You knew that soon, all the pain and discomfort would catch up to you. For now, you savored the man’s sweet smiles. The sweetest one you had ever seen, especially from a man. 

“What’s your name?” You reminded him. 

Player 388 put a hand over his chest, giving his head a small bow. “I’m Kang Dae-ho.” He raises his hands and puts his fingers out in an exaggerated way, like he was a cat showing its claws. He directs it towards your belly, like he was giving the baby a little game of charades. Your stomach fluttered. 

No wait, that was the baby kicking. 

Gasping, you had to lean back and hold your stomach for a second. 

Dae-ho’s face fell and he looked down to your belly in concern, his hand coming out to touch it but letting it hover instead. “Are you okay⁠—?”

You nod, releasing a strained gasp. “Yeah…She just kicked me in the ribs.” You take his hovering hand and pressed it to your stomach, watching as his eyes widen even more. 

Dae-ho’s eyes lingered on your belly before lifting up to meet your eyes. His hand rubbed your belly up and down, feeling the small kicks against his palm. “You’re having a baby girl…? What’s her name?”

You smiled bashfully. “She doesn’t have a name yet. I figured it would come to me once I see her face for the first time…Mine is…” You told him your name, the two basking in each other’s presence quietly, at least until the doors opened and pink guards with guns marched into the room. 

Something snapped in Dae-ho and immediately he took a protective position in front of you, his arm coming out to completely shield you as if he expected the guards to march right up to the two of you and shoot you specifically. They didn’t, rather, they stood at the opening of the door. There was one guard who stood at the front, a square mask on his face. There were a couple with triangles, instead of the square, with guns standing behind them. You admittedly cowered and gripped the back of Dae-ho’s shirt, feeling the pounding of your and your baby’s hearts like drums beating with one another. 

A vote. That’s what came next from the guards. It was O’s, those who wanted to stay, and X’s, those who wanted to return home. 

Dae-ho had calmed down, but remained by your side, comfortably rubbing your shoulder and sometimes your stomach. 

You thought you would have time to think about your vote, but the main guard announced that they would do it backwards, starting with Player 456. You looked down to the number on your shirt. You were Player 451. You were going to vote within just a few players. 

“Player 451.” 

Soon, you stood and with the help of Dae-ho, you were helped to your feet. He was perfectly willing to take you all the way down the line up to the buttons but you put your hand on his shoulder and shook your head. “I can do this…”

“Okay…” he responded hesitantly. 

You made your way down the line, both hands cradling your belly. The eyes of the other players glared like birds with claws ready to slice at you for picking the wrong choice. Soon you stood in front of the guard, the red and blue buttons appearing much larger than what you thought they would be. You looked to the red X, and then to the blue O. You raised your hand…and pressed O. The blue light shined on your face. 

It was impossible to look up to find Dae-ho in the crowd. You weren’t sure what his choice was going to be. You hadn’t mentioned it to each other. And if he was planning to pick X, then you probably fucked everything up. 

Without looking up, you made your way to the O side and stood next to a stranger, who gave you a side eye, but luckily said nothing. Dae-ho’s number wouldn’t be called for a while. 

When you finally heard it, you squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to look up as he made his way down and pressed a button. You heard the noise, but couldn’t register which button it was. 

You didn’t expect a warm and strong arm wrap around your shoulders, pressing you forward. You eyes shot open and you looked up, seeing Dae-ho smile down at you warmly. Your eyes moved down to his chest, and there you saw it…a Blue O patch…He had chosen to stay.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily…” The man mumbled and smiled reassuringly. He pulled you back into his chest, hugging you as tight as he could with your belly in the way. 

You smiled weakly and wrapped your hands behind his shoulder blades, unable to say anything. But you were happy and grateful for him. 

The two of you remained in each other’s arms until voting ended. Thank god, your ankles were about to explode. The guards dismissed themselves, leaving everyone to their own devices. 

“I need to go lay down, please. My body is about to explode.” You laughed weakly. 

“I’ve got ya…” Dae-ho guided you back to the beds with a hand on your lower back. He helped you climb into the first bed you could make it to, and pulled the blankets up to your chest. 

You grabbed at his sleeve before he could pull away. “I might need to go to the restroom later —but for now, I’m just going to sleep. Stay nearby?” At this point, your eyes were already drooping, but you couldn’t take your eyes off his goofy grin as he nodded. 

“Of course. I won’t leave you for a second. I want you to sleep and rest, For you and your baby…” He pressed his forehead to the top of your hair. You fell asleep in his arms, memorizing his warmth and smell.

[adrift-in-my-own-thoughts]

Yknow, what hurts me the most about Luka and Hyuna's relationship isn't even the fact that after god knows how many years without seeing her, Luka's first reaction to seeing Hyuna again is to smile. Because he's so in love with her that the literal gun against his head means nothing, just the fact that she's there is enough for him, allows him to feel truly happy, and his first thought is probably something along the lines of I missed you or I'm glad you're here or I want to hold you, to hug you again. Nor is it the fact that again, despite however many years it's surely been since she last saw him, Hyuna's immediate instinct to seeing Luka in potential danger is to throw herself into harm's way instead, sacrificing her own life just to make sure this boy with so many health issues, this puppet of the aliens, can live for a little longer.

No.

What saddens me the most about their relationship is the fact that Hyuna didn't hate him because she disliked Luka, she hated him because it was too dangerous to care about him. The only other person she ever loved that much was her brother Hyun Woo, and she watched him die in front of her eyes when they were all still children. This forced Hyuna to learn and accept that loving someone was too dangerous, risked both parties getting hurt whether with the intentions go hurt both or just as a side effect of one being hurt anyway. And so this other boy she loves, perfect, innocent Luka? What other choice does she have but to push him away to keep them both safe? She says at the end of Wiege that he was her only weakness, and I don't think that Hyuna meant because he was soft or weak himself (although that most likely is also true, judging from all his health conditions and etc), but because she couldn't possible bear the thought of losing someone else, and she couldn't let him get hurt from losing her like she was from losing Hyun Woo, either. She also said she had to keep moving forward, probably meaning she couldn't be held back by the fear or burden of caring about another as well.

So she's basically forced herself into hating Luka in order to protect them both, and I imagine she's managed to push him somewhere in the back of her mind for the last few years somewhat successfully, and yet. Yet she still rushes to save him when she sees that gun pointed at his head. She's injured and probably desperately needs medical care and is who knows how important a member of the rebels considering what we've seen her do for them so far and she still just runs as fast as she possibly can in that moment to move Luka out of the way and take the bullet herself. Luka probably wasn't even aware of what she was doing until the last second, when he was watching the life slowly leave Hyuna's eyes as he finally gets to hold her in his arms like he did when they were kids once more. And he will have to spend the rest of his life knowing that Hyuna's last action was to make sure he could live, knowing that her last breaths were spent telling him to forgive himself and live with love. And what do you do with that? When the one you love probably more than you even love yourself suddenly shows up out of nowhere and you can't even say a single word to them before they're just. Dead in your arms after literally giving more than they had to save you.

That's what hurts me the most about Luka and Hyuna's relationship. Despite everything, despite her best efforts, Hyuna still loved him so much that she sacrificed not only her own life, but potentially others as well if her role within the rebels or her knowledge was important enough. That Luka loves her so much he disregards his own safety to just rejoice in seeing her again. That he would've died happy knowing she was still safe, and yet she died instead so that he would be the one to stay safe, without even a second thought.

[abyssalwavezz]

zayne smut and i need it neowwwwwww do whatever you want with the plot

Impulse Control

Author's note: I know who you are anon, and this one is for you <3 that's all I've got to say LOL also if you like kpop, check out my kpop page @ta3mint bc I am trying to revive it after such a long break lol also fun fact...I think this is one of if not the longest fic I have ever written. So yeah...send in your LADS requests. It's good to be back, ya filthy animals.

Contains: Zayne x MC/YN, consent king Zayne, jealous/down bad Zayne, explicit sexual scenes with unprotected P in V (use protection irl pls), fingering (fem receiving), MC briefly on top, relatively vanilla missionary (but it’s a classic okay?) and somewhat vague hints at Zayne and MC lore if you squint

Warnings: Minors for the love of God, pls do not interact!! Sexually explicit content, adult themes, cursing, etc. and as always...no proofreading <3

Word Count: 7,872

It was no surprise that Akso Hospital was winning an award for their exemplary service to Linkon City. What was a bit of a surprise though, was Zayne taking the initiative to ask you to come to the banquet with him. He could be so hard to read sometimes, and though of course he could be thoughtful, this seemed to be a direct request, even for him.

You couldn't help but reread the texts from earlier, your heart and your mind racing in tandem.

Zayne☃️: How has your day been so far? Have you been staying hydrated? You often forget to drink enough water when you are busy.

Me: Dr. Zayne, do you text all your patients and remind them of their hydration levels?

Zayne☃️: Only the most forgetful ones.

Me: You mean there's more than one? And here I thought I was special :(

Zayne☃️: Don't fret. You are, in fact, the only patient who I perform this service for.

Me: Well in that case...I should probably go drink some water in between training sessions.

Zayne☃️: Before you go, I wanted to ask you something.

Me: Oh? I am listening (and hydrating as we speak)

Zayne☃️: The hospital is receiving a service award tonight. There will be a banquet. I was hoping you might want to come with me. After all, you have served Linkon as much as I or any of the other medical staff has. It is only fair that you are my plus one. If you want to be, of course.

Me: I would love to, Dr. Zayne. One question though...

Zayne☃️: Yes?

Me : Will there be dessert? 🧁

You had hoped the little joke about dessert would take your mind off of...everything. But it hadn't worked. You were still sitting in your desk chair, knees pulled tightly against your chest.

What did this invitation mean? Did Zayne...no. No way. There was no way he was inviting you because he saw you as something other than a friend and a patient. He said it himself, that it was only fair to invite you due to your service as a hunter.

How about you, though? What did you see Zayne as? You definitely would like to be more than friends. You couldn't help but fall for him after seeing him so often nowadays. He was everything you could have ever dreamed of in a man. But did he know about your feelings? Did he notice the amount of time you spent watching him work or study instead of focusing on your own work or training material in front of you? Did he notice you watching him even more closely during your workout sessions?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

Anyway. It was time to get ready now, and the part you dreaded most was here... Choosing what to wear.

You didn't really have many formal outfits to choose from, and you felt like the ones you did have were worn too many times. Right about now, you were wishing that Zayne had asked you earlier than the day of so you could've had more time to prepare. But honestly, would it have made a difference? Procrastinating was one of your favorite sports.

Eventually, you settled on your favorite dress.

Putting it on turned into somewhat of a chore, though. It didn't fit quite the same way as you remembered... but it had been a while since you last wore it.

Thankfully, it went on without any damage to the dress, but you couldn't help but pull at the fabric at the bottom of the dress. It was also a bit shorter than you remembered, it seemed.

And was this slit in the side always there?

Never mind that, it would have to do. There was no more time, and you still had to do your hair and makeup, as well as put on accessories to go with the dress. To be honest, you were a bit out of your comfort zone at the moment.

"Tonight better go well," you muttered to yourself.

~

The sudden noise from your phone caused you to stop what you were doing with your hair.

Grabbing it with a gloved hand, you immediately saw the text from Zayne letting you know he was waiting outside to pick you up.

You placed the last bobby pin in your hair and gently pushed your earrings in, then grabbed your phone and clutch before heading out the door.

As you passed by the mirror on your wall, you checked your makeup one last time, too.

Was it too much? It was a formal event, so you assumed you were to look the part. Ultimately you decided you looked fine, and part of you wished that Zayne would like it, too.

Oh, who were you kidding. You really hoped that Zayne would like it.

The sounds of your heels meeting the hard floor echoed throughout your apartment building until you got into the elevator. Once you were inside, you sent Zayne a quick text letting him know you were on the way.

Ding!

The elevator alerted you to let you know that it had arrived on the first floor. Quickly, you stepped out and into the parking lot, not wanting to be the cause of potentially being late.

After a quick scan of the nearby parking spaces, you saw his car a short distance away. You made your way over, cursing yourself for choosing these particular heels that were already causing foot pain.

As he saw you approach, he stepped out of his car and walked around to the passenger side, placing his hand on the door handle. He was wearing a traditional suit, accompanied by his glasses that he seemed to save for special occasions or work.

"Wowww, Dr. Zayne. No lab coat today? And doesn't your car have a button to open the doors, even when you're inside?"

"Would it still count as chivalry if I were to only press a button?"

He gave a small smile and pulled the door handle, stepping aside to let you in the car.

You smiled back, gently sitting down so as not to disturb your hair and dress.

As you moved past him, Zayne took a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes briefly before forcing them back open.

"You okay, Zayne? Am I wearing too much perfume? Or even worse...do I stink?"

Zayne shook his head and smiled once more.

"No and no, of course not. I like what you are wearing."

You nodded, satisfied with his prompt answer which caused your cheeks to burn.

Zayne closed your door and walked back around to his. He sat down and buckled himself in, motioning for you to do the same.

"The banquet is in an event hall not far from here. There will be some speeches that may bore you, by the way. This is your last chance to back out."

It was your turn to shake your head.

"Not a chance. It took me so long to get ready, I have to see this through. Besides, I was glad you thought to invite me."

Zayne turned the steering wheel to back out of his parking space, carefully eyeing his backup camera.

"Well, I am glad you accepted my invitation."

~

Zayne was telling the truth about it not being far. You made it there in only a few minutes. Frustratingly though, it had started to drizzle.

"Aw man, my hair and makeup will be ruined. Then everyone will think you brought a drowned rat as your plus one."

Zayne chuckled, pressing the button to turn his car off.

"Nonsense. Chivalry is still alive and well in Linkon."

Once again, he came around to the passenger side of the car rather than pressing the button to let you out. Seemingly out of nowhere, he had produced a large umbrella that was big enough to cover both of you, and especially big enough to protect your hair and makeup.

"Zayne, you are really outdoing yourself already. How could I ever repay you?"

"Don't worry, you already are."

Zayne walked slowly with you, making sure to keep the umbrella placed perfectly over your heads. Thanks to him, you both made it to the doorway of the event hall dry and in one piece.

There were lots of people, which was to be expected. Nevertheless, you instinctively clung to Zayne's arm, wrapping a hand around it tightly.

He was caught off guard, but only for a moment, before placing his large hand over the top of the silky fabric of your glove.

"You hunt Wanderers for a living and you're scared of a little crowd?"

You glared at him playfully, the amusement obvious in his usually soft voice.

"Hush, you meanie."

If you thought there were a lot of people in the foyer, it was nothing compared to the amount of people in the actual hall.

Numerous circular tables littered the hall as far as the eye could see. Pretty much all of the seats were already full, causing you to wonder where the two of you could possibly sit down. In the center against the back wall was the stage, presumably where the speeches Zayne mentioned were going to take place. Flower displays were plentiful, several of the biggest ones taking up the front of the stage, and the smaller ones sitting in between tables. Tiny vases with smaller versions of the displays sat on top of the tables, surrounded by expensive looking crystal dinnerware. It was definitely not something you see every day.

"Where would you like to sit?" Zayne asked.

You scanned the nearest tables, squeezing Zayne's arm when you saw an empty one.

"Let's sit there," you said quietly, pointing with your index finger so he could see what you were talking about.

Zayne nodded once he saw your choice, leading the way through the people that were still standing around.

There were five seats at the table in total, and by the time you got there, one of them was already filled by a young man that hadn't been there before. Oh well, you couldn't have expected to sit at a table with only Zayne at an event like this. But a girl could dream.

After you and Zayne sat down, the young man turned his attention to you. Nothing in particular stood out about him, and you couldn't say you recognized him from anywhere.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you," he said in a voice that didn't quite match his plain-looking features.

"Hi! It's nice to meet you, too," you replied politely.

"And you as well," the man added as he looked towards Zayne.

Zayne nodded, but didn't say anything. It seemed his mind was elsewhere at the moment.

"I'm (Y/N), and this is Dr. Zayne from Akso Hospital."

The man gasped quietly and looked back over to Zayne.

"Ohhh, I've heard a lot about you. You're definitely a big part of the reason the hospital is receiving the award tonight, I'm sure!"

The man seemed genuine in his comment, as far as you could tell.

"I am only doing my job. I have no desire for awards or accolades. Besides, there are many competent doctors and nurses that work at Akso. That is the reason for our award." Zayne said harshly.

You were a bit taken aback by Zayne's choice of words, but you chalked it up to potential nerves about tonight. The man didn't seem too fazed, which relieved you.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Richard."

You nodded and smiled at him, just before a sharp noise echoed throughout the event hall. Your eyes searched the surrounding area, and you realized the banquet must be underway. There was a very important looking man near the edge of the stage, clinking a metal spoon against his wine glass.

"As you all know, we are here tonight to recognize the achievements and outstanding service of Akso Hospital...but we are also here to eat!"

This earned a few laughs from the crowd of people, and even one from you. You couldn't deny you were starting to get pretty hungry.

You looked at Zayne and noticed that he did not laugh, nor did he even smile. Instead, he seemed to be set in stone, staring straight ahead at the man speaking by the stage. It almost seemed as if he was looking through him, like his mind was still somewhere else entirely.

"It isn't like Zayne to be nervous...but what else could it be? Does he regret bringing me here? I probably look so silly, like a little girl all dressed up for her secret crush", you thought to yourself.

Ignoring the sudden pain in your chest, you turned your focus back to the man up front.

"...once again, I thank you all for coming. But for now, let us eat and we'll get to the rest of the award ceremony later!"

The hall gradually began to get louder as people began to talk amongst themselves again. This seemed like a good opportunity to get Zayne to talk and settle the nerves that were boiling under the surface of your skin.

"Zayne, aren't you starving? We didn't eat before we came!"

"Mmm," Zayne hummed quietly in agreement.

"Oh! I didn't realize you two came together. Are you...?

Richard didn't finish his implied question and your ears began to burn instantly.

"Oh, no no! Nothing like that," you quickly replied, waving your hands back and forth in front of you.

You didn't dare glance at Zayne, so you weren't sure of his reaction to the conversation. But thankfully you didn't have to worry for long, since Richard started talking again.

"I see! Well, (Y/N), what do you do for a living?"

Grateful for the change in topic, you jumped at the chance.

"Well, I'm a Hunter!"

"She's very good at what she does. I have seen her at work. We often assist each other," Zayne said suddenly from the side.

Both you and Richard glanced at each other before looking at Zayne, who was as stoic as ever, but this time looking directly at you.

Your ears, still not recovered from a few moments ago, grew uncomfortably hot.

"I think the line for food has gotten a bit shorter," Richard pointed out. "Should we go ahead and head over?"

"Yes, I-."

Zayne cut you off, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"Why don't you save us a spot, Richard? I need to ask (Y/N) something about a confidential matter at work. It cannot wait."

Richard stood, giving a small nod and a quick smile in your direction before walking towards the food serving line.

Once he was out of earshot, you hastily gathered yourself before facing Zayne.

"Is something wrong? You've been acting strangely since we sat down."

Zayne pushed up his glasses, keeping his eye on Richard's back as he stood at the end of the line on the other side of the hall.

"There is something odd about him. We should find somewhere else to sit for the night."

You scoffed, unsure of what he could be talking about.

"I'm not sure I understand, Zayne. He seems perfectly normal and nice to me."

He shook his head.

"Don't you trust me?"

"Well, of course I do, but..." you trailed off before continuing, "It just seems like something has gotten into you. Am I not allowed to make friends?"

"Of course you are. You can have as many friends as you like. Just not him. There is something wrong."

For some reason, Zayne's words frustrated you.

"I don't need permission, Zayne. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to get some food because I am starving. If you'd care to join me, I'll be over there."

Without waiting for a response, you left the table and walked with determination over to Richard, where he was still waiting in line. You truly had no idea what had gotten into your usually very kind and understanding friend, Zayne. You had never seen him act this way, so far as you could remember. Even so, as you got farther away from him, your resolve faltered. Had you been too harsh? No. Zayne was being...weird. You wanted to get to the bottom of it before the night was up.

"Hey!" Richard smiled and waved you over.

You gladly stepped beside him where he had saved you a spot.

"Thanks for holding a place for me, Richard. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get over here."

"It's no problem! I know you and Dr. Zayne must have a lot of secret work you need to do for Linkon. Speaking of, is he coming? There's more than enough room for him!"

You sighed, shaking your head.

"I'm not sure. He seems a bit...stressed at the moment. I may just bring him something to eat to help out a little bit."

Richard nodded.

"That's very kind of you. Dr. Zayne is very lucky to have a friend like you."

"Yeah," you couldn't help but sigh as the staff behind the table handed you a serving of the first dish. "A friend."

As you progressed down the line, Richard told you more about himself. You returned the favor, sparing some of the more private details of your life. But it truly was nice talking with him. He was very easy to get along with, and that further fueled your confusion towards Zayne's behavior.

After the two of you finished getting your food, you made your way back over to the table. As you got closer, you realized Zayne was no longer in his chair.

"Where did Zayne go?"

Richard looked around, nearly spinning in a circle.

"I'm not sure. He must have gotten tied up in an important conversation somewhere."

Just then you felt a buzz in your clutch, your phone alerting you to a text.

You set your plate down and reached into your clutch, grabbing your phone easily thanks to the small size of the bag.

On your phone's screen was a brief text from Zayne, asking you to meet him outside.

"Is everything okay?" Richard asked.

You snapped your attention away from your phone and smiled nervously at Richard.

"Of course! I just need to use the restroom before we start eating. Will you finish telling me your story that you mentioned in line when I get back?"

Richard nodded enthusiastically.

"I would love to!"

"Great, I'll be right back, I promise."

~

The air outside had gotten significantly cooler after the sun finished setting. Thankfully, it wasn't raining anymore. But you didn't see Zayne anywhere. He wasn't in the foyer and not immediately outside of the building. Almost in a panic, you turned around to search the entire parking lot. And that's when you caught a glimpse of a nearby streetlight reflecting off of something other than a car a few feet away.

It was Zayne's glasses, and he was leaned up against the side of his car with his arms crossed, looking off to the side.

"Zayne?"

Your voice caught his attention, and he used his weight to push himself off his car and move closer to you.

"There you are. I need you to come with me, we have to go."

As you got closer to him, you noticed he had an unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was one you had never seen in them before, and it instinctively made you nervous.

"Zayne, what's going on? You've been so weird tonight and now you're kind of scaring me."

Zayne sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Forgive me, I..."

You remained silent, waiting for him to finish, the rapid beating of your heart pounding in your eardrums.

"I seem to be acting on my impulses tonight. Something I thought I had been teaching myself not to do."

His actions were still not understandable to you, and he instantly read the confusion on your face.

"It's...it's his fault," Zayne murmured. "It's this dress."

Suddenly, he bent down to your level and ran his finger up the sleek fabric of your dress resting against your thigh. It caused you to tense up and shiver, whether from his actions or the night air, you weren't quite sure.

What you were sure of though, was how badly you wanted him to touch you again.

"Forgive me," he repeated. "I can call you a taxi to take home. I shouldn't have done that."

"Zayne," you said abruptly, causing him to stop from getting his phone out.

"Yes?"

"Kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me," you repeated, this time a little less confident.

Zayne didn't say anything else before closing the rest of the gap between you in one step. Both of his large hands found space on each side of your face, and they rested there for a moment before he looked at you in the eyes, his own moving back and forth to discern the expression on your face.

"(Y/N)..." he began hesitantly.

"What?"

"If tonight has shown me anything, it's that I have not been controlling my impulses as well as I have previously. If I do this...I fear that I won't be able to stop myself."

You tried to take a deep breath, but it got caught in your throat.

"Do you want to kiss me, Zayne?"

"Yes," he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his frenzied eyes. "I cannot tell you what it has been like, seeing you almost every day now and falling in love with you all over, again and again. I have waited as patiently as I could have."

Shakily, you reached a hand up and loosely gripped one of Zayne's hands still on your cheek.

"Again? You've fallen in love with me before?"

Zayne hummed quietly, almost imperceptibly shaking his head against yours.

"Never mind that. Just know that I need you...I always have."

"Zayne, I..."

Something about what he was saying felt eerily familiar, and it felt like an invisible force was pulling you somehow even more closer to him in that moment.

"Please," Zayne whispered. "Tell me what you want."

"I...I want..."

Zayne rubbed his nose against yours, inching closer and closer to your parted lips. His labored breaths mixed with your shallow ones, causing the cool night air to visibly swirl around you. Your heart continued to pound, so loud and hard you were sure Zayne could hear it.

"I need to hear you say it...one more time."

Lighter than a feather, his lips brushed against yours as he spoke to you. And finally, finally, you were able to get your words out.

"I want you to kiss me...and I don't want you to stop."

Zayne tightened his grip on your face, his hands slipping slightly due to the thin layer of sweat that was between your skin and his. And then he pressed his lips firmly against yours.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't thought about what it would be like to kiss Zayne before. You had always assumed it would be magical, meaningful, and passionate.

And it turns out, you were right.

His lips tasted slightly sweet as he moved them against yours in perfect harmony. The sounds of your breathing echoed around you, muffled slightly by the sheer lack of distance between his face and yours. Your hands moved to hold onto his shoulders, and his moved from your cheeks to your waist, leaving a feeling of bitter cold behind. Somehow, in the contrasting heat of it all, he turned you around so you were now pressed between him and his car.

As soon as he did this, the kisses became more sloppy, more intense. You could feel his energy shift and it nearly caused your knees to buckle as he moaned quietly into your mouth. It occurred to you that your nails might be digging into his shoulders, but he didn't seem to notice.

Suddenly unable to breathe, you were the first to pull away. Zayne froze, looking down at you with a scared look in his eyes now.

"Are you okay? I'm sorry, I should have restrained myself properly."

"Zayne...again. Please, I only needed to catch my breath. You aren't the only one who has been waiting for this, you know."

This time, you didn't even wait for him to initiate the kiss. You moved in first, catching him slightly off guard. But he recovered quickly, matching your intensity in a flash.

The tip of his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, causing you to shiver for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. You weren't sure if he did it on purpose or if just happened, but you decided to open your lips slightly, providing an opening for him to push into deeper than before.

Zayne quickly obliged, a significant portion of his tongue meeting yours. This time it was your turn to moan, though yours was a little less controlled, and a little more loud.

He audibly groaned, the gnashing of your lips, tongue, and teeth causing a drop of saliva to run down your chin. You were pressed up against his car so tightly that it cause your shoulder blades to burn where they met the hard exterior of it. Zayne had a vice grip on your hips, and his hands were so large that you were sure it would leave marks.

The slit in your dress that you were shocked by earlier became Zayne's next target. He used one finger to trail up your thigh and hook under the edge of the slit as he kissed you, the fabric being pulled taught against your tingling skin.

Once again, you pulled away, letting your head roll back so that it rested against the top of his car. Your chest heaved, stretching the dress where it rested against your breasts with every breath in.

Zayne nestled his head into the crook of your neck, leaving small, wet kisses there. His finger that had been hooked into the slit of your dress continued its way up your body until his hand came to rest against your ribcage.

"Zayne, we should...get back before people start noticing we're gone."

"Hmm," he hummed against your collarbone.

"I mean it. What about the speeches?"

"Easy..." he murmured before placing an open-mouthed kiss, this time against your jawline. "Forget them."

"Zayne! You can't be serious."

"I assure you, I'm very serious. As serious as a heart attack."

You weakly raised your head back up to meet his gaze. There was a deep hunger in his expression, one that you could tell had not been fully satisfied.

"I did warn you," Zayne murmured before kissing you on the lips again briefly. "I have waited so long for you, it will be nearly impossible for me to let you go now that I have you."

You couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had in mind. But your thoughts and your body seemed to be communicating together, the undeniable warmth from your core spreading outwards fast. You knew you wanted to taste him again, to feel him against you again.

"Take me home, Zayne."

~

The drive back to your apartment seemed longer than it did when you left earlier. Inside Zayne's car, the air was thick with tension and desire. Neither of you spoke, too hesitant to mess anything up.

Once you were at your door, you prayed Zayne didn't see your hands shake slightly when getting your keys out to unlock it.

As you made it inside, Zayne closed the door behind the two of you and then slowly crouched down in front of you.

"Zayne, what are you..."

"Shh. Let me help you."

He motioned for you to lift one foot up, and you did so. He then undid your heel's strings and slid it off your foot carefully, before repeating the same steps on the other foot.

This time though, he placed his hand against your calf and let it trail up your bare leg until he stood up all the way. He took a deep breath as he did so, causing you to shake in anticipation.

"(Y/N). I know what I said, but if at any point anything becomes too much for you...or you simply change your mind, I want you to tell me. I will never do anything you don't want to do. Does that make sense?"

You nodded, overwhelmed with all the feelings coursing through you at the moment.

Zayne seemed satisfied, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it by the door. You couldn't help but notice how nicely his white button-up shirt sat against his toned arms.

He chuckled.

"If you don't like this," he said softly, pulling at the fabric of his sleeve, "I can remove it, too."

Involuntarily, you shuddered, realizing what he meant. But you had a better idea.

"Can I?"

Though your question was short, he understood what it meant.

Without a word, he stopped closer to you, looking down at you with a glint in his eye.

"If that's what you'd like."

You didn't mean to necessarily, but you held your breath as you let your clutch fall to the floor and instead placed your hands at his collar. As carefully as you could, you undid the first button of his shirt. Zayne watched you intently, his breathing picking up again like it had earlier in the parking lot.

One of your knuckles accidentally brushed against his collarbone while you undid another button, and it was his turn to shiver, even at such a slight touch. Honestly, it made you feel good, knowing that he must be feeling the same things you are feeling.

You continued down the shirt, each button coming undone with an almost inaudible pop sound. The farther you made it down, the more of his chest you started to see. It was unsurprisingly perfect, chiseled in all the right places, so much better than you could have ever imagined.

By the time you made it to the last button, you needed to pull the fabric out from where it was tucked into the hem of his pants. It was here that you hesitated.

"Are you alright?" Zayne asked, sensing your mind reeling. He placed a hand over top of yours where it still held onto the last button of his shirt.

"Yes, I'm alright. I just...don't want to mess anything up."

"Don't worry. You are perfect. Whatever happens will be perfect. Let me help again, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered, nearly silent.

Zayne gently removed your hand from the last button, and tugged his shirt out from his pants to remove it completely.

Your breath hitched in your throat as you took in the sight before you.

Then without thinking properly, you let your hands reach out for him, flattening against his bare chest. Your fingers traced the lines carved into his skin, and you realized you really shouldn't be surprised at this since you know he works out regularly.

“Would you let me take you somewhere more comfortable?” Zayne asked, nodding his head towards your bedroom.

“That definitely isn’t a bad idea.”

Zayne chuckled at you again before grabbing one of your hands to lead you away, making sure to carefully step over your forgotten bag and his white shirt on the floor.

He sat on the edge of your bed, waiting for you to enter into the room completely.

You were still mesmerized by him, by the situation. And then you realized that you had on remarkably more clothing than him. You decided to enlist his help one more time.

You turned in a circle, so that your back was now facing him. Though you could do it yourself, you thought this would be more fun.

“Help me again, Dr. Zayne”

From behind you, you could hear him stand up and make his way over to you. You moved your hair out of the way so that the zipper on the back of your dress was now visible.

“If that is what you wish.”

Even through the material of your dress, you could feel his cold fingers against your back as they slid the zipper down to your waist.

Once he made it to your waist, you took a step forward and chanced a look over your shoulder.

Zayne stood behind you, watching you with another unknown emotion behind his darkened green eyes.

You shrugged off the top of your dress, causing it to instantly gather around your waist. Your bare back was now directly in front of Zayne, as the dress didn’t require you to wear a bra. The air in your room made you tense up.

Braving any lingering fears, you pulled the dress past your hips so that it fell to the floor, and you stepped out of it. Now you stood only in your underwear.

A few seconds passed and you could then hear Zayne take another step forward. A few seconds more, and you hissed as Zayne’s cold hands made contact with your exposed hips.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, planting a kiss against your shoulder.

You no longer felt the metal of his glasses bump into your skin, so you assumed he must’ve tossed them aside.

“Let me show you what you do to me. What seeing you with someone else does to me. How it makes me feel…”

Before you could respond, one of Zayne’s hands snaked around the front of your waist and began teasing the waistband of your underwear. You instantly knew what he was planning to do.

“And more importantly, let me make you feel good.”

You couldn’t help but gasp sharply at how bold Zayne was being as he gently slid the tips of his fingers past the edge of your underwear. His other hand was laid flat against your stomach from behind you, and the pressure against you only intensified once his pointer finger made contact with the edge of your aching core.

Zayne placed his chin on your shoulder, looking down with an almost gleeful smirk on his lips while he watched the rest of his hand disappear past your last piece of clothing.

“Mmmm,” you hummed as the pad of his pointer finger circled around your center.

“Such a pretty sound,” Zayne stated as if it was a well known fact.

He took this time to softly dip the one finger inside of you, pumping it a few times before adding his middle finger. You could tell he was instantly covered in the wetness coming from deep within you, the slick feeling of his fingers inside already driving you wild.

A fire began burning inside your mind and body as he continued drawing his two fingers in and out of you, curving them slightly to find the spot that would inevitably cause you to unravel around him.

Your knees buckled and his grip around your waist with his other hand tightened.

“I’ve got you. I always will,” Zayne spoke against the thin skin of your neck, nuzzling deeper into the space between it and your shoulder.

The faster he went, the less you felt like you were physically there. The only feeling you had right now was the feeling of his touch, as if that feeling which wasn't even your own doing was the only thing that tied your existence to this room, to this place. You weren't even sure if you were standing properly anymore or if he was holding you up with his other arm. You didn't really care.

Never in your wildest dreams had you expected to end up in this situation. But now that you were, you couldn't imagine being anywhere else or with anyone else. You knew from this point on, he was the only one allowed to witness you like this. There was no going back from this. He had drawn you in and made you his, and this was where you belonged.

It was when you realized this that you came undone.

Somehow, you remained conscious of your neighbors and stifled the strangled whines that threatened to escape your gaping mouth. You eyes screwed shut in pure concentration, causing a single tear to escape the corner of your right eye.

"Shh," came Zayne's quiet voice from behind you.

He rubbed his nose against your cheek where the tear had fallen, ultimately wiping it away. The contrast of his cool nose against the sizzling skin of your cheek was very noticeable.

"Would you like to lay down?"

"Mhmm." This was the only sound you could get out now, but Zayne understood.

He kept a stable grip on you because he had, in fact, been holding you up for the past several minutes. You would have to thank him later.

Zayne guided you towards the bed and helped you first to sit down, and then to lay your head against the pillows. He gingerly grabbed your ankles and readjusted your legs so that they would be laying more comfortably on the end of the bed.

You couldn't help but cringe at the feeling of your now freezing, wet underwear that was sloppily pulled back into its proper position.

From the left side, you could hear Zayne lay down next to you, and his wide hand rubbed the clammy skin of your stomach.

You laid in silence for a few moments, waiting for your breathing to calm down before speaking.

"That was, ummm..."

You briefly glanced over at the man next to you and couldn't think of what to say next, your mind a tangled mess. Really, you had assumed he would say something to fill the silence where you were lacking. But when he didn't, you decided to take a better look at him.

Though his hand had come to a rest on your stomach, he was not looking at you. Instead he was looking at the ceiling, his jaw set harshly as if he was concentrating on something.

"Zayne, are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

You rolled over onto your side, wrapping an arm around him and trying to ignore the feeling of your bare nipples against his cool exterior.

"No," he said shortly, but softly. "You were perfect, just as I said you would be. I just find myself...struggling to restrain my actions further when I should already be satisfied. And I am...satisfied. However, it would seem that you allowing me this pleasure has turned me into not only an impulsive version of myself, but a greedy one as well."

"Zayne...?"

You began to sit up on your elbow to look at his face, but your other hand brushed up against a lower part of him you weren't expecting to. The sensation immediately elicited a sharp hiss from Zayne.

"Oh!" you exclaimed in surprise, "I'm sorry."

Zayne shook his head roughly.

"Don't be. And don't feel obligated. Promise me, (Y/N). We don't have to go any further."

For a minute, you thought about what you would like to happen next. You took Zayne's words to heart, and you knew he meant them.

But perhaps you had become a bit impulsive as well.

Wordlessly, you finished sitting up enough to look down at Zayne who was now making eye contact with you rather than looking at the ceiling. Your hand had come to rest on his lower stomach now, right below his belly button. If you moved down any further...

You noticed how tight the fabric of his pants was around his bulge. You swallowed thickly, the embers of the fire you felt a little while ago becoming reignited.

"(Y/N)..."

Zayne watched as you looked between him and his painfully restricted erection.

"What do you want, Zayne?"

He was visibly surprised at your sudden confidence, but remained composed.

"That is not as important as what you want. I will always place your needs and wants above my own, no matter how tempting it may be otherwise."

Zayne sounded almost hoarse from timid anticipation and it only further fueled your own desires.

"Let me show you what I want."

He didn't say anything else, he could only watch as your now steady hands touched the belt keeping his pants up.

"(Y/N)," he repeated, this time urgently.

"I want..."

You let your sentence trail off and began undoing his belt as sensually as you could manage. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Zayne's chest begin to heave as he studied you like a hawk.

"You."

The belt was now completely undone, and you pulled it from its loops to toss it carelessly aside on the floor. You then undid the zipper of his pants, the sound of it clashing with Zayne's distorted breaths. Once you had the zipper down all the way, you did the best you could to pull his pants down while he was laying down. It didn't take much before his throbbing length was now restrained by one less layer of clothing.

He shook at the air hitting him down there, and you struggled to keep your eyes from widening noticeably at how large he seemed to be. At the center of his white underwear, you could see several small dark spots from his increasing arousal.

Before he could try to talk you out of it, you lifted one of your legs to straddle him. Both of you moaned simultaneously as your tingling core came into contact with his rock-hard bulge.

Using the last bit of your newfound confidence, you bent down and captured his lips in a wet kiss.

"I have always wanted you."

Zayne watched your lips in awe as you spoke, the corner of his own lifting in a small smile.

And then he collided into you.

It was like the kisses you shared in the parking lot, only...it wasn't at the same time. This felt more primal, more passionate. As if your souls had begun threading together like they were somehow meant to.

You held onto his face tightly as he kissed you, the wet sounds of your mouths echoing in your small bedroom. His deft hands came to rest on your ass, and they dug into the softness there as he thrusted upwards against your throbbing genitals. This caused your back to arch slightly, making your lips leave his, the only thing now connecting them a string of your mixed saliva.

Zayne took this opportunity to roll you under him so that he was now hovering over your exposed body.

One hand held his own body up, and the other tenderly traced around the edge of your breasts.

"You are too good to me," Zayne sighed under his breath.

"And while I do not normally condone this..."

Zayne stood up suddenly and fully removed his pants and underwear in what seemed like one swift motion before climbing back over top of you.

"I have no control left within my body."

His hands gripped your underwear tightly, his knuckles turning white and his veins popping as he completely ripped the flimsy material off of you.

"Zayne!"

He gripped the headboard, leaning over you to whisper in your ear.

"I'll buy you more."

You shuddered at both his words and the proximity of his naked body to yours.

"Do you trust me?" he continued.

"Yes. I trust you Zayne."

"Then hold on," he growled, his hot breath fanning over your ear.

Using his other hand to grip himself, he steered his length to your entrance, teasing it slightly with the head.

"Oh, shit," you gasped loudly.

With no further hesitation, Zayne fully inserted himself inside of you, making the both of you moan noisily. He remained there for a moment, his sweaty chest rubbing against your own. The hand that was on the headboard now came down against the mattress to hold the rest of his body up. His other hand grabbed one of yours, and he weaved his fingers in-between your own.

Your clasped hands gripped each other stiffly as he started to thrust in and out of you. As he did so, your other hand clawed at his back.

Where it had been silent before, your room now seemed like a concert of lewd noises. Zayne's grunts, your mewls, the wet sound of your bodies slamming together repeatedly...it was all so disgustingly beautiful.

Though your eyes were shut, you could feel Zayne's sticky forehead against your temple. The grip he had on your hand intensified, and the rapid, hot breaths from his mouth collided with your neck. Shamefully fast, you felt the familiar feeling of your impending climax, and you couldn't help but wonder if Zayne could, too.

"You..." Zayne panted, pulling himself out of you before slamming back in, all the way up to the base of his cock. "Already?"

You scoffed, opening your eyes to look at him, chastising yourself for thinking he was anything other than observant.

"You do things...to me too, you know?"

Zayne groaned, almost animalistic in the way that it sounded.

You licked your swollen lips, the moisture temporarily aiding in the chapped sensation you had been feeling.

"I want to feel it...I want you to look at me."

Zayne withdrew his hand from yours and instead grabbed your chin roughly. He then turned it, so that you were facing him completely.

"You are doing so well..."

For some reason, you fixated on the sweat that was flowing down the side of Zayne's face, dripping from his soaking wet hair. A few drops of it landed on your cheeks, but Zayne's increasingly harsh thrusts made them run down to your neck.

He kept a grip on your chin and began sucking on the skin where his sweat had pooled against a divot in your neck. It was with such force, you knew there would be a purple bruise there the next morning. The thought of others being able to see the evidence of the filthy night you had with Zayne was enough to send you over the edge for the second time.

Zayne felt you begin to tense up, and knowing what was coming and that he would not be able to stop himself from climaxing inside of you if he remained there, he begrudgingly removed himself just in time.

His warm cum splattered harshly against your pulsing core, and he couldn't help but watch as it did. The sight of you so utterly spent and covered in his seed was enough to make him collapse next to you.

This time, the silence in the room seemed ridiculously loud. It smelled completely of sex, and you knew you would have to wash your bedding tomorrow.

But you also couldn't help but feel completely at ease. That was the closest you could have ever hoped to be to the man you loved.

Love...what a word, right?

Part of you wanted to proclaim it right then and there. Though the other part of you was content with the silence, laying next to the second half of your somewhat broken soul.

It felt complete. You felt complete. And you hoped he did too.

You'd have to thank Richard if you ever saw him again.