#you left the real outdoors to come inside

[scoriarose]

So there's this weevil that now thinks it's an isopod and has been living with them the past few months.

His straw is too short.

[lubdubology]

When Things Turn Green Again

SYNOPSIS: Hoping to mend the pain of your broken heart and bury the memory of your failed marriage, you turn towards the woods. A cabin was left in your name and it’s the exact distraction you were looking for. What you didn’t anticipate is meeting a quiet, ruggedly handsome man along the way who helps you heal.

PAIRING: Logan x fem!reader

WC: 11k

WARNINGS: smut 18+; mdni; angst; mentions of cheating/divorce; emotional trauma; fluff; sexual innuendos; brief mentions of drinking; dirty talk; slight dom!Logan; oral (f receiving); fingering; doggy style; cock warming; sex with feelings; unprotected p in v

A/N: I pictured either Origins!Logan or Wolverine!Logan, but I think you can envision any Logan you’d prefer. And again thanks to @joelsgoldrush for the support through writing this ❤️ I really do love this piece I wrote and I hope you do too. Feedback is always welcome and appreciated! And thank you to everyone who has read, commented, liked and reblogged both Soft Edges and Til The Sun Turns Black—I never imagined either of those stories reaching over 1k notes.

The gravel crunches under your tires as you roll down the long driveway. Memories bloom deep in your chest as you near the cabin, of times simpler than this, unburdened by trappings of real life. You spent your formative years out here in the woods with your grandfather. Summers spent learning how to fish on the lake; how to recognize the poisonous berries from the nonpoisonous ones; and making fires, roasting marshmallows long after the sun had gone down. 

Your grandfather had helped build this cabin. He’d always preferred the outdoors and solitude from people—with the obvious exception of your grandmother and mother—and he’d often come here to escape. Especially after he lost them both. 

The cabin comes into view through the trees just starting to unfurl their spring foliage. Patches of snow still dot the landscape but the wet brown of winter is losing to spring’s verdant hues. The structure has seen better days, last having been lived in over ten years ago. 

A stab of regret pierces your chest. The cabin was willed to you when your grandfather died, but this was your first trip up here since the funeral. You planned to, of course, but as the old saying goes, life happened. Now, you’re hoping the old place can give you something to sink your energy into besides thinking about your failed marriage. 

You park the truck and step out, surveying the property. The shrubs and flower beds are overgrown and choked with old growth and weeds. Years worth of leaves rest upon the roof and clog the gutters. The front porch has several loose or missing spindles and you’re almost afraid to step up onto the old boards. Proving yourself right, the wood groans and creaks beneath your feet, certain spots threatening to give way.

“That’s going to be a fun project,” you mutter to yourself.

Opening the front door, you’re met with the damp mustiness of a long closed up space. A layer of dust seems to coat nearly every surface and cobwebs linger in the corners. You’re hoping the repairs needed inside the cabin are more cosmetic than costly.

You open up the old blinds, letting the early morning light filter in the room. It’s not a large space, an open kitchen, living room and dinning area with separate bedroom and attached bathroom. A small set of steps leads up to a loft, which also doubles as a sleeping space or bonus area.

You unload your belongings from the truck, tucking them away inside the bedroom, before opening all the windows to let in the fresh air. Thankfully, the glass and protective screens are in relatively good repair—a few need replacing, but an easy enough job. You feel a sense of purpose flourish within you, something you haven’t felt for months and you wonder if this is just the reprieve you need to find yourself again.

+++

You spend the morning taking inventory of the repairs needed around the cabin to make it immediately livable. Jotting down a list of supplies, you hop in your truck and head into town to hit up the hardware store. 

The owner, George, recognizes you from previous trips with your grandfather when you were younger. He greets you warmly and helps you find everything you need. As you’re checking out, he asks, “Run into Logan yet?”

“Logan?”

He nods his head. “Shares a property line with you. Has a cabin of his own just about a quarter mile north of yours. Asked him to keep his eye out on the place.”

“Oh, well, that was nice of him,” you comment, stuffing your receipt in your purse. 

George shrugs. “Figured it would give him something different to do. Doesn’t interact much with people.”

“Guess I’ll just have to introduce myself then,” you say, lifting your bags up off the checkout counter. 

“Good luck with that,” George responds with a huffed laugh. “He’s not one for small talk.” 

You give George a polite smile and leave the store, bags in hand. But the conversation sparks your curiosity and you find yourself thinking of the man who shares the woods with you. You promised yourself once you were settled, you’d make the short hike towards his place and introduce yourself.

Arriving back at the cabin, you park the truck and hop out, stopping short when you spot a lone figure walking around from the back of your property. You can’t stop the prickle of anxiety that zips up your spine as the figure comes closer, but he doesn’t see you yet, his eyes on the ground as he walks.

You shut the truck door with more force than necessary, the sound echoing off the trees. He looks up then and you suck in a short breath as his rugged features come into view—well trimmed but scruffy beard, wild dark hair and a fit muscular frame you can see even under the flannel of his shirt.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt like this. You can feel a blush creep across your face and you grip the bags in your hands tighter just to feel something other than the hammering of your heart in your chest.

He stops short of where you’re standing and jerks a thumb behind him. “Turned your electrical breaker on,” he says without introduction and you can only stare at him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I, uh—thanks.”

He tilts his head and looks at you and you feel like you’re on fire under his glare. It’s an inquisitive one, like he can’t quite figure out what you’re doing in a place like this and you shift uncomfortably under his gaze. And yet, you don’t want him to stop looking at you. 

“Right,” he says, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for something. He fishes out a key and holds it in your direction. “This is yours.”

You shift the bags, so you’re holding them all in one hand and reach for the key. Your fingertips brush against his just briefly, but it’s enough to set sparks along your skin and you can feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. As he steps back from you, you blurt out your name and then immediately wish for a swift death at your awkwardness. 

God, this was embarrassing. 

It’s like you’ve never interacted with humans before.

He gives the barest hint of a smile. “Logan.”

“Nice to meet you, Logan,” you say, just so you can taste his name in your mouth.

Logan nods and turns to head down the path that leads away from your cabin and deeper into the woods. You watch him go, his figure fading further into the distance and you can’t help but think, I’m in trouble. 

+++

You spend the rest of the day keeping busy around the cabin—wiping down dusty surfaces, sweeping up cobwebs, replacing broken light bulbs—but your mind never strays far from Logan and the inexplicable pull you have towards him. 

You’ve dated. You were married. You weren’t a stranger to the opposite sex and physical attraction, but this felt like more. Like an unavoidable pull between you and him and you’ve just been spun into his orbit. 

And that attraction terrifies you. 

Over the next few days, you try and shove him from your mind. It helps that you haven’t seen him again, but your eyes inevitably dart towards the path leading away from your cabin as if you’re expecting him to come walking through. 

Then, the idea comes to you late one night as you’re sitting in front of the fire, watching the flames lick higher. No matter how hard you had tried, Logan remained firmly planted in your mind, his roots stubborn and unyielding. 

Your grandfather always said your grandmother’s cooking was always something that warmed his heart. 

But as you walk the small path towards Logan’s property you briefly wonder if you’ve lost your mind. You carry the small pie dish in your hands and as his cabin grows closer you’re actually contemplating turning back and forgetting the whole thing.

Who the hell bakes pies for people any more?

His cabin is smaller than yours, a little more rustic and worn, which seems fitting based on the little you know about him. Several piles of firewood line the roofed porch and at the opposite end, a single chair and table sit in front of the window. With one last shaky inhale, you climb the steps and rap your knuckles against the door. From inside you hear heavy footfalls and then the door opens.

Logan looks down at you and then towards the dish in your hands, an odd expression crossing his handsome features.

“I made you a pie,” you blurt unceremoniously and you instantly wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Logan just continues to stare at you and you think you see the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth. But maybe not.

“I, uh, my grandfather lived in the cabin next to yours and it’s mine now. I’m fixing it up, because…well, just because and he taught me to pick berries as a kid? So, I did that and I made you this,” you finish in a ramble, flames of embarrassment licking across your skin.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes flick down at the dish in your hands again and you hold it up a bit higher, nudging it closer towards him. As he reaches out to take it, his fingers brush against yours and you again feel electricity tingle down your fingertips. If he notices it too, he says nothing, not that he’s said anything since you showed up on his porch. 

Logan tucks the dish closer to his body and gives you a slight nod. You take that as a good sign and step back to leave. “Okay, cool, cool. Well, um, enjoy. I made sure all he berries were the edible ones so you don’t end up throwing up everywhere.”

At that he actually huffs a chuckle. “Good to know,” he finally says, his voice warm and rich and just a bit gruff.

“Right, well, enjoy!” You turn to leave and can feel his stare against your back and it takes all your remaining functioning brain cells to walk normally.

You spend the next few days trying to forget all about your ill-fated attempt to play neighbor, figuring if he didn’t want to know you before, he definitely didn’t after that. 

You’re coming back from a hike when you spot Logan through the trees walking away from your place, hands tucked deep within his pockets. Your heart quickens in your chest as you walk up to the front door and find the baking dish sitting on the old welcome mat. It’s freshly washed with a folded up piece of paper sitting inside—Thank you.

You’re certain your smile could rival the light from the sun.

+++

It becomes a routine over the next few weeks—you bringing him food and him returning the dish, all without exchanging any words. You’re thankful he’s not much of a talker because you can’t seem to stop making a fool of yourself around him. 

And you don’t know why. 

He’s a handsome man, that anyone can see, but you’ve never been so flustered around a beautiful man before.

There’s something else about Logan you can’t pinpoint that sets your heart fluttering behind your ribs. He seems lonely in the same way you are, and you wonder if he’s out here to lick and heal old wounds just like you. You have an inexplicable want to help him, even if that means sharing your food leftovers with him and trying to chip away at the wall that surrounds him. 

A part of you is hoping he can help break down your walls, too. 

You’re waist deep under the kitchen sink when a knock on the door drags you from fixing the leaking drain. 

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, trying to maneuver out of the space while also not spilling the stagnant water left in the sink trap. As you set the old drain down you call out, “Just a second!”

You wipe your hands against your thighs and swing the door open to find Logan standing there, your glass baking dish from yesterday in his hands. For a second you blink silently at him, unable to think of anything but the fact that you’re wearing grease stained overalls and probably smell like a swamp. 

“Logan, hi,” you finally say, brushing your hair out of your face. 

He gives you a strange look as he hands the dish back to you. You open your mouth to speak when he interrupts you, “Why do you feed me?”

His question hangs in the air and you freeze. Of all the things he could have asked, you weren’t sure why you didn’t expect that one. His voice is a little gruff, but underneath there’s something that makes your heart race. Something vulnerable. 

You swallow and grip the edge of the glass dish. Logan stares at you, his gaze intense, and you feel exposed. Like he’s trying to dissect you with just a look. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” you finally admit. “You just…seem like you could use some kindness.”

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything else. The silence stretches between you, heavy and charged, and you can feel your pulse quicken. “I can stop if—if you want.”

“No,” he says, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of tenderness. “No, you don’t have to stop. Just not used to people doin’ things like that for me.”

His admission catches you off guard being the first real piece of personal information he’s shared with you. You’ve gleaned certain things from George—he’s told you about Logan being a mutant and a few pieces of his past—but you know there’s still a world of history hiding behind his loner facade that he keeps hidden. You’re hoping eventually he lets you take a peak inside.

“Everyone deserves kindness, Logan,” you say. 

His gaze flickers, a shadow of something crossing his features that makes your heart ache. He shifts on his feet and stares down at the dish in your hands. “I’m not so sure of that,” he replies. 

“Well, I am.”

Logan’s eyes drag back up to yours and you try to calm the nervous energy that bubbles under your skin as his stare presses into you. He gives you a small nod then before turning to leave. 

He pauses as he hits your driveway and looks back at you, cursing lowly to himself. Scratching at the back of his head, he walks back up the steps and pulls something out of the pocket of his jacket. “I, uh, here,” he says uncertainly as he hands you the small cloth bag. 

You can only stare as you take the bag from him, the gift surprisingly light in your hand, but the gesture heavy with unspoken emotion. Your mind races as you think of what could be inside and your heart hammers loudly in your chest. 

Logan stands there, eyes not quite meeting yours as he waits for you to open it. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo the drawstrings and peer inside, finding a mixture of different seeds. You can’t help but trail your fingers through them, feeling the faint warmth they hold from where they were nestled against Logan’s body. 

“Oh, Logan,” you murmur, your voice thick with emotion. 

You glance up at him and he’s looking at you, scratching at his beard, the faintest hint of blush staining his cheeks. “They’re wildflowers. Don’t know what kind. But, I dunno. I thought you could use them for your garden.” 

Your chest tightens as you pull the strings close and tuck the bag in your pocket. “I love them, Logan,” you say, offering him a smile. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you see the tension in his shoulders relax just a bit as he exhales. “Just seemed like something you’d appreciate,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. 

Something has shifted between you and you find yourself itching to touch him, but you don’t. Not yet. The thread holding you two together is there, but thin, and you don’t want it to fray. “I really do appreciate it,” you say softly, stepping just the tiniest bit closer. 

Logan nods and his mouth tugs into something that’s not quite a smile, but close. He looks at you for a long moment, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. “Okay. Good.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turns and jogs down the steps. 

“Guess I’ll see you around then,” you call after him, a smile spreading across your face. 

He glances back over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess you will.”

And maybe, just maybe, the walls around him are beginning to crumble. 

+++

Sweat beads across your brow as you work, but you pay it no heed. Your attention keeps slipping to Logan as you pry another nail loose from the rotted board. You’ve fallen into an odd relationship with the elusive man whose property line you share, yet you still barely know anything about him.

It’s been a week since he stopped by and gave you those wildflower seeds. A warmth still spreads in your chest when you think about it. And true to his promise, you do see him around, albeit not as much as you’d like. He seems wary, as if his gift opened up a part of himself he wasn’t ready for you to see.

But at least he doesn’t drop off your clean dishes and run anymore. 

As you pry the last nail free, the rotten board comes free and you toss it down onto the grass along with the others. Thankfully, the porch isn’t terribly large and you figure another hour or so to remove the remaining boards before you can start laying down fresh lumber. 

The crunch of gravel pulls you from your work and you look up to find Logan walking down the path, a large leather bag in his hand. You look up at him, wiping the sweat off your brow and lean back onto your heels, trying your best not to stare at his forearms.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” you say, wiping your hands against your jeans as you stand. “What brings you to my side of the woods?”

He actually smiles at you and nods towards the porch. “Need help?”

You hate the little flutter you feel pressing against your ribs. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good thing you’re not asking. I’m offering.”

You blink, caught off guard by his directness. “Oh, well, if you insist,” you say, trying to calm your nerves. “It would be nice to have a second set of hands.”

He sets the leather bag down on the porch with a thud and you catch a glimpse of the tools nestled inside. Logan notices you looking and comments, “I know a few things.” His smirk makes your legs feel like jello. 

“Oh, I bet you know a lot of things,” you blurt, and your eyes widen at the double entendre of your words, heat flushing across your face. 

Logan laughs, a real laugh, his eyes crinkling. “Well, it’s always good to be well educated,” he says with a wink.

Fuck, you feel like you’re going to spontaneously combust. 

Shoving down your raging embarrassment, you lay out your plan to fix the porch and Logan gives a small nod. He starts at the opposite end, prying loose the first board with ease. You try not to stare at the way his muscles move and how his skin begins to slick with the first beads of sweat. You work in silence for a while, the only sounds those of the forest around you. 

“So, what actually brought you out here?” Logan finally asks. 

You glance over at him and watch as he tosses another board onto the grass. He looks at you expectantly and you sigh. “I got divorced,” you answer honestly. “And I needed something pour my energy into other than wondering where the fuck I went wrong.”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your openness leaving you feeling raw, and instead focus on the board in front of you. Anger begins to simmer in your veins at the thought of the last couple of years and you grab the next plank with just enough force to wedge a splinter deep into your palm. A loud curse falls from your lips as you drop the board. 

You feel Logan next to you and you suck in a deep breath as he reaches for your hand, his fingers curling around yours. “Lemme see,” he says, pulling you close and you can smell the earthiness of him, like damp soil and campfire smoke. You find yourself staring at him, his proximity intoxicating, as you drink in his long lashes and the slope of his nose. 

He tilts your palm towards himself, his fingers pressing gently yet with firm enough pressure to push the splinter out of your skin. Pulling it out the rest of the way, his eyes flick up to yours. “Somehow I don’t think you’re the one that fucked up, sweetheart.” His voice is warm and you want to melt into him. 

“Well,” you start, clearing your throat, “I certainly wasn’t fucking his mistresses.” 

Something in his eyes darkens and a shiver runs down your spine. “He’s a fool for losin’ you,” he growls, and his words hit you with more force than you’d care to admit. 

His hand still lingers on yours, steady and reassuring and warm and for a moment you think he might lean closer. You desperately want him to. To press his mouth against yours, to feel his breath against your skin, to have his taste against your tongue. But he pulls back, his expression one of thin control, but you can see the storm behind his gaze. 

“A damn fool,” he mutters under his breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s talking about himself or your ex. 

Logan lets your hand go, turning back towards the porch and you mourn the loss, your skin still tingling from the contact. You swallow hard, trying to shake off the intensity of the moment. It’s Logan—quiet, gruff Logan, who never really sticks around for a real conversation and yet here he is, offering help and showing that maybe he’s not entirely as unaffected by you as you thought. 

Your heartbeat drums in your ears as you watch him go back to work, prying up the next board, his muscles flexing beneath his worn shirt. His jaw clenches and there’s a focused determination in his movements and you can’t tell if he’s working out some anger or trying to keep himself in check.

You work in silence for several more minutes, the only sounds being the prying of loose boards and creaking lumber. There’s a tension between you now, more so than there was before, something palpable. 

It’s enough to drive you mad.

“What about you?” you finally ask, your voice somewhat hesitant. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

Logan glances at you from the corner of his eye and his brow furrows, as if he’s weighing whether or not to answer. “Not much to tell,” he grunts, pulling up another board with more force than necessary.

“Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t just wake up one day alone in the woods with forearms like that.” 

Logan looks over at you and smirks. “Maybe I’m just really good with my hands.” His voice dips low and you can’t help the warmth that pools low in your belly at his words.

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry. “Yeah, no…yep. I’m starting to figure that out.”

He’s silent for a few moments as he goes back to work and the air between you hums with something charged. “You really want to know?” he asks, his voice rough. “I’ve been around for too long, longer than anyone should. Done things I’m not proud of.” He tosses another plank aside and all you can do it watch him. “I’ve…I’ve hurt people I care about. People I’ve cared about have hurt me. I’m not really sure I belong anywhere, so I just…drift.”

There’s something raw in his voice, something broken and vulnerable, and it catches you off guard. For all his outward strength, there’s man deep down inside who’s lost, and your heart aches for him.

“You belong here,” you say softly. 

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the tension shift as the weight of your words settle between you. Another board gets tossed aside. “Yeah, maybe.”

He finally raises his gaze to yours and for a moment the world quiets—the forest, the porch, all of it—as his eyes lock onto yours and his expression softens. You offer him a warm smile and then return back to the porch, hesitant to push him any further. 

You work comfortably together after that. The old boards removed, Logan helps you place and nail down the new ones. Your conversation is limited to the project, but you don’t mind. 

As Logan packs up his tools, you glance over at him. “Thank you.”

A half smile plays at the corner of his mouth. “You’re welcome,” comes his reply as he steps off the porch and heads down the path back towards his cabin. 

“Logan!” you call, lightly jogging after him before he slips out of view. He pauses and turns back towards you. “Can I make you dinner?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you already been doin’ that?”

“No,” you say shaking your head, “I mean, yes, I have, but like a proper dinner? Fresh from kitchen to table. I can come by you, if you’d like.”

Logan studies you for a moment, his gaze intense and you can feel your heart beating against your ribs. He’s silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped and you open your mouth to speak when he says, “Alright. Come by tomorrow, six o’clock.”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “Tomorrow it is.”

+++

You’re up before the sun, your nerves a tangle of raw edges. You lay there, staring at the ceiling  and wondering what the fuck you’ve gotten yourself into. 

You weren’t expecting to meet someone out here in the woods. You were hoping for tranquility, a distraction to quiet the voice in your head that kept nagging you for how your life veered off course. That maybe if you worked more, did more, loved more you wouldn’t be a thirty year old divorcee. 

Instead, you find a mysterious man who sparks within you a flame you long thought extinguished. A ruggedly handsome man who’s somehow wormed his way into your life and has you wondering if maybe he can’t help mend the pieces of your broken heart. 

Except you don’t know if that same spark is ignited within him and if his gesture of dinner is simple kindness. A response to the kindness you’ve shown him over the last two months or if he’s feeling that same attraction you do. 

God, you hope he does. 

You spend the morning cleaning, trying to pour your nervous energy into something productive other than worrying about what the evening may bring. Driving into town, you agonize over what to make even though he’s been eating what you’ve made without complaint for weeks now. You opt to keep it simple—pasta with homemade meat sauce, a nice loaf of bread and a couple bottles of wine. 

While the sauce is simmering on the stove you get ready. You dress for comfort, a simple pair of leggings and a flowy top that hangs slightly off your shoulders.  You catch your reflection in the mirror and give yourself a silent nod of encouragement. Despite this just being dinner, the night brims with the possibility of maybe something more. 

Once the food is prepared, you carefully pack everything in a large basket and begin the walk to Logan’s cabin. The night is cool, but still holds the warmth of day and the promise of summer to come. You feel your anticipation heighten the closer you get to his place and your stomach drops when you see it appear up ahead. 

It’s just Logan, you remind yourself. 

Stepping up onto his porch, you give a hesitant knock at the door. He greets you almost instantly and you suck in a deep breath. Logan looks good and your heart does a flip as you take him in—well fitting jeans, a clean white shirt underneath a soft red flannel button down, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower. 

“You’re early,” he comments, standing aside to let you in. You catch the slight frown tug at his mouth as he notices the basket. “You coulda cooked here, you know.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t know if you’d want me invading your space,” you reply, following him deeper into the cabin and setting the basket down on the counter. 

Logan turns back towards you, bracing his hands against the counter. “I don’t mind you in my space.”

His words hang in the air between you and you can feel your pulse quicken. You glance up at him, and the way he’s looking at you—steady and unflinching—sends a thrill down your spine. 

You clear your throat, trying to settle the nerves in your chest. “Next time then,” you say lightly, hoping he can’t hear the slight waver in your voice. 

Logan’s lips quirk into a half smile. “Next time,” he agrees. 

He reaches into a cabinet above him, pulling down a couple of plates and glasses, setting a small table in the corner of the small kitchen. You keep yourself busy unpacking the food, arranging the bread, pasta and sauce on the table, working around him as he uncorks the wine and pours both of you a glass. 

Logan joins you then, raising his glass and clinking it gently against yours. He nods in a silent cheers and tips his head back as he drinks, his eyes never leaving yours. You can’t suppress the shiver that shoots down your spine.

Setting down his glass, he serves you and then himself, commenting, “This smells amazing.”

“Family recipe,” you reply, taking another sip wine. “Remind me to make it for you when I have fresh tomatoes. It’s even better then.”

“I’ll have to do that,” he says with a smile.

Conversation starts off slow, but not awkward, as you both test the limits of what you’re wiling to share. Logan’s answers are often short, reserved, but what he does reveal helps bring into focus the outline of the man before you. An outline you’re hoping he’ll let you fill in.

“George says you’re a mutant,” you start slowly and you don��t miss the way his posture stiffens, his fork scraping harshly against the plate. 

He goes still and you wonder if you fucked up. Crossed a boundary he wasn’t willing to cross.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes flick up to yours and he lets out a small hum. “He did, did he?”

You nod, chewing. “It doesn’t bother me.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “It bothers most people.”

“I’m not most people,” you reply, your voice soft. 

Something in his face softens then, the furrow of his brow a little less pronounced. A slight smile plays at his lips. “No. No you’re not.”

You feel a warmth bloom in your chest and your face flushes. Taking another bite, you ask, “Can I see?”

Logan studies you for a moment and you can see him deciding whether or not to show you that part of him he’d rather keep hidden. He sets the silverware down and he flexes his fingers before resting his palms back on the table. Then, he unsheathes his claws and you can’t stop the gasp that falls from your lips. 

You see him flinch at your reaction and he goes to retract his claws and you reach for him. “Don’t,” you say, your fingers hovering just above the blades. 

As he relaxes, you gently rest your fingertips against the metal, finding it surprisingly cool but still holding a faint warmth from his body. His eyes drop to where you’re touching him as you slowly begin to trace each blade with your fingers, following the slight curve down to where they emerge from his skin. You look up at him, finding his gaze fixed on you and you shiver under the intensity. 

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper. You feel him shudder beneath you as he retracts his claws, leaving your fingertips nestled against the skin between his knuckles. 

You pull your hand away from his, mourning the loss of his skin against yours. Logan clears his throat and pulls his hands into his lap, glancing down at them as if they’re foreign, something he’s never taken the time to notice before. He flexes his fingers once more before dragging his gaze back to your face.

“Do they hurt?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Thank you for showing me.”

Logan studies you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s trying to figure you out. You know he’s probably not used to this, someone seeing him as something other than a mutant, an aberration, someone who should be hidden away. Then, his face softens.

“People don’t usually ask,” he says quietly.

You smile gently, feeling that flame inside you burn just a bit brighter. “I just want to know you.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze still steady, but more open, as if some of those invisible walls he surrounds himself with have started to come down. If only just enough to let the light shine through. 

An unspoken tension simmers, thickening the air, and you know he can feel it too, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s heavy with promise. You turn your attention back to your plate and for a few moments, neither of you speak.

“So,” you say after a beat, “Do you ever use them as forks?”

Logan huffs out a laugh, the sound surprising you and his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement. “I can’t say that I have,” he replies with a smile.

You grin. “You should give it a try.”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The rest of dinner passes with easy conversation and you feel your nerves begin to settle, just a bit. Logan seems less guarded too, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him.

You help him clear the table, ignoring his request that you just sit and relax. As you stand next to him, emptying the leftovers into a container, you feel his eyes on you. When you hand him the container, your fingers brush again, but this time he doesn’t immediately pull away. His fingers linger just a bit longer than necessary and your breath catches in your throat.

“Thanks for dinner, he says quietly, voice low. “And for…understanding.”

You nod, feeling that unmistakable pull between you, the tug that’s kept you orbiting closer and closer to him. “Anytime, Logan,” you answer softly. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he’s been burned before and is still figuring out if he can trust what you’re offering him. And you understand his turmoil, trust having shattered your heart into pieces, pieces you’re still trying to pick up and reshape. 

Logan steps a little bit closer then and before you can say anything else, his hand gently reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is simple but intimate and it sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling lowly in your belly.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let me walk you home.”

He grabs your basket before you can protest and you follow him out into the night. There’s a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, illuminating the path in front of you, yet you remain close to Logan. You curse to yourself as you trip over an exposed root and then you feel Logan reach out for you, his fingers wrapping securely around your own. The heat of his palm against yours is almost overwhelming.

Your cabin comes into view and Logan slows, his fingers slipping from your grasp as he sets the basket down on the porch.

“Good night, Logan,” you say softly as you walk up the steps. 

As you turn from him, he reaches for your wrist, his fingers curling and pressing hotly against your skin. Your breath hitches as he climbs the steps to join you on the porch, and your gasps dies in your throat as he tilts your chin up and forces you to meet his gaze. 

“Do I make you nervous?” His voice is low, breath hot and damp against your skin. 

“Yes,” you breathe, somehow inching closer to him, your fingers reaching for the hem of his flannel and twisting into the fabric. 

“Why?” He brushes his nose against yours and you chase after the touch. 

Swallowing hard, you look up at him from under your lashes. You tilt further into him, your mouth hovering just over his. “Because I haven’t felt like this in a very long time and I don’t want it to go away.” Don’t want you to go away. 

Logan nods and whispers, “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” And then he presses his mouth to yours. 

It’s soft, barely a hint of skin against skin, but when you whisper, “Please,” against his lips, Logan growls and then he’s everywhere. His kiss claims you, his tongue licking in your mouth and you whimper as his fingers curl along the nape of your neck somehow pulling you impossibly closer. 

You wind your arms around his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the short strands at the back of his head. Your entire world is focused down to the feel of his lips on yours and the press of his fingers against your jaw as he pulls you towards his hungry mouth. 

Logan’s grip on you tightens, one hand splayed across your lower back and the other pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him. The heat between you is palpable, each movement of his lips setting you further aflame. You lose track of time, lost in the sensation of his beard scraping against your skin, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

When he finally pulls back, you’re both breathless and his forehead rests against yours, your shared breaths mingling in the space between you. His eyes are dark and intense as they search your face and you feel untethered, Logan being the only thing keeping you grounded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, but surprisingly tender as his thumb traces along the line of your jaw.

You nod, swallowing the lump that’s formed in your throat. You don’t trust yourself to speak.

His lips quirk into a small smile. “Good.” He brushes a stray strand of hair away from your cheek, his hand lingering at the side of your face. He presses one last soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before he steps back and walks down the path back home.

+++

You can’t stop thinking about the kiss—Logan’s lips against yours, the taste of his tongue, the press of his hands against your skin, hot and heavy, yet gentle. 

You want to live in that moment forever. Want to know only his kisses for the rest of your life, for him to be the first person you kiss good morning and the last person you kiss goodnight. For him to kiss you just because he can, because he misses you, because he can’t get the feel of your mouth out of his mind and he needs to feel you again pressing against him. 

You also want to run away, hide yourself from these emotions that are overwhelming you and leaving you feeling raw and exposed and absolutely terrified. You haven’t kissed another man in two years and he broke your heart, leaving nothing but shattered pieces and dust in his wake. Dust that still clings to you despite your best efforts to sweep it up. Those pieces of your heart are still sharp, jagged where they should be smooth. 

You’ve always been trusting, choosing to see the light in others as opposed the darkness. Believing deep down that everyone deserves kindness, deserves a second chance, that one bad deed does not a bad person make. But he stole a part of that from you and you hate him for it. Hate that even now, after all this time, he’s able to worm his way into your brain and make you question the motives of the man who’s made you feel more alive than you have in months. 

Last night you felt unshackled, unbound by the fear that had chained you for so long. You felt as if Logan’s very touch, his presence, had set your soul on fire and instead of fearing the burn, you were ready to embrace the warmth. 

But now, raw contempt begins to simmer in your veins and you need something to pour your frustration into before it threatens to consume you whole. 

Throwing your hair up into a messy bun and throwing on a paint-stained shirt and ripped jeans, you head outside looking for a project to sink fingers into. In the small shed behind the cabin, you find a few gardening supplies—a small shovel, trowel, bow rake—and you drag them out and to the overgrown flower beds.

You don’t even bother with the tools at first, ripping at the dead growth with your bare hands, pulling it from the earth in great clumps and tossing it aside. Your pulse beats loudly in your ears as you move from bed to bed, clawing away the old growth, your breathing growing ragged and your palms staining with dirt.

Grabbing the rake, you dig at the remaining plants, tearing at the roots, destroying the new growth. Tears run hotly down your face, blurring your vision and your throat aches from force of your breathing and screams you’ve been holding back.

From behind you, you hear the sound of your name and you whip around so quickly, the rake goes flying from your hands. You can hear the snikt of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe and the splintering of wood as he deflects the rake flying at him. It clatters to the ground between you as he retracts his claws and looks at you, his brow furrowed in concern.

You wonder, then, exactly what you look like in that moment. Dirt caked on your hands and under your fingernails, cheeks flushed with exertion, hair a halo of disarray. The pure adrenaline you’d been running on wanes and your limbs suddenly feel heavy and you sink to the ground in front of him. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, because you’re afraid of what you’ll see.

Logan approaches you slowly, kneeling down in front of you and gently raising your chin to look up at him. The stark worry etched on his face makes you ache and fresh tears burn in your eyes. You wipe at your eyes, which only serves to smear dirt across your face.

“I’m terrified, Logan,” you whisper, wanting to reach for him, but afraid to touch him. “I terrified of how much I like you.”

“You scare me too,” he confesses softly and your heart breaks.

He leans closer, fingers resting hesitantly against your knees. You reach for him too, grabbing on to the open sides of his jacket and pulling him to you. Logan doesn’t flinch, doesn’t push back and instead envelopes you into his arms, your head resting against the solid warmth of his chest. 

Safe in his arms, you cry. Harsh, broken sobs as he rubs your back, the soft caress of his fingers along your spine anchoring you to him as he holds you. He murmurs into your hair that he’s got you, to let it all out, and you do.

Eventually, you calm and sigh, pressing your forehead against his chest, loathe to move just yet. “I’m broken, Logan,” you mumble into his shirt. You look up at him then, the softness and concern on his face making you physically ache. “I still have broken pieces where I should be whole.”

Slowly, tentatively, he brings his hands up to your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands. His thumbs brush at the dirt and tears under your eyes and he smoothes the hair away from your forehead. “Maybe some of my pieces fit,” he says, voice low, but steady. 

His words send a flood of emotion through you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him. Then the gravity of what he’s saying hits you—he’s offering you himself, all his jagged and scarred pieces, the pieces no one else sees.

The pieces he wants you to see.

You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses against the corner of his mouth. His sigh is hot against your cheek, but he doesn’t press further. 

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin and somehow it feels like the most important thing you’ve ever said.

“C’mon,” he says, “Let me help you get this cleaned up.”

You nod, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.  Logan stands, offering you his hand. You take it, your fingers slipping into his and his grip is steady, yet gentle as he helps you up. 

Without a word, Logan grabs the broken rake and begins removing the debris from the beds you laid waste to. You watch him work for a moment before joining in, pulling the weeds from the beds you hadn’t gotten to yet. Every now and then your eyes meet, but you don’t say anything. You don’t feel the need to fill the space with words, his presence beside you speaking volumes more than he could ever say. 

After a while, Logan pauses and looks over at you, wiping the dirt from his hands into his jeans. “You still got those seeds I gave you?”

“Of course I do.”

“Go get ‘em,” he says nodding towards the cabin. “We’ll plant something new.”

You retrieve the small pouch where you’ve kept it safe and come out to find Logan kneeling in the dirt, his fingers making small pockets of earth to house the new flowers. He looks up at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You join him on the ground, dropping a few seeds in each well as he moves to create the next one. 

“I’m not very good at this,” Logan starts, covering the last well with dirt, “but I promise I won’t break you. You don’t gotta be scared of me.”

He looks at you then, his hazel eyes meeting yours and you reach for his hand, your thumb brushing across his dirt stained knuckles. 

“No,” you reply with a smile, “I don’t think I do.”

+++

It’s been three days since that moment with Logan in the garden and the air between you has been quiet. Logan hasn’t come by the cabin, but you hadn’t sought him out either. You weren’t avoiding him, exactly. More a need for space, a chance to process the feelings you felt for him, to test if you were truly ready to open yourself up to him.

Your mind never strays far from him, though. An almost constant loop plays in your brain of the way he held you, the way he spoke, the quiet promise he made not to break you. There’s a large part of you that believes him; your heart is screaming at you shed your lingering doubt and trust him, but your rational brain is grasping desperately to the kernel of truth that vows can be broken. 

So you turn to what you do best—pour your energy into other things. The cabin is spotless now, cleaned of disuse and age, turned into a cozy place of retreat, a simple shelter turned into a home. And yet…

You’re sitting on the porch, watching the sun dip lower in the sky, the book you’d been trying to read long forgotten. The forest is peaceful, alive with the sounds of early summer. But as calming as it is, you can’t ignore the ache in your chest—you miss him. More than you thought possible.

Just as you’re about to stand, the sound of boots against gravel catches your attention. You look up and there he is—Logan. His hands are shoved deep into the pockets of his worn jacket as he walks up the path. His look is cautious, as if he’s unsure whether or not you’ll accept his presence. 

Your heart skips a beat and you stand, wiping your palms against your jeans as he draws closer. His hazel eyes meet yours and there’s something softer about him, something open.

He stops a few feet away from you, gaze steady. “I wasn’t sure if I should come by.” His voice is still gruff, but quieter than usual. “If you needed space or not.”

“I did, need space. But not from you,” you clarify. You take a hesitant step towards him. “I missed you.”

Logan sighs then, his posture relaxing just slightly. “I wanted so badly to see you. I didn’t know if I should stay away.”

Before you can second guess yourself, you step down from the porch, closing the distance between you. You stand in front of him, noticing the faint lines of tension around his mouth, the way his jaw is clenched as if bracing himself for your rejection. 

“Don’t stay away,” you say softly, “I want you here.”

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against his hands as you pull them from his pockets. Logan doesn’t pull away and the warmth of his skin against yours feels like the most natural thing in the world. You feel it then, that familiar pull—the one that’s been there since the beginning, drawing you closer and closer into his orbit, his sun.

You brush your thumbs across his knuckles and look up at him. “You wanna come inside?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll make you something to eat?”

Logan nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

As you lead him inside, something in the air between you shifts, something subtle. But you know one thing for certain—you’re not afraid anymore. Not of this.

+++

The sun has set, the food long gone and as Logan’s hand reaches for the front door, you slip in front of him. His scent overwhelms you, that earthy dampness you’ve come to associate with him flooding your senses. 

“What if you stayed?” you ask, the slight waver in your voice betraying your boldness. 

You watch as his eyes darken and he leans even further into your space. “Do you know what you’re asking, sweetheart?” he replies, eyes searching your face. 

Swallowing, you nod. “I do,” you whisper. 

Then you slide your arms around his waist, pulling him closer as you lean in and kiss the hollow of his throat. You can feel him swallow hard beneath your lips and you smirk into his skin as you drag your mouth higher, over the long column of his neck to nip at the corner of his jaw. 

“Stay,” you murmur in his ear.

Logan turns, his nose brushing against your cheek as he seeks your mouth and you inhale deeply as his lips find yours. His fingers wind themselves into your hair, resting against the nape of your neck as he pulls you closer. You whimper into his mouth when he pulls back, eyes blown black.

“Show me where,” he says, his voice low.

You lead him up the stairs, his hand warm in yours and you barely make it to the top before Logan’s spinning you around, mouth finding yours. His is kiss is demanding, so different from that first one all those nights ago. This is urgent and desperate, like he can’t possibly get you close enough to satisfy the need deep within him. And you feel it too, pouring yourself back equally into the kiss, moaning as his tongue finally slips alongside yours. 

Your fingers fumble along the top of his jeans, pulling his shirt from where it’s tucked and sliding your hands up along the sides of his ribs. He rewards you with a deep groan of his own, nipping slightly at your bottom lip.

“Christ, sweetheart,” he rumbles against your lips, kissing you once, twice, “I’ve been dyin’ to feel your hands on me.”

“Me, too,” you reply, gasping as his hands find the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to brush his fingers hotly along your skin. 

Logan pulls back just enough to look down at your face, his fingers still clutching the fabric of your shirt, but lifting it just a bit higher. His gaze is questioning, asking for silent permission to continue. You nod once and he slowly drags the shirt up, his fingers skimming along your sides, over the swells of your breasts as he pulls the shirt over your head. 

Despite the heat coursing through your veins, you shiver under the intensity of his stare. He kisses you again, inhaling deeply, before moving down, nipping over your chin, your throat, in between your breasts. 

Logan’s hands follow his mouth, running a trail from your shoulders, down long your spine, easily flicking open the clasp of your bra on the way. He glances up at you as he moves to pull the straps aside, dragging them down your arms. 

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” he asks, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs fanning out across your nipples.

A jolt of pleasure shoots down your spine and pools low in your belly. You feel like you might spontaneously catch on fire and he’s barely touched you. You can’t remember ever feeling like this when a man has touched you, so consumed by want and need.

His fingers trail lower, brushing along the top of your jeans, popping open the button. You grab for his hand, stopping him. You see the concern flicker across his face and you smile. “Your turn,” you say, sliding your palms up his chest and pushing the flannel from his shoulders, his shirt following suit.

You revel in his muscular physique, your fingers tracing along his collarbones, down over the broad planes of his chest, feeling the wiry hair beneath your fingertips. His muscles flutter beneath your touch as you follow the trail of hair lower, down to the vee between his hips. 

Logan’s arousal is evident by the tenting of his jeans, and your eyes locked on his, you dip lower, giving the faintest of caresses over the fabric.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he curses. “Take your pants off.”

It’s a command, not an ask, and one you’re more than willing to comply with. 

Nervous energy licks at your skin as your fingers tuck into the waistband of your jeans and pull them down. Logan follows your lead, unbuckling his belt and shoving his jeans over his hips, kicking them aside. His cock juts out proudly, thick and heavy, nestled in a bed of hair.

Logan’s on you before you can kick away the last leg, hoisting you up under your thighs and forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips. His palms are hot against your ass and you can feel his cock trapped between you. 

He moves you both to the bed, setting you down before crawling over you and slotting himself between your thighs. Leaning back on his heels, he stares down at you, skin flushed. He kisses you softly once, before dragging a single finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the waistband of your panties. 

“What do you like?” he asks lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend his question as he slides his finger back and forth across your skin. Electric sparks of anticipation crawl up your spine and you can feel the rapid flutter of your heart against your ribs. 

“You want me to touch you with my fingers?” His voice is low, so low and you shiver. 

Your mouth has gone dry and you can only nod. 

“You want me to touch you with my mouth?” Logan leans down, skimming his lips across your collarbone, nipping lightly. 

Your fingers stutter across his shoulders and wind themselves into his hair. Logan’s smirk presses into the corner of your jaw. “Want me to touch you with both?”

“Please,” you whine into his neck, breath hot against his skin. 

Logan trails back down your body, kisses peppering over your neck, both breasts, your belly before he presses a kiss to the top of your clothed mound. He hooks his fingers into the waistband and looks up at you, asking for permission. At your nod, he pulls he material down, eyes never leaving yours as he trails his fingers down your legs and tosses the fabric aside.

You’re fully bare, exposed in a way you haven’t been in a long time and your nerves blush across your skin. Instinctively, you try to close your legs, but he stops you, his hot palms curling against your thighs.

“You don’t gotta hide from me,” Logan says, kissing your knee and spreading your legs further apart. “You’re so pretty like this. Flushed and wet and smelling so sweet for me.”

A jolt of desire zips down your spine. Nothing could have prepared you for the filthiness of words that would spill from his mouth. Or how much you’d enjoy hearing them.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you murmur.

“That’s not possible.”

“Other men have—“

Your words die in your throat as Logan grips your chin, forcing your gaze up to his face. His expression is soft, but his eyes flash with a glint of something dark. “When I fuck you, I’ll be the only man in your bed, understand?”

The roughness and edge in his voice makes you shiver and heat pools between your thighs. You swallow heavily and nod.

“I want this,” he says, his tone softer. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me.”

Slowly, you reach for his hand and guide his fingers to where you’re wet and aching for him. At the first brush of his fingertips against your folds, you gasp and your fingers dig deeper into his skin. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Logan coos. “I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And then he’s touching you, fingers dragging through your arousal before circling around your clit. He caresses you like he knows you and you’re molten beneath him. One finger, then two slip inside you, pressing against that spot that makes you squirm and grip at the sheets beneath you.

“Fuck,” you breathe, “You weren’t lying.” Logan quirks an eyebrow, fingers still curling within you, his rhythm picking up speed. “You are good with your hands.”

His chuckle rumbles through his chest as he continues to move, this thumb working over your clit. Your hips jolt off the bed when Logan replaces his thumb with his tongue, drawing the sensitive bud into his mouth. 

He continues to work your cunt, long, flat presses of his tongue against your clit punctuated by the short, sharp thrusts of his fingers. The dual sensation is enough to wind that tension in your core tighter, building you up higher and higher until you feel yourself reaching that inevitable peak.

“Logan, I—I’m so close,” you gasp, fisting your fingers into his hair.

His growl against your cunt is enough to send you over the edge, the vibrations rippling through your body as your orgasm washes over you. Through half lidded eyes, you meet his gaze from between your thighs, his eyes dark with desire and you shiver at the intensity of his stare.

Logan crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your lips. You can taste yourself on his lips, bright and sour, as he licks into your mouth. 

“Do you trust me?”

Logan’s fingers are still moving against you, wringing out the last of your orgasm and you can only nod. He withdraws his fingers and you whine, but he just smirks and taps your hip. 

“Turn over,” he commands lowly. 

A shudder ripples through you as you willingly comply, rolling onto your stomach as Logan’s palm trails from your hip over the swell of your ass. His fingers kneed into your flesh and you squeak as he curves them over your skin, pulling you up onto your knees, drawing your hips flush with his. The thick feel of his cock presses into your ass and you can’t help but push back, enjoying the strangled moan that falls from his lips. 

“I can’t wait to be nestled deep inside you,” he groans, slotting his cock between your thighs, running the length along your wet cunt. 

You peer over your shoulder and smirk at him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Logan lines up then and the air punches out of your lungs as he slowly eases himself in to the hilt. He’s deep at this angle and you feel claimed, owned in the best way possible as he begins to move his hips. The drag of his cock against your walls is exquisite and you’re sure you’ve never experienced pleasure quite like this before. 

His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, grabbing as much as he can to pull you back into him and you push back, meeting him thrust for thrust. His grip is enough to be bruising, teetering that line between pleasure and pain and yet you relish it. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Look so good stretched around my cock.”

Pleasure zips along your spine and curls along your limbs, each drag of his cock against you coiling that band in your belly tighter and tighter. Yet, you need more. You need to feel him, feel his arms around you, on you, feel his mouth hot and open against your skin.

“I need to feel you closer,” you whine. “Please, I—”

Logan’s arm slips underneath you, curling just under your breasts and pulling your back flush to his chest. He holds on, fingertips splaying across your ribcage as he fucks up into you, his breath hot and damp against your ear. 

You turn your head just enough to capture his lips, your mouth pressing against his in an open-mouthed kiss. He steals the moan from your throat as his other hand dips to where you’re joined, fingers beginning to circle around your clit. 

Slipping a hand into his hair, you hold him to you, your head falling back onto his shoulder. Logan groans when you rake your nails along his scalp and you do it again. Your mixed groans and the wet noises from where he’s thrusting into you fill the room and time seems to stop. There is nothing but the thick feel of him between your legs, the fervent press of his fingers against your clit and the tight grasp of his hand across your breast. 

A litany of praise falls from his mouth and his words burn through you, setting you aflame from the inside. It’s too early for thoughts of love and forever, but you can feel something real, something undeniable pulling you together, uniting you in a way more than just physical. You’re bound to him. 

Logan’s hand slides up your sternum, his fingers coming to cup your jaw, pulling your focus back to him. The pad of his thumb pulls at your lower lip. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he husks into your ear. “I wanna hear those pretty sounds you make.”

And you do, two more forceful thrusts sending you teetering over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. Logan doesn’t stop, fucking you through wave after wave, his thrusts getting sloppier as he chases his own release. 

“Let me feel you, Logan,” you pant, your breath coming out in short gasps. “Please.”

With a deep groan into your shoulder he comes, his cock spasming deep within you, painting your womb with his seed. His arm around your hips holds you firmly in place as he uses your body to wring out the last of his pleasure, shallowly thrusting as your walls caress him. When he finally stills, breath hot against your skin, you can feel your combined come slick against your thighs. 

You don’t know how long he holds you like that, back to chest, keeping you in his arms simply because he can. 

Only later, when the sweat begins to cool on your skin and your flesh pebbles, does Logan lay you down, finally slipping from within you. He pulls you close and you rest your head against his chest, the comforting lull of his heartbeat echoing in your ear. 

You lightly trace your fingertips over the crest of his hipbone just to feel him beneath you. His breathing evens out, approaching that blissful edge of sleep when you glance up at him. Logan opens his eyes, gaze meeting yours and he smiles.

“Logan?”

His hum vibrates through his chest.

“I think we’re healing each other.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he answers, “I think we are.”

[supernova41st]

(•••) got you a present!

Sonic (characters) x reader *What gifts would they give?

A/n: This idea can e out of nowhere but it’s cute so why not. We’re keeping this one short and sweet because I wanna see if anyone likes my sonic writing. Also knuckles more movie based since I haven’t really seen other forms of media with him in it—other than that the others are pretty general, enjoy!!

Warnings: None

Divider creds: @enchanthings-a

Knuckles

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Well.. he definitely gives you gifts!!

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Knuckles mostly gives you things he randomly finds outdoors, rocks, sticks, leafs, etc.

“Whatcha got there, Knuckles?”

“It appears to be a pine cone.. hm, (Y/N) would enjoy having this pine cone!”

“..Yeah I bet 😀”

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Don’t put him in charge of gift wrapping. Obviously he isn’t that good since he doesn’t use his individual fingers. He isn’t a fan of doing it either, he’d be wasting 10 different rolls of wrapping paper and tape.

“Why.. won’t.. this.. stuffed.. bear.. be consumed by the wrapping paper!!”

“Aww, you got me a bear?”

“AAH! You were not supposed to hear that!!”

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Depending on your liking of nature things, he’s pretty average at gift giving. So he’s a solid 8/10

Shadow

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Shadow is kinda chique with it (only because he’s dating you), he’d be buying you expensive perfumes the most.

“Jesus, shadow! Carolina Herrera? This is like the most expensive perfume I know!!”

“Yeah? Well, I just saw how popular it was so I thought you’d like it..”

“No it’s nice, it’s just real pricy—wait how’d you get this??”

“Don’t worry about it, just use it. That thing wasn’t easy to get”

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི NEVER gives anyone but you a gift. The best he’ll give anyone is 10$ in a Christmas card if he feels like it

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི If you put him in charge of wrapping gifts he’d do it a little too well. His wrapping is IMPOSSIBLE to open! For knuckles it’s light work but the gift inside gets pretty ruined afterwards

“Who did the wrapping for this? I can barely open it!”

“It was me, what? You too weak to open some thin paper??”

“Dude—no one here can open any of the gifts you wrapped. What’d you put your whole chaos energy in this thing?”

ྀིྀིྀིྀ Shadow is totally a 9.5/10, he goes a bit overboard but it’s better than nothing.

Amy

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Amy absolutely LOVES gift giving. She’s real good at it too!! All the gifts she’s given have always ended up in the person having a warm smile on their face (except for shadow)

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི She’s mostly good at getting her gf(s) gifts, can you blame her? Girlies understanding girlies <33

“Here you go (Y/N)! This one’s from me”

“gasp How’d you know I use glow recipe??”

“You left your moisturizer at my house once—hope you like it”

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Her casual gifts are more crafty than her holiday/birthday ones. She’d randomly give some cute friendship bracelet or an origami version of you.

“Just keep your eyes closed, no peaking!”

“Okay okay!! Just hurry up your getting me excited”

“Alright.. open”

“Aww! Is this a little version of you?”

“Yep, you can carry it around with you so that I’m still with you when you’re not there ^^”

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི Her gift wrapping is done with so much care, not a single open flap of wrapping paper in sight. Although she does tend to use gift bags more often, it’s just easier and looks cuter in her opinion.

ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀ Amy is an easy 10/10. Seriously, this girl does not play when it comes to got gift giving.

[kyokutsu-sama]

Headcanons

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Their reaction when you tell them you're pregnat

Characthers: Rengoku, Gyomei, Sanemi, Tengen

A/n: Posting one of my thousands of Headcanon drafts for kny characters😅 This one is also to celebrate 1k followers❤️

I hope you like it✨️

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Rengoku :

He had been away for a few days on a mission and you were feeling a little anxious. Especially after the moment you found out you were pregnant. "Well, it seems like the night before his mission had paid off..." You thought But now you were a little afraid since you carried something very fragile inside you and you were alone at that moment. "Come back to me, Kyojuro." You whispered as you walked around inside the house When the front door opened, you felt your heart lighten but soon after you remembered that you had something to tell him but didn't know how to say it to him. And then you started to get nervous again. "Honey, I'm back." Rengoku said with his usual cheerful and loud voice as he took off his shoes and put his sword aside "Kyo!" You smiled and ran into his arms when you saw him. "I'm so happy to have you back. I missed you so much." You said, hugging him tightly "And I've been missing you so much too. How are you?" "I'm fine." You said, moving away from him and looking down, trying to avoid meeting his big, flaming eyes that were watching you. The hashira noticed that you were acting a little strange and that you were hiding something, so he couldn't help but insist.

"Are you sure? You seemed a little downcast just now." He said, holding your hands and caressing them, and you just nodded. "Yeah, I'm really fine" You said, looking at him now. You stared at each other for a moment until you realized that you hadn't convinced the flame Hashira. You then sighed and closed your eyes for a moment before giving him the big news. "Kyo, I have something to tell you..." You said, looking away "Tell me then." "I'm...I'm pregnant" You said and he was completely speechless "No, wait, are you seriously?" He said with shining eyes and a huge smile on his face. "Are you really... For real?" "Yes" You nodded and he took you in his arms, spinning you around as he celebrated the new If there was one thing he wanted most one day it was to have children and after what you had told at that time, he had never felt so happy. "I love you so so much, my dear." He said, kissing every corner of your face and putting you on the floor "I love you too." You said, hugging him "I will protect you from any danger. You, and this precious little thing here." He said caressing your belly and you smiled, feeling your eyes watering "Thank you" You smiled at him

Gyomei :

Gyomei had left very early that day to go to a quiet place outside, to pray. You woke up a little while later and he still hadn't come back. You sat down on the futon and felt very nauseous and ran to the bathroom to throw up. You knew the reason for that and it wasn't just nausea. There was something more. Gyomei didn't know anything yet and you hadn't thought about telling him either. You didn't know how he would react and besides, you were afraid after what he had experienced in the past with those children that he hadn't been able to protect. But you didn't want to do that to him and you couldn't bear the idea of ​​hiding something so serious from the man you loved so much. He had the right to now. When you left the bathroom and went to the bedroom, you were taken by surprise when you came across the big man in the middle of the room. His size never went unnoticed. "Oh Gyomei, you're back!" You said, trying to hide the nervousness. "Did everything go well?" "Yes, the outdoor spaces are great for giving you more concentration during prayers. What about you? Do you still feel nauseous?" He asked, sitting down on the futon, next to you "Yes, yes, I'm feeling better now." You said. The hashira had already noticed that you hadn't been well for a few days and he also knew about the recent symptoms, but unlike you, he didn't know the cause behind it. But you were about to tell him in that moment. "Gyomei...I need to tell you something." You approached him, sitting on his lap and holding one of his hands "Is something happening to you, Y/n?" He asked, worried about your low voice "It's nothing bad, but it's just..." "What?" You then guided his strong, veiny hand to your belly and left it there for a while. He could tell it was your belly through the touch but he still hadn't realized what you were trying to say. "Is this your belly?" He asked, gently caressing your skin "Yes,"You nodded with a little smile. "and I'm carrying your child here." You said and he paused for a moment, processing the words you had just said It didn't take long for you to see the tears falling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. He was easily moved but that news made him more sensitive than anything else he had witnessed. "You...You're carrying something so fragile and so innocent here? Something so tiny and that has no perception of the world around it. Poor thing," Gyomei said, crying and making you cry too."I'll protect you two with my life. Even if I couldn't protect the others that night, I'll protect you. Thank you for giving me such beautiful new, you are everything to me."He said, hugging you "You too, I love you so much." You said, hugging him and feeling his arms wrap around you, keeping you safe. You were so relieved to know that he was happy with the news. He would undoubtedly be a great father and very protective.

Tengen :

The other wives had already started to notice signs in you that something wasn't right. The vague suspicion was already in the air, but you still hadn't told them anything even after knowing what was happening to you Although Makio is very suspicious that it might be true "But haven't y'all seen it yet? It's obvious that she's pregnant!" Makio said to you and to Hina and Suma, who were looking at you "But how do you know? It could just be something I ate that made me sick." You replied "You're joking right ? How could someone spend almost a month throwing up as soon as you wake up, feeling nauseous because of smells or having food cravings that would make anyone else sick. Go head, tell me?" Makio crossed her arms and you looked away "Come on, don't argue. That won't solve anything," Hina said, trying to calm the situation. "Y/n, did something happen between you and Tengen before he left for the mission?" She asked, turning her gaze to you and you snorted "Yes..." You nodded and looked down. "At least two weeks before he left and the day before the mission." "See? Don't you think that's more than enough to confirm it? Why do you still deny it?" Makio said "Jeeez Makio, don't talk so rudely. Can't you see that she's not feeling well?" Suma scolded Makio "Why? Did I lie ?" "Stop it already!" You shouted and everyone went silent."She's right. I found out a few days ago." You finally confessed "Oh, so it wasn't something you ate after all..." Makio said with a little, wry smile "I didn't want to say anything because you'd start making a fuss like you are doing now." "Ladies, your flashy husband is home!!" Tengen shouted from the entrance and the four of you quickly changed expressions."Look who's gathered here! Waiting for me? Where are my hugs at?"The sound hashira smiled and opened his arms to y'all The three wifes ran into his arms but you just sat there feeling a little nervous because of his presence. "Y/n, what's with that face? Come here." Tengen said approaching you and you stood up to hug him. "Are you okay?" He leaned in to whisper in your ear but you just pulled away and looked at him with your lips curved up in a tiny smile "Tengen, I have something to tell you." You said, holding his hands "What does my dear wife have to tell me?" "I'm pregnant." "WHAT!!?" Tengen's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in surprise "Yes, you're going to be a father." You smiled at him "I can't believe it. That sounds so flashy. Come here, princess!" Tengen picked you up and kissed you with joy "Tengen, put me down!" You said, patting his shoulder, but he ignored you "My son will be the most flashy ever." He said with a wide smile and kissing you again "Give me a kiss too, Tengen!!" Suma whimpered from the back of the room "Me too!" Makio said Hinatsuru just chuckled at the two of them. She was so happy for you and would do anything to take care of you and keep you safe.

Sanemi :

Sanemi hadn't been home all day and you had just arrived from the Butterfly Mansion after asking Shinobu to run some exams on you after you had been feeling unwell lately. You thought it was nothing special, never even imagining that it could be something as serious as pregnancy. You sat on the couch looking at some random corner still trying to process what she had told you before. It wasn't like you weren't already expecting it (because there was a reason for that), but it was still a surprise for you. You thought a lot about his reaction and what he would say. You weren't sure if he would like it or if he was ready to be a father. You looked so confused at that moment. Your thoughts were gone when the front door closed and Sanemi came into the house. You got up from the couch and a short while later he entered the living room. "Sanemi, I'm glad you're here." You went to him and hugged him "Yeah, it was a hard and tiring day..."He gave a long, tired sigh."If you keep hugging me, you'll start to smell like sweat and disgusting demon blood." He said, caressing your back with one hand "Disgusting!" You giggled. "You're really dripping with sweat." "I told you. I need a shower, are you coming with me?" He looked at you with a suggestive look, but you looked away "Nemi, I need to tell you something first..." "What?" "Remember when I said I had to do some exams at the butterfly mansion a few weeks ago?" "Yes, why?" "The results came out today." "So?" "Nemi... I'm pregnant." You said, looking into his eyes, which widened in surprise at your words "You... You what?" The wind hashira was still confused by the news. "Is this serious?" "Yes." You confirmed again The wind hashira was speechless, he just pulled you towards him to hug you tightly and give you the greatest sense of security you had ever felt. You could have sworn you felt his heart melt at that moment. Sanemi wasn't the type to show affection as proof of love, he spoke with actions, but they could be harsh and rigid sometimes. Although it was different with you. He had a horrible father in his past. Both for him and for his siblings and his mother. All that mistreatment left its mark on him, but he swore not to repeat the cycle if he were to be a father one day. "I will protect you with my life. You are carrying my son now, I will not let any of those monsters get to you, much less any person to hurt you. You are under my protection, you and my little brat." He whispered next to your ear as one of his hands went to your belly "Are you happy about this, Sanemi?" You asked, lifting your head to look at him "You have no idea how much." Sanemi said, before kissing you with passion. "You are giving me a family. Why wouldn't you be happy, huh?" He poked your nose and you smiled."Come here, let's take a bath." He said, carrying you in his arms

[ckret2]

Chapter 85 of human Bill Cipher getting a ✨💅 makeover 💇‍♀️✨ so he can seduce a government agent into not arresting him and/or the Mystery Shack gang: a flashback to Scalene & Euclid on Bill's birthday, Pacifica receiving the world's most inept lesson about fatphobia, and the continued adventures of the Pines family attempting to get a flash drive out of a goat's guts.

####

Scalene braced one shaking hand with the other as she reapplied her lipstick—a red so bright it was nearly orange, all the better to make her look a little less sickly than she felt.

She tried to pretend she didn't notice Euclid glaring daggers at her.

She'd come out of her swoon as she was being helped outside by several shapes, including Euclid supporting her with one arm and carrying Bill in the other. Once they were outdoors, someone had shoved the trophy and knives Bill had won into Euclid's hands, and then they'd been left outside as everyone else's attention turned to dealing with the mysterious fire that had spontaneously ignited inside; and for the past few minutes, Scalene had been putting herself back together while Euclid tried to soothe Bill.

Finally, once she deemed herself sufficiently presentable, she held out her arms to Euclid and their still-whimpering child. "All right, I can take him."

Euclid didn't move.

"Come on! You're not gonna hold a grudge against me for fainting, are you?"

Euclid said, "What did I tell you?"

"I brought my cane," Scalene said indignantly.

"Well, where was it?"

There was a long silence.

"Lene..."

"Oh, don't give me that look, it was just behind the curtain! I wasn't about to bring it on stage, I had to make sure Billy looked good!"

"What does your cane have to do with how good he looks?!"

"And the mayor didn't hand over the trophy fast enough," she said, ignoring Euclid's question. "If he had, I could have leaned on that. But no, he just kept yammering on..."

Euclid's copper blue eye had the most piercing glare in town. The fact that he also had the worst eyesight in town did nothing to dispel its power. Scalene much preferred when it was aimed at other people.

But then Bill wiggled his tiny hands toward Scalene with a displeased coo; and with a warning, "Careful," Euclid finally handed him over. "So. He didn't do too bad for his first outing. We've got a winner on our hands?"

Scalene was off the hook. She relaxed. "I think we do. The judges were very impressed he showed up to his first contest on his birthday." 

"You'll only be able to do that once," Euclid pointed out.

"Sure, but for the rest of his life he can tell judges he went to his first pageant on the day he was born—can't you?" She directed the question to Bill. "Yes you can! That shows real ambition!" She poked one of his sides just beneath his eye. "And they were impressed by his good looks and how calm he is."

That was well deserved. Bill had entered the world with eye wide open—rather than face scrunched up and eye retracted to cry like most infants—and looking around for his parents, as though he were already used to the light and recognized his surroundings.

"Glad the judges didn't find it creepy, at least," Euclid said.

Scalene waved him off. "What did those nurses know? They should've been grateful to get a kid that isn't wailing in their faces! They couldn't appreciate how adorable he is—but look at him. From the front you'd think he's an oval." It was true: his corners were soft and rounded, and his angles were so flexible that his top angle squashed down toward his feet, making it look more like a right angle than acute. On top of that, his bright, shining pupil was so wide it took up half his face. "One of the judges said he looks downright cherubic. That's going on your resumé, young triangle."

Bill blinked sweetly up at his mother. He would never in his life need to write a resumé, for all the worst reasons.

"And—" Euclid lowered his voice, "—none of them realized how many birth defects he has?"

She swatted his arm. "Shh! No. Everything we've got is too obscure. As far as the pageant circuit is concerned, they're birth assets. My corners were still round when I started competing, and the judges thought I was adorable, too. As long as he goes on stage without braces on, they'll think he looks unique instead of deformed—just like I did."

"If he keeps going on stage without braces, he'll need a cane before he's middle-aged, just like you do."

"Not until his best pageant years are behind him," Scalene said icily. "Besides, we'll do better by him than my mother did for me. We already know what he has—"

"—we think we do, you left before the doctors could examine him—"

"—and I've already got appointments lined up for him with the best orthopedic doctor in the county and your and Euler's optometrist. We'll make sure his face stays pretty, his angles sharpen up, and his organs don't collapse in on themselves. He's just lucky he's got a mother that knows how to make that big eye of his look cute instead of bulgy." She pointed at the trophy, "As long as his good looks keep winning prizes, he'll be able to pay off his own medical bills and bring home a few bonuses."

For the first time, Euclid turned his attention to the trophy and the Knifeco gift box, and he laughed sharply. "Knifeco's still got the myor convinced that the next sample set he gives away for free will get everybody excited to order a full set from him, huh?"

Scalene scoffed. "I don't know why anybody would bother to order one. If they wait long enough and show up to a few city events, eventually they'll win a full set. How much of his own money has he spent on knife sample sets by now?"

"Last I heard? 30, 40k? We probably won't find out how much he's embezzled from city funds 'til next election."

"Otto's an idiot," Scalene said. "After all these years, you'd think he'd figure out the only way to make money at that company is to recruit more salesmen and get a cut of the profits from the kits they sell."

"You'd think." Euclid shrugged impassively. "But as long as I'm still getting 5% from each of his sales to himself, I'm not about to tell him that." He rubbed a thumb on one of Scalene's corners, rubbing off a bit of waxy red side liner to expose the duller pink underneath. "We probably wouldn't be able to afford your makeup habit without him."

Scalene swatted Euclid's hand away. "Well, we can throw away your old chipped set." She patted the dark wood box. "From now on, we're using the set Billy won for us—isn't that right, Billy?" She bounced Bill lightly by her side. He was staring at the box, transfixed. "I think he likes it! That's right, these are your birthday knives, sweetheart."

When his parents looked at the box, they only saw the dark wood; but Bill saw through the wood—over the wood—to the silvery needlelike knives within. They gleamed with starlight shining down from a higher dimension. And then Bill looked up at the stars, glittering far above. He wiggled in Scalene's arm, but couldn't figure out how to move his limbs in the direction he saw above.

Euclid looked at the wiggling child, and tensed up. "Lene. Look at his eye."

She did, and sucked in a sharp breath. "What happened to him?"

"If this is because you dropped him..."

Bill's pupil had disappeared, leaving his eye looking empty and bloodshot silver. But at the change in the tone of his parents' voices, he blinked and focused on them curiously, his pupil back where it belonged like it had never disappeared.

They stared speechlessly at him.

"Did you and Euler's eyes ever do that?" Scalene asked. "Before those surgeries you got as kids?"

"Not—not that I remember. But I could ask Mom and Dad," he said, already knowing the answer would be no.

She stared at Bill's eye a moment longer; but when he didn't do anything but stare back innocently, she sighed. "Well, that's something else we can ask your optometrist. Maybe he'll have a fix for it."

####

While Pacifica was in the bathroom cleaning up after their makeup experimentation, Goldie stood from his folding chair to lean on the desk next to Mabel, staring with a look of intense concentration into the air over the chair about where his head had been.

"What's up?" Pacifica asked, leaning out of the bathroom.

Distractedly, Goldie said, "Nothing, just watching you do my face."

Pacifica frowned. "What? I'm over here?"

Mabel leaned between them, laughing nervously. "What he means is, he does this thing where he, uhh, imagines that he can see what happened around him in the past, so he's... pretending he's watching you put makeup on his face a few minutes ago." At Pacifica's skeptical look, Mabel hastily added, "It's not like a psychic thing or anything! It's just a... um..."

Goldie mumbled, "Mindfulness visualization exercise."

"Yeah! It helps him memorize stuff! Right?"

"You bet. All the best venture capitalists are doing it."

Pacifica said, "Oh, I think a CEO my dad invited over was talking about that. Is it like a meditation thing? You think about what you want to get it?"

"Say it until you believe it, believe it until it's true!" Mabel said.

Goldie elbowed her. "Look who's been paying attention." She beamed at him.

Pacifica packed the makeup, brushes, and spare hair ties and pins he'd need in a bag, and handed it over. "Okay, that should take care of your face. When you shower tonight, remember to wash all the makeup off, you do not want this messing with your pores; remember to moisturize or your skin will crack apart like a mummy's"—one of her mother's favorite threats—"get Mabel to help pin your curls tomorrow, and just do what I showed you for the rest. Now we just have to worry about clothing." She sized up his hair color, his skin color—couldn't quite bring herself to look at his eye color, though. "I think you're a spring. You can probably pull off some autumn colors too. But usually springs are supposed to tan easier than they burn..."

"I do!" He gestured at himself, sunburns and all, and said proudly, "This took hard work!"

That answered a question she'd been asking herself all day, and brought up half a dozen more. "Not going to ask. So, you want to go for bright, clear, warm colors. And you'll look better in gold accessories."

"I know," he said smugly.

Colors were the easy part. She wished she'd had time to call up her personal tailor to bring by some dresses that could be adjusted. Goldie had such a weird body shape—narrow shoulders, sticklike arms, slender calves, and then a wide waist and even wider hips. There couldn't be much clothing that fit him, masculine or feminine. "Do you have any cute clothes in colors that flatter you? Feminine clothes?"

"What's feminine? Dresses?" Goldie turned to Mabel. "Everything else is hit-or-miss, but dresses and skirts are still universally feminine around here, right?" Pacifica was dying to know what Goldie's life had been like.

"Yeah," Mabel said, "I think we managed to get that yellow summer dress at the mall."

Pacifica winced. "Is a summer dress all you've got?" Not the worse choice, depending on the cut, but it probably wouldn't do his figure any favors.

"It's either that or Jesús's grandma's skirts," Goldie said, shrugging. "Did we manage to snag that sparkly dress with all the pink peacock feathers?"

"That's more of a third date dress. You don't want him to think you're out of his league," Mabel said. "It's too bad we didn't get that galaxy print skirt."

"You know what I could really use? Halter top trapeze dress. Maybe stick a petticoat under the skirt for extra volume. They've gotta make trapeze dresses with petticoats somewhere."

"I could probably make one," said Mabel (who wasn't even sure what a trapeze dress was but was over the moon to see him voluntarily express an interest in human clothing).

Pacifica's face twisted in a grimace. Pityingly, she said, "Oh, you really don't know your body type at all."

He gave her an unimpressed look. "Don't I?"

The thing was, a trapeze dress in and of itself wasn't a bad idea: it was tight around the bust, flared out like a tent underneath, and stopped before the knees; so it could highlight his slim shoulders and arms, let him show off his thin calves, and do at least a bit to conceal those thunder thighs and flabby waistline. But... "A halter top would make your shoulders look way too narrow; and a petticoat would completely undermine the flattering effects of a trapeze dress, and—where would you even position the petticoat? Trapeze dresses doesn't have a waistline."

"About where the skirt starts," Goldie said, drawing a line in the air around bust height.

He couldn't be serious. "Absolutely not. You'd look like a walking triangle."

A smile of near maniacal glee stretched across Goldie's face. Before he could say anything, Mabel grabbed his arm and said, "I think you should just go with what Pacifica says! Pacifica, what do you think?"

"Just—stick with the dress you already have." Between a triangle trapeze dress, the threat of pink feathers, and galaxy print, suddenly Pacifica was grateful for the yellow summer dress. "It's great. Summer dresses are flirty. Do you have shoes that match it?"

Goldie pointed at his fish slippers. "It's these, black oxfords, or foam clogs."

"No," Pacifica said. "Sandals, flats, or open toe heels. And throw away the fish slippers."

"Never."

Mabel said, "You could reuse the sandals you borrowed from Dipper for your Summerween costume?"

"Please don't tell me what they look like," Pacifica said. "Okay, dress, shoes—accessories... just, get something nice but understated. And classy. Do I need to explain what 'classy' looks like?"

"Relax, I used to have a collection of gold that put Albion Art to shame," Goldie said. "I know how to do 'classy.'"

"I'm going to pretend I trust you," Pacifica said. "Okay, underwear—got to wear a bra unless the dress has built-in support; and if you hurry, it's probably not too late to go wherever poor people shop and grab some shapewear for your..." she gestured vaguely toward Goldie's abdomen, "problem area..."

"No," Goldie said flatly. "I'm drawing the line at shapewear. I look fine."

Ooh, not good. His attitude toward everything else about his looks ranged from "apathy" to "disgust," why was flaunting his not-flauntworthy curves the point where he chose to push back? She should've been more direct with him.  "Hon, I love the confidence, but..." Pacifica grimaced apologetically. "You're fat. Like, really fat. And you're not gonna win this guy if he thinks you've let yourself go."

Mabel shot from slouching to sitting straight up. "Pacifica!"

"What, it's true! He probably thinks having skinny arms hides it, but back me up here—it is not subtle."

"Don't say that, he's beautiful!!"

Pacifica had been braced for Goldie to be outraged, embarrassed, ashamed, go into denial, something—just about anything except snort with laughter. He waved them off when they looked at him. Pacifica wondered whether he'd misunderstood the conversation. "Listen to you two! You're letting the subtext do so much of the heavy lifting that you don't even realize half the things you're saying." His gaze on them was cold and faintly amused; and for a moment Pacifica felt like a bug whose behavior was being studied by some immense alien being, and who had been judged inferior.

"Anyway, I'm not trying to hide anything—and I'd make it less subtle if I could. I love my shape!" He pantomimed his shape with his hands—although, where most people would sort of draw an hourglass shape if they wanted to their body's curves, the shape he drew in the air looked more like a triangle. Which, admittedly, was more true to his actual appearance. "And you're changing it over my dead bo—" He winced, muttering, "Maybe not the best way to put that."

Now Pacifica wondered if she'd misunderstood him. "What."

"Look, kid..." Goldie stood straighter, put a hand on Pacifica's shoulder, and adopted the most patronizing tone she'd ever heard. "I know your parents taught you the only things contributing to your personal worth are how rich you are and how attractive other people find you, so let's agree that's all that really matters, right?"

"Um," said Pacifica, who was pretty sure she was about to receive some twee lesson about 'inner beauty' but had never heard one that started with the lecturer agreeing that wealth and looks were the most important things.

"And I know Missy Priscy's got you convinced that your beauty and your weight are engaged in a battle to the death over the right to terraform your flesh. So this might blow your mind—but you've been lied to! The sight of a human female over size 4 doesn't cause the contents of a human male's gonads to curdle! Fat chicks have been successfully getting hitched and passing the genetic baton to their offspring for all of human history—and reproduction is the only objective benchmark evolution has to measure who's hot and who's not, so you can rate that higher than the opinion of a tarnished trophy who thinks enough botox will make her immortal. Hear what I'm saying, Alpaca. Absorb it. Incorporate it into your worldview."

She bristled at the description of her mother, but swallowed back the urge to lash out. He was bitter and taking it out on her. He was feeding her a load of sour grapes. This was just the kind of thing fat people told themselves to feel less bad about being fat. "Riiight."

Goldie's patronizing smirk curled down at one corner in irritation. "Ah, who'm I kidding! You're not gonna believe me! Your mom, your modeling job, the pageant world, the beauty industry—they've burrowed way too deep in your head, and there's no digging them back out without a lobotomy." He scoffed. "You're one snide jab at the wrong time away from an eating disorder."

"Hey! How dare you!" Pacifica thought that was way meaner than anything she'd said.

Mabel snapped, "B—Goldie! Be nice! What's gotten into you two!"

"Yeesh, touched a nerve! Excuse me!" He raised his hands apologetically, but he was grinning impishly. "Anyway—" he raised his voice as the girls attempted to scold him again, "Anyway! More to the point—our target looked me up and down in a bikini and asked if he could help slather sunscreen around my waist, so I think he thinks my body looks great in the shape it's already in. And getting the guy is the only important thing—right?"

If Goldie was telling the truth, Pacifica couldn't think of any other reason some guy would volunteer to rub sunscreen on him—even if she found it hard to believe. And if he was making it up, then whatever, he could sabotage himself if he wanted, she didn't care. She rolled her eyes, grit her teeth, and muttered, "Fine."

"Not fine! Both of you hold on!" Mabel stood, decided she wasn't tall enough, and climbed on the folding chair.  "You two were just really mean to each other! That's terrible—especially after you were getting along so great! Apologize to each other!" She crossed her arms, glaring them down.

Pacifica stared at her in disbelief, brows raised. "I beg your pardon?"

But Goldie didn't look like this was odd to him at all. He just rolled his eyes—"All right, all right,"—and looked at Pacifica. "C'mon. You can't be that mad. You've heard worse."

She scowled at him, but she supposed she had. From her mom, her old pageant coach, her manager that got her modeling jobs—she was just more used to warnings about getting fat than she was to warnings about fearing getting fat. "So have you."

"Worse than you can imagine," Goldie said. "We're good?"

"We're good," Pacifica said.

Goldie looked at Mabel. "We're good!"

Mabel looked between the two of them suspiciously. "That was an apology?"

"Got the job done, didn't it?"

Mabel didn't look pleased, but she sat down on the folding chair and crossed her arms.

Pacifica said, "Okay, you're off the hook for shapewear—but if he thinks you look like a slob, it's on you."

He rolled his eyes. "Noted!"

"But you've got to wear a bra. What are the straps like on the summer dress, do you have a bra that'll fit under it okay?"

Goldie groaned. "We can reuse my bikini and pad the cups or something. We don't have time to go to the mall and figure out what size I am."

In horror, Pacifica quietly asked, "Do... do you not even own a bra."

"Why would I?" Goldie asked, like he couldn't imagine a single practical reason. Hard to tell his size through an oversized t-shirt; he was definitely small, but it wasn't like he was flat. "I've never really cared about local fashion outside of batiks, brocades, tie dyes, and sarcastic t-shirts, but now that it's affecting me personally? I cannot wait for that particular fad to die."

Since when were batiks local. And who calls bras a fad. That's like calling shoes a fad. "What is your life like," Pacifica asked.

Goldie grinned. "You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

####

"That's it. That's all I can do for you," Pacifica said. "Good luck on... whatever it is you're doing. Because I'm pretty sure you're not actually into this guy?"

Mabel said, "Wooing a federal agent to avoid getting the whole family arrested!"

Pacifica nodded. "Oh, cool. Let me know how that goes."

Mabel stopped to hug Giorgio on the way out.

As they left Pacifica's barn, Bill turned to face Mabel. "Welp!" He pantomimed like he was playing a violin, "Ready to bow on some poor sucker's heartstrings until we yank out his aorta?"

"Ha ha. Yeah. Sure." Mabel tried to smile and it came out as a grimace. "Sounds great."

"Hey, don't give me that look!" He shoved Mabel's shoulder. "You've heard me say gorier things than that!" He flashed her a grin she could only describe as bloodthirsty, and bounced off toward the road back to town, so cheerful he was very nearly floating.

And she watched him go, biting her lip.

Something had been bothering her since his argument with Pacifica:

She couldn't figure out why he wasn't better.

####

Bill nudged Mabel. "Hey. Am I in trouble?"

"What?"

"You've been giving me the silent treatment since we left." That had been about fifteen minutes earlier. "Is it because of the eating disorder thing? Do I have to apologize to you for that? It's not like I was insulting her! If anything, I did her a favor by warning her—"

She gave him a sour look—that had been very rude, even if not Bill's typical existential horror cosmic nightmare level rudeness—but said, "No, it's not that. I'm just thinking about stuff."

"Are you gonna share it, or do I have to wait until I can crawl inside your head again to find out?"

Mabel was silent a moment. "Do you actually like tie-dye?"

"That's what's bothering you?" He pulled his eyepatch back on—Pacifica had told him putting it back on would probably mess up his makeup, but that didn't really matter until tomorrow. "Of course I do, who doesn't! It's chaos on a shirt." He shrugged. "I've never had any—but, y'know, it's nice to look at, anyway."

"Wait, never? We should do tie-dye together! I can get us some white shirts and we can dye them outside," Mabel said. "Maybe I can invite Grenda and Candy!"

"Sounds like a party! Let me know when, you know what my schedule looks like."

"Great!" She beamed at him.

But as they walked, her smile slowly faded as she drifted back into her own thoughts.

His ideas about flirting were very hit or miss, but Mabel thought they were probably hits more often with aliens that thought dead salmon smelled sexy. He'd had a girlfriend, at any rate.

And he'd gotten chummy with Abuelita (even after she tried to poison him), he'd charmed Gideon's mom in like ten seconds, Wendy thought he was cool and so did half her gang, Candy and Grenda said he was fun, Mabel was pretty sure Stan kinda liked him even if he wouldn't admit it... He'd even managed to develop a rapport with Pacifica—Pacifica!—which had taken Mabel like two-thirds of the summer!—and he'd done it even though they'd insulted each other!

He was charming, he was fun, he clearly got romance...

So how come he didn't have true love and best friends that weren't evil?

The question itched at her brain.

Mabel firmly believed that the only thing that made people bad was not getting enough love. Family love, friend love, romance love, adorable cuddly pet love, whatever. Put love in, get love out; put nothing in, get a swirling vortex of loneliness and hatred where the love should have been stored. Like Prickly Bee in Color Critters! Who during season one had been one of the color-hating bad guys, but in season two had inexplicably joined the good guys due to network executive meddling, and it wasn't until season three that they did a flashback episode showing that the critters had won her over by showing her the kindness and caring that her old boss Serpent Grey never had!

And at the beginning of summer, after Mabel helped Bill get his hair back, he'd said it had been a long time since anyone had been nice to him; and he'd been nice to her since then, so that seemed to support her theory. All it took was a little love!

She just couldn't figure out why he didn't already have enough.

He had all those monster friends he'd tried to conquer the world with last year, but maybe they were those "people who claim to be friends but are actually allies who hate each other" that you see amongst cartoon villains. (Like Serpent Grey's minions.) Was it because they were aliens? Were aliens not good at friendship? Had he been deprived until now?

She remembered how heavy even the smallest glimpse at his pain had been—listening to him grieve over his own death. It was clear that, whatever he'd had before, what he needed now was better love, more friends—enough to share that psychological weight without collapsing—but how much would be enough to untwist his crooked morality?

Mabel was running out of time. Summer was almost halfway over. She only had seven more weeks to reintegrate Bill into society—to help him make amends for everything he'd done last summer—or else... or else she'd failed. She'd failed him. 

And she knew she was making progress with Bill, but she didn't know if it was enough. She wished he'd go faster. She wished summer would go slower. She wished she had more time.

She remembered what had happened the last time she'd wished for a little more summer.

So she'd just have to figure out how to save him in the time they had left. She couldn't just pick up a broken teacup, glue half the pieces together, then abandon it half-repaired to leak tea all over the floor. She was a problem solver, it was what she did. She had to solve this problem—or else everything she'd done this past year would be for nothing.

As they walked, she reached out to grab Bill's hand. He gave her a curious look, but he didn't pull it back.

"Was all that stuff true about you doing pageants as a kid?" (There must have been something in his past to explain why he didn't have enough love—maybe in his childhood.) "Or did you just make that up to make Pacifica relax?" (She guiltily remembered him accusing her of trying to "fix" him—how badly he'd been hurt by the thought.)

She felt his hand tense in her grip, but he shrugged dismissively. "They're not exactly identical to human beauty pageants—no real fashion component, for one thing—but, yeah. Did 'em as a kid. I went to my first pageant on the day I was born."

"So you lied when you told me you didn't do them yourself?"

"I did not," Bill said indignantly. "I just didn't correct you when you guessed wrong!"

At Mabel's sour look, Bill rolled his eye and said, "What, am I supposed to correct you every time you say something wrong? Because humans are wrong about just about everything—"

"Bill."

He huffed. "The specifics weren't any of your business, okay? It's—not something I talk about with humans. Or any other aliens, for that matter."

"Why not? Was it—"

"Because it's ancient history," he said sharply.

Mabel gave him a worried look. When he didn't elaborate, she said, "So, is it really as stressful as you and Pacifica made it sound?"

"Stressful!" Bill scoffed. "Name a part of life that isn't stressful. School, work, breeding a family, yadda yadda—better to learn how to handle it early, right? And it's only stressful if you're bad at it! I was good. I was very good."

"Good at what?" Mabel asked.

"Uh..." Bill had to grasp for a moment. "Being... cute. Charming the judges. Wowing 'em at the talent portion—when I wasn't starting fires. I really did play the piano! I mean—not a piano, but the closest equivalent my world had. There's nothing cuter than a kid playing an instrument he can hardly reach each end of." At Mabel's continued worried look, he said, "What! It was harmless. It was just a bunch of baby shapes bumbling around the stage looking adorable, that's all! It wasn't that bad!"

He was quiet for a moment; and then he repeated to himself, "It wasn't that bad."

####

"Don't get any closer," Stan said. "This place is about to be a toxic waste dump."

Bill and Mabel looked around Stan. In the middle of the clearing behind the Mystery Shack, a tent had been set up. Inside, a goat bleated in a plea for help.

Mabel asked, "Why?"

"Poindexter and your brother's plan to get that computer doohickey out of the goat the old-fashioned way didn't work. He wouldn't eat the concoction they mixed up. So they're getting it out of him the other old-fashioned way."

"Vivisection?" Bill asked hopefully.

"No—" Stan fell silent, squinted at Bill's face, and decided not to comment on his new look. "Vomit. You remember that witch's brew we used to chase off the flying eyeball that you—er—you knew?"

Mabel screwed up her face. "Oh, yuck, that was the worst thing I ever smelled."

Stan tipped his head toward the tent. "Well, they're about to detonate what's left of it."

"'Detonate'?"

Ford's voice came from the tent: "On the count of three! One... two..."

There was a muffled boom. The walls of the tent billowed outward and an orange ball of fire illuminated Ford, Dipper, and Gomper's silhouettes. Gompers let out a loud bleat of distress.

Voice strained, Dipper said, "Ugh, that smell—I think I'm gonna be—" He had to try a couple of times to unzip the tent, then stumbled out and landed on his hands and knees in the dirt, gasping for fresh air.

Ford—wearing a gas mask—ducked out of the tent. "I told you you'd want a mask."

"Smelling it in close quarters is way—" He clapped a hand over his mouth and gagged, "—way worse than I thought."

"Well?" Stan called. "Did anything come up?"

Ford peered back into the tent. "No."

Stan flung his hands up.

"Don't lose hope," Ford said. "I have a spell to induce vertigo somewhere. I don't remember all the words, but..."

Bill spent several seconds pretending he didn't notice Ford was staring directly at him before he said, "Can I help you?"

"You know the spell, don't you?"

"What, the Maximus Vertiginous? 'Course I do. Classic prank."

Ford stared at him expectantly. Bill said, "What?"

"How does it go?" Ford asked impatiently.

"Oh, you expect me to teach you?" Bill rolled his eye.

Mabel frowned up at him. "Come on, Bill, don't be a jerk."

The back of his neck started heating up as he realized the whole family was staring at him. He stood a little straighter. "Listen to you, ya little hypocrite! Aren't you the one who keeps showing me those cute cartoons telling me to be myself?" To Stanford, he said, "I don't tutor my dropouts. Go find your own notes, Stanford Pines."

Ford glowered at Bill, but then he left the tent, zipped it shut behind himself, and trudged toward the shack. His irritated muttering was muffled by the gas mask.

As soon as the door shut, Stan clapped his hands. "Okay! Ford's gone, now we're doing this my way." As he passed Dipper, he said, "C'mon, kid, chop chop. I need your help, your hands are smaller than mine."

Dipper groaned, but got back to his feet, pulled his shirt over his nose, and trudged back to the tent with Stan. "What are we doing?"

"The same thing you and Ford were—but more assertive! Sixer nixed my plan, but his obviously didn't work." Stan unzipped the tent's flap. "All right. I'll hold the goat's mouth open, you reach in."

"Ohhh no."

Bill's face lit up. "Heeey, that sounds fun! Let me try! My hands are small and I can actually see the flash drive!"

"Oh no you don't," Stan said. "We can't risk you picking up the eyeball repellant stink, you've gotta stay pretty until loverboy shows up!"

"What, so suddenly I'm too pretty to grope a goat's guts?" Bill stared at Mabel in disbelief, waiting for her to commiserate over this injustice.

Mabel—who was still a bit miffed about being called a hypocrite—said, "Let's just go in." As they walked to the porch, she said, "'Be yourself' doesn't mean be a jerk. It means 'don't hide your talents' and 'keep doing your hobbies even if other people think they're boring' and stuff."

"Yeah, well, what if one of my talents is being a jerk?"

Mabel groaned. "There's gotta be an episode that covers this."

As Stan entered the tent, he said, "Phew, that reeks! Hey, zip the tent when you come in."

Dipper hung back nervously, half in the tent and pinching his nose shut. "Grunkle Stan, I'm not sure about this idea."

"Come on, it—it can't be hard! Farmers do this. I think. Look, I'm doing the hard part, all you have to do is reach down his throat! Lemme just... get my fingers between his jaws...

Gompers bleated angrily. Stan hollered in pain.

"Oh, no!" Dipper dove for Gompers and landed in the dirt as the goat shot past. From the porch, Mabel and Bill could only watch as Gompers headed the other way.

Soos walked around the corner of the shack. "Hey, du—whoa!"

"Soos!" Dipper shouted. "Catch him!"

Soos dove to the side to get out of the way of the charging goat, watched him vanish into the forest, and said, "Aw—dude, I just did the opposite of what you asked me to do. That's totally my bad."

Ford opened the back door with a handful of papers and his gas mask pushed up on his forehead. "I heard shouting, what happened?"

"Uhhh," Soos said. "Gompers just escaped into the forest."

"What?! How?!"

Stan stumbled through the tent's flap, cradling a hand. "It was—it was totally unexpected. Just ran off for no reason. Completely unprompted," he said. "He also bit my hand. Don't ask why my hand was so close to his mouth."

Ford said, "Which way?! We have to follow him immediately! If the agents detect the drive's signal before we retrieve him—"

"Don't bother," Bill said. "As long as he's in the forest, if he doesn't want to be caught, he won't be. There's nothing you can do until he comes out."

Ford narrowed his eyes. "How are you so sure?"

"He ate some magic rocks."

"Ah. Well." He shrugged in defeat. Nothing they could do if he'd eaten magic rocks. "But what if he does want to be caught?"

Bill gestured toward the forest with a flourish. "If you think he's eager for more of the hors d'oeuvres and perfume you've been offering him today, go get 'im."

Stan cleared his throat. "Well—the good news is, when the agents get here, they won't find the thingamajig in the Mystery Shack! Eh? Ehhh?"

"Oh, yeah, that's what I was coming over to tell you guys," Soos said. "I was taking out the trash, and I saw this car parked just up the road, and it looked like the car the government dudes were in today, so, I think they're watching the shack now?"

There was a long silence as the group processed that.

"We can't be outside," Ford said. "If they see Stan they'll want to interrogate him, if they see Bill here after hours they'll know he's not a passing tourist, and if they see me they'll realize I'm not a superior officer from Washington—"

Bill slammed his fist on the back door. "Then stop rambling and let me in!"

Ford opened the door and ushered everyone inside. "Hurry!"

"But what about Gompers?" Dipper asked. "We've gotta at least try to find him before the agents do!"

"What if the agents follow you to Gompers?" Ford asked. Dipper hesitated.

Mabel said, "We can make disguises so they won't recognize us!" She took off her half of the enchanted friendship bracelets, chucked it toward the coat rack just inside the door, and ran upstairs. "Come on!"

Dipper shot one last worried look toward the forest, then followed her.

Ford shut the door and asked Stan in a low voice, "How long is Gompers usually gone when he wanders off?"

"No telling. Sometimes I don't see him for weeks at a time."

Soos said, "So if they're gonna keep looking until they find that drive, but we can't go looking because they're watching us, and Gompers doesn't come back, so we can't find the drive, and they can't find the drive... then, how do we get rid of them?"

"We don't," Stan said. "Unless they find something more interesting than the drive."

As Bill added his end of the bracelet to the coat rack, he was keenly aware of three sets of eyes on him. He could see the cold gray walls of his cell in the— of the surgical suite in Hangar 618. Oh, he was certainly a billion times more interesting than some lousy drive; and if the eagles figured that out...

"Distracting them for a few hours won't cut it, will it," Ford asked him.

Bill pushed away the phantom psychological weight of heavy ankle cuffs and cheap orange fabric. "Doesn't look like it. You'll need some other way to make them leave."

Grimly, Ford said, "It looks like your job just got a lot more important."

####

(Your "what was edited due to TBOB" roundup: as mentioned in an earlier chapter, some of the specifics of the pageant scene came from TBOB—the name of the "best baby ever" award and the mayor handing out free knives. But everything else was plotted well before TBOB—including Bill being born able to see the stars, having a condition that makes him unusually flexible (which lines up with Baby Bill's squishy look quite well), and his parents getting him medical treatment at a very young age due to, among other things, his weird eye. Most of the rest of the chapter was written pre-TBOB.

Although my god did i rewrite the conversation about Bill's weight a hundred times. This has been a high priority to work into the fic for some time! I wanted to make it clear that Bill's body shape isn't merely a cosmetic part of his character design but something with actual in-world impact, that for him it's a positive and not meant to be punitive or a joke, and that Pacifica's got issues and we're gonna be dealing with them. The hard part was doing all that while avoiding Bill sounding like an enlightened angel spreading the gospel of fat positivity to the ignorant masses, rather than what he actually is: a selfish alien who realizes humans are being stupid but whose only personally investment in this issue is convincing a 13-year-old not to make him wear spanx. 

Next week, the agents are finally back, and Bill gets to put all that flirting practice into action! I'm sure he'll do a great job.)

[gatorbites-imagines]

Merry Christmas!!!!

so since it’s Christmas for me rn I was wondering if we could get some cute scenario with Tim drake, like him and his bf ending up under a mistletoe, or a snowball fight

I’m a sucker for fluff and just want some cute Christmas time!!!

Tim Drake x Hero male reader

Headcanons

I had iceman from the x-men on my mind as I wrote this. How was everyones holidays? Did yall get what you wanted? I got a weighted blanket, some books and kitchen stuff. I also got blasphemous 2, I’m not that good at it.

Having to patrol Christmas night was always a bummer, but crime never sleeps. In reality, crime got worse around these times of the year since people got so easily distracted and so many things were put inside stores.

Luckily for Tim, you were invited to the manor for the holidays this year since you guys have been dating for a while. Last year Tim celebrated with your family, so now you were joining his.

This also meant you joined up for patrol, meaning the bats had a whole new surprise in their arsenal, seeing as you could control ice, cold, water, so on and so forth.

It made dealing with criminals easy, since none of the rogues were out and about. Two-face, killer croc and Firefry apparently weren’t in Arkham, but they all seemed to be more focused on the actual holidays than crime. This just left you guys with some everyday criminals.

For you and Tim, this patrol felt more like a date than anything else. Apparently, Red Robin dating one of the known heroes from another city was enough to make the people you passed feel giddy.

You had been staying with the Waynes for the whole week leading up to the holidays, so you had patrolled for just as long. This also gave the Gotham citizens enough time to set up mistletoes and little goody bags wherever you guys were patrolling.

How the hell did the locals even get a mistletoe all the way up on a specific gargoyle you two liked to sit under as you enjoyed your hot chocolate? Gotham locals scared you sometimes with how determined they were, but it did make Tim blush, if only a little.

Later on, hed blame it on how cold it was, and the fact that you were pretty much made of ice when using your powers. It didn’t stop you from giving him a small peck though, even though it leaves his lips completely pink, and his face flushed from the cold.

You end up getting scolded by some of the Gotham locals. Theres no real heat behind it. It’s more the fact that they didn’t know you were coming, so none of them prepared gifts for you.

The bats never asked for gifts, but you learn they always get some from the locals, even if they try to turn them away. You think its pretty damn neat, and you damn near cry when an older lady gifts you a scarf she stayed up all night to make. It’s even got your blues and Tims reds, since you guys are very obvious.

When crimes are as low as it can get in Gotham, you spend time making sculptures around town with your powers. Most of them are of the bats, and yeah, there’s about twice as many of Tim as everyone else. You never go into enough detail for their identities to be obvious, but it’s just your way of bonding with the city.

With Gotham having the weather it does, the snow also tends to be pretty damn sucky. Luckily for them, your powers are very useful in turning it into nice white snow, perfect for snowmen and snowballs.

Some people are weary of you because of Freeze, but seeing you hang around the bats gets people outdoors. You being as friendly as you are, supplying people with snowballs into their hands, also helps.

None of the bats are really the type to just come down and play in the snow like you, throwing snowballs after some of them does help. Soon Nightwing, Spoiler and Signal are mixed into the snow fight.

The others are too serious or weary to just let loose. You know the other bats are as vigilant as the ones watching from the roofs, so are you, but you do wish your boyfriend would join.

You get him back later by shoving snow down the back of his suit when he isn’t paying attention to you. Tim can’t get you back since you’re pretty much made of ice, but he gets you back one way of another.

The holidays with the Bats is a whole experience, since they come from so many cultures. Theres so many different traditions and food, and its all worked into the celebration somehow.

Even a couple of your own traditions are worked into the celebration, if there’s anything specific your family does during the holidays, that Tim picked up last year.

You guys all get together to watch a movie together as well, even if some of the bats argue and throw some punches. The normal animosity between some of them is put away for the day, if there is any. But with a family that size you wouldn’t be shocked if someone was arguing.

You and Tim cuddle during the movie, of course, and you’re also wearing matching Christmas sweaters. They’re Green Lantern themed, and you note that none of the family members are wearing Batman shirts. Later you learn that this is one of their traditions, since Bruce one year got broody about it. Now he joins the tradition by wearing a superman sweater.

Theres mistletoes all over the manor, mainly because of you and Tim, and whoever else is brought to the manor as a romantic partner if there are any.

Tim is not the most comfortable with kissing in front of his whole family, so instead it just becomes pecks on the cheek. You end up freezing Jason’s tea right in his mug after he makes enough jokes about it.

In the morning you and Tim share gifts in his room, just the ones meant for you two, before you guys go down to join the others, in matching pajamas, obviously.

Before you guys leave Tims room he gives you a kiss that’s almost enough to make you melt, as payback for the snow in his suit. You don’t mind too much, even if some of his family joke about your red face and how smug Tim looks.

[fuji-sen]

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 2: Sweet Flowers

[ part 1 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 3 ]

divider is made by @saradika-graphics

Walking around you'd slowly realize you were in Mondstadt, based from the bundle of regional specialties you held in your arms. The orange makeshift bouquet of windwheel asters spun around like a regular pinwheel. Seeing that sight brought a small smile on your face, your walk around Mondstadt was peaceful, you hadn't run into unnecessary troubles so maybe your worries were for nothing.

Yeah, nvm — [Name]

You felt your stomach grumble, famished you were. But the city seemed to be nearing in the distance. Perhaps you can wait till then, but then you remember how broke you were and sighed, staring at the orange flowers in your arms. You wonder if you can sell it.

Money was definitely going to be an issue, as well as acquiring a roof over your head. Depending on the timeline, the only place left, may already be booked by the Fatui Delegates.

Food could be remedied by foraging sunsettias and wild crops.

"Oh a waypoint!" excitedly you run up to the red, unactivated waypoint and quickly you did the first thing that came to mind, slapping it with your hand.

The monument gave a hum of life before it turned blue and activated. "So that works at least" you hummed, inspecting it curiously. Up close and in real life, you could see the intricate design chiseled into the material.

Crouching down you wondered, could you use a waypoint? could you use one to go back home. . ?

"Well if I don't get to go back home, at least I don't have any more student debt" you chuckled hopelessly as you rubbed the water that pricked your eyes.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

By the time you arrived at Mondstadt, the sun was almost setting. The skies were starting to get painted with an orange and pink hue.

Perhaps you shouldn't have gotten distracted or drowned in your sentiments and emotions. .

You sniffed, hugging yourself at the cold unforgiving winds while the windwheel asters and sweet flowers (a new addition to your wildflower bouquet) were luckily still fresh despite the trials they had gone through with your short travel to the city.

The sweet flowers had a sweet fragrance, once that made you crave for some sweet snacks. You debated on whether you can eat the flower raw, it looked more like a daisy too. . you decided against it. It would be far more wiser to use it for cooking or sell it for money.

The gates to the city was weirdly enough unguarded, so you stood by it awkwardly wondering when the guards would come. Would it be okay to enter without informing the knights? After waiting a couple of minutes, you decided to walk inside the city, time was running out, it would be getting dark soon and if you couldn't afford a place by selling these asters, you decided to at least buy some essentials. A polearm maybe or a coat, and maybe join the adventurers guild and see if there are any freebies or a free uniform you could get, cause your pajamas and fluffy Cinnamoroll designed slippers aren't going to cut it with the outdoor lifestyle you'd no doubt put them through.

You frown as you stared down on your cinnamoroll slippers. . it was no longer a pristine white due to the mud you had stepped into. .

Walking into the city of Mondstadt you found the city strangely. . void of life. You wonder if the prologue had yet to start and Stormterror or rather Dvalin was bothering the region.

Morale would mean a whole time low, and probably meant that prices on essentials would have risen, or maybe hopefully they were giving donations and relief goods.

"Hello," A voice greeted you and you turned to the woman or rather doll that operated the desk of the adventurer's guild "Would you like to join the Adventurer's guild?"

The smile on the puppet's face sent shivers down your spine but you pushed those feelings aside as you nodded politely. "Alright then, would you please present me with your information," she handed you a clipboard and pen "And I'll get the standard uniform for you." and then the receptionist left for a moment.

You blinked, wasn't she going to ask you for your size? or did Katheryne came with special eyes that could measure a person's body to decide the perfect clothes?

You began writing some information down. Your name, your age and your birthday but you left your address and place of origin empty since you couldn't just put in [country] and [city name] could you??

Turning to look behind you, you met eyes with a couple of residents of the city, and politely you waved at them as a greeting. . only for them to gape at you and run away from your gaze.

Okay. . rude much? was it because you were an outlander or a foreigner??

"Here you go. Everything seems to be in order." You snap back to the desk to find the receptionist had returned and had long since taken the clipboard and was reading through your information. 'When did she—?'

Katheryne then placed a set of uniform and fortunately, boots, right in front of you and you sighed in relief. "Thank you" and just as your finger grazed the fabric the clothes disappeared in a warm yellow light.

“. . .”

“can I uh. . get another set of the uniform. ." your voice cracked in shame. But before you could say anything more—

"Halt! Who dares to trespass into the City!" She flinched, turning to the approaching Guards, the knights of Favonius based on their uniforms, they stared at you wide eyes and mouth agape "What the—"

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

For whatever reason you ended up in Jean's office, tied down and on the floor. The windwheel asters were left on the streets, possibly wilting, alone. . the sweet flowers were trampled when they were trying to restrain her. It's sweet scent long gone, replaced with something bitter.

Jean wasn't here, oh wait no, she was coming in. You could hear muffled voices from the door, strange, when had your hearing been this good?

"do they really have the face of our divine?" that was Jean right? "well we won't know if we don't enter and see for ourselves" that suggestive yet sweet and soft voice was definitely Lisa's.

Were they talking about you?

What the hell did they mean by 'face of their divine?'

for some reason it was like a cold bucket of water was poured onto you, it was cold and terrifying and you started to shiver.

The door opened and Jean and Lisa did enter, as you craned your neck to look behind you, past the door you could see groups of knights who looked at each other with emotions you could vaguely pinpoint, horrified, worried, anger. .

"My my, you really do have the face of our esteemed creator." Lisa, the ever beautiful librarian grabbed you by the chin, making you look at her as she studied your face with scrutinizing Green eyes. Your breath hitched.

"What do you think?"

"I don't sense anything special from them, maybe they truly are an imposter."

You gaped at the terms that were hurled at you, imposter?? nothing special?? okay those were unnecessary!

Jean and Lisa conversed with each other, as your brows furrowed at the growing uncertainty in your stomach. Something was wrong, when were the Steadfast Jean and the carefree Lisa this. . cold and heartless.

"Where are Kaeya and the others?" Jean asked. "They are still visiting the temples with the traveller. I left after finishing the temple I was assigned to." Lisa informed the blond who nodded at the information.

The acting grandmaster hummed "I suppose we should deal with the imposter before they return."

The sound of a blade being unsheathed made you pale, the color disappearing from your skin as you watched Jean approached you, sword in hand without hesitation. .

Was she really going to kill you?

"Wait— wait a second? Why the hell are you going to kill me? What did I even do? Sure I entered the city carelessly but that was because your knights were slacking—hic!"

You could feel cold metal on the skin around your neck, sweat started to gather as you froze under Jean's stare.

"You committed the most grave blasphemy, heresy against the most divine creator! To imitate her beloved's face is a crime punishable by death."

You backtracked "What did you mean by creator! Also also how is being born with my face a crime?! do you hear how stupid that shit sounds?! You're a knight isn't there a due process?!"

Before she could reply the windows rattled and rattled, the winds were strong, the sun had long set and it was dark yet you could see the dust and objects flying about dangerous due to the storm. .

Storm terror was here.

Quickly you stood up, gaining Jean's and Lisa's attention once more as you quickly ran towards the window, knocking Jean to the ground and grabbing her sword due to your pettiness. You stopped for a moment to cut the restraints off your wrists with the sword.

"Why don't you settle down" Lisa said with a sickening sweet voice as powerful electro manifested in her hands and—

you screamed.

For now the earlier chapters will be titled with ingredients rather than food or recipe names.

[hokusu]

#dabihawks in post-war where things still get a little heated, a little 'you wanna fight or you wanna fuck' and they burn their house down every few years... only to build it back up from the grounds. 

For the first time in their lives, they deal with their feelings and the only two things that they know with certainty as they work through it is— it's love, in life or in death, and no one understands their specific level of trauma and insanity that they crave as each other. 

So they've got a lifetime of issues to work through, and more scars than they can count, but they love as hard as they fight and sometimes—in the heat of the moment, they burn down their house. 

And in those months, they'll bitch and moan about the house that they've burned down (again), about the time that they'll be outdoors, but there's mountains and rivers in the distance and the birds that chirp with them out in the open. 

Their breath evens out, the world and all of the raging inside of them slows and ebbs away like every fire eventually does. The sun will rise, in the wake of every storm. 

It's banter and digs, but it's also disgustingly fond and exchanged jokes like a secret, like love and–the sex is good. It always is. No one and nothing makes them feel more alive than when they're buried in each other, fucked over what's left of a desk, the smell of ash and cinders on their backs, their fingertips painted red, lips tracing desperation and the beating pulse beneath their skin. 

Through all the good, and all the worst—

They're alive. 

Right here. 

And whatever wound up mess of a feeling that's curled in their chest, whatever fucked up part of them that still exists, will always exist—Hawks dry heaving against an old wooden stump on what's left of their tree, or Dabi on the grounds, arm thrown over his eyes as he burns and cries but it's not blood—will have them come out better for it. Dabi's hand against his wings, brushing his feathers and holding him for all that he's worth. Hawks' gentle coos against his ears, feathers softly blanketing him and when the fire grows cold and the smoke goes out, all that's left are the stars above them. 

They breathe in the crisp cut of the night air. They scab, their wounds heal a little easier and the thought of their house—will always keep things interesting. 

A new layout. A cozier kitchen. Softer living room windows, an added study or lounge, something more aesthetic. Something ridiculous. Something straight out of a look book, or traditional. Childish, a tree house. More personal, more cottage core. 

They lay on a pile of rubble and sticks and stones, memories of the life they've built around them. It's nostalgic, it's insane. 

"I really liked that kitchen nook," Hawks muses against his chest, hands clutched against what's left of Dabi's shirt. Dabi's heart has evened out beneath his ears and Dabi is temptingly warm. 

Dabi hums, tracing his fingers through Hawks' wings, brushing ash from the tips, the stars a little brighter tonight, or maybe he's just finally looking up again. The promise is easy, "I'll build you another." 

"Let's put in another oven," Hawks voices, too. 

And Dabi can hear he's pleased in his voice. Can hear that this is Hawks' words for—I know what you want too.

Of course he does. 

And they'll be camping until they get their house back up, but they're laughing after the initial 'oh shit, we really did that again' and they have each other, will always have each other now, and that's the real home they know will never disappear. 

Because as everything they've always been, flammable and damning is an old habit they haven't learned how to curb past, but they'll make it work. And this grounds them. 

Burning it all down, again and again, a lot like burning out the old parts of them with the memories they don't want to remember, with the scars still beneath their skin, and it feels like carving a future out of their ashes. 

"I love you," one of them will voice. An apology, a promise. 

And the reply will always come, quiet and understanding. "I know." 

Love you too—implied, irrefutable, forever.

// tbc in a full fic 😭

(inspired by that unhinged ao3 tag post 'not so slow burn. its more like they set the house on fire and then pretended not to see it' and also I've been re-watching fma...)

[osachiyo]

°˖✧✿✧˖°SO HOT!°˖✧✿✧˖°

VARIOUS GENSHIN MEN X FEM!READER

➳INCLUDING! kaeya, diluc, childe, zhongli

➳CONTENT WARNINGS! grown ass men going feral over sudresses, spanking, breeding, outdoor sex, choking, impact play, nipple play, cunnilingus, fellatio, only a liiiiitle bit of assplay etc

➳SUMMARY! you wear a sundress and your man just cannot keep it in his pants

MINORS DNI OR YOU'LL BE BURNT TO A CRISP !!(like signora)

Kaeya Alberich

It was a scorching summer day in Mondstadt, meaning the absolute perfect day for you to wear that skimpy see-through sundress you had bought a while back! You bought it last summer but alas, had no chance to wear it. So you decided to wear it this year. Nothing could go wrong right? You knew your boyfriend, Kaeya, would adore it.

..Right?

Your back was arched like a cat against the wall of the cathedral as Kaeya went down on you. His left hand pinning you against the wall as his right hand lifted your leg over his shoulder. You could feel him mouthing your soaked cunt. He fucking loved your taste. You could feel his tongue flicking over your clit in fast circles as he moaned into your pussy, the vibrations of his voice making you lean your head back with your eyes squeezed shut. Your hand found it's way over to his dark blue locks, clutching it for dear life as he groaned and shoved his face impossibly further into your dripping pussy. He flattened his tongue and ran it over your slit multiple times before spreading apart your labia with his thumbs. He spit directly on your twitching hole before slurping it all up and shoving his tongue inside. This was so embarrassing. So fucking sinful but you couldn't get enough of it.

Atleast you were right about one thing, Kaeya definitely adored the sundress on you.

Diluc Ragnvindr

You had begged Diluc to rate some of your outfits while you showcased them to him. He, of course, was a little reluctant of course but agreed nonetheless. He just couldn't help but give in to your demands. You both were currently in your shared room, giving him a tiny fashion show with all of your adorable outfits. He rated almost everything ten out of ten because come on, you look gorgeous in everything. You changed into your little sundress that you had bought and it was a little more revealing than you thought it'd be but that's alright. A little skin never hurt nobody, right?

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Diluc slammed into you repeatedly, making a mess on the carpet beneath you. You were currently bent over the bed as your husband pounded into your tight, gooey hole. He already came two times inside of you but alas, he still craved for more. Seems like seeing you in that sundress switched something in him. His fingers rubbed tight and fast circles on your clit, coaxing you into your 3rd orgasm. Or was it your 4th? You honestly couldn't remember. Diluc groaned as he saw a creamy white ring around his cock every time he pulled out, just to shove it back in.

If you had known Diluc would react like that to the sundress, you would've worn it a long time ago.

Childe

You and your boyfriend, Childe, were on a cute little picnic-date today. You packed some sandwiches and other stuff as well. You also did some light makeup and wore a cute sundress too! You were really really happy to finally spend some time with your amazing boyfriend. Yes, he was the best boyfriend you could ask for but he was quite busy due to his fatui duties. So you really looked forward today. But upon arriving at the picnic spot, you realized your boyfriend wasn't too interested into eating the sandwiches, rather much more looking forward to ravishing you.

"F-fuck, Ajax! What if someone catches us?!" You complained, looking behind your shoulder at your boyfriend, who had you bent over a tree while he kneeled behind you, too focused on your ass to care about whatever you're yapping about. He caressed the back of your thigh, laughing, "They'd be real fuckin' lucky, baby. Now spread those legs a bit more, yeah?" You grumbled angrily but complied nonetheless, spreading your legs more. He flips your skirt up as he felt his mouth water upon seeing the damp spot on your lacy panties. He curled his finger around the waistband pulled it back, before letting it snap against your waist, making you jolt at the slight pain. He suddenly buried his face between your legs, his nose bumping against your ass. Ajax pushed your panties to the side before licking a long stripe from your clit to your twitching hole, making you shiver in pleasure. He smirked then landed a harsh slap against your right asscheek, making you cry out curses at him. He only laughed in response as he landed another slap on your other cheek. He spread your cheeks apart and blew on your twitching hole. You whispered in anticipation. He then plunged his tongue into your hole, while gripping your ass. You moaned in appreciation as you gripped the tree harder. Ajax slurped at your pussy like he had been deprived of water for days. Then suddenly, you felt his finger prodding at your other hole before slipping right in, making you arch your back and push yourself more into his face.

God he loved eating you out from the back.

Zhongli

It was the hottest day you've encountered in Liyue so far. What better time than now to wear the skimpiest fucking dress you owned? Luckily, your husband, Zhongli, wasn't quite affected by it. He still couldn't keep his eyes off of your pretty tits, though. But he was a level-headed man with self control. But then you just had to eat some darn ice cream. It was on a stick, as well. Then you just fucking had to accidentally spill it all over your tits, the creamy, milky white substance sticking to your little dress and coating your beautiful tits. You should've known better, really.

You gargled around Zhongli's fat cock down your throat while he gripped your hair tightly in his still-gloved hand. The ice cream was still on your tits, all dried and sticky on your soft skin. You were getting his cream on them next though, worry not. Your eyes rolled back as he tried to push himself even deeper in your already stuffed throat, his own head tipping back when you whined around his girth. "Just a little longer, little one," he'd grunt, while thrusting up wildly into your mouth.

Level headed man with self control your ass.

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated♡

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch22

⋆｡°✩ pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

warnings: SMUT. FLUFFFF, jungkook confesses properly now, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity.

smut warnings: explicit smut again ( ur welcome ) kissing, teasing, unprotected sex!! public / outdoor sex ( beach ) they fuck in the ocean LMFAO. light dom/sub dynamics. he cums inside! dirty talk, fingering, clit play, grinding, dry humping. he fingers his cum back in. idk i think thats it.

wc: longggg

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

⋆｡°✩ taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @bjoriis @kaitieskidmore97 @cuntessaiii

masterlist | < prev , next >

You wake up gasping.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

Like there’s not enough air in the room, like the weight of Jungkook’s arm draped over your waist is pressing down on your lungs, holding you captive.

Your heart is pounding, your chest tight, and it takes a second to register where you even are—Jungkook’s arms wrapped around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his leg slotted between yours like he was scared you’d disappear overnight.

And maybe he was.

He’s snoring. Hard. He always did, but this is something else—deep, heavy, exhausted—like his body has finally allowed itself to crash. His eyebrows are furrowed in his sleep, like even now, even in this moment, he’s still fighting something.

You stare at him. At the dark circles beneath his eyes, the faint stress lines that have settled between his brows, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they clutch the fabric of your shirt.

You feel bad.

And then you don’t.

Because how the fuck is he just—back here? Back in your bed as if nothing happened, as if he didn’t tear your heart straight from your chest and crush it between his fingers?

It doesn’t feel real. It doesn’t feel fair.

And then it really crashes down on you.

One week.

That’s all you have left.

Seven days.

And then he’s gone.

For nearly two years.

Your breath hitches. Your stomach twists.

What the fuck were you thinking?

You want to shake him awake, demand to know if he’s thought about it—if he’s thought about what happens after this week, if he’s thought about how much worse this is going to hurt when he leaves.

But you don’t.

Because if you wake him up, he’ll see it all over your face.

So you slip out instead.

You move slowly, carefully, peeling his arm off of you with soft, measured movements. He shifts in his sleep, murmuring something incoherent, but he doesn’t wake.

And then you’re out.

Standing in the hallway, staring at the closed bedroom door, your chest rising and falling like you’ve just run a fucking marathon.

You run a hand over your face.

You love him. You love him so much it hurts.

But fuck, what have you done?

——

It’s probably been half an hour before Jungkook emerges from the bedroom like nothing is wrong.

Like last night didn’t happen.

Like you’re not spiraling on the couch, knees tucked to your chest, mind running circles around itself.

His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles, his face adorably puffy from sleep. One eye is open more than the other, his lips pressed into a natural pout.

You shouldn’t find him cute right now.

But you do.

And then—

“You didn’t make me breakfast?” he asks, voice rough, teasing, as he stretches, a tiny whine slipping out of his mouth.

You blink up at him, forcing yourself to play along. “Jungkook, come on. You know I’d burn the eggs.”

He grins, walking over and plopping down beside you, an arm slinging over your shoulders as if it belongs there. As if it always has.

Something about the weight of it makes your throat tighten. He notices.

His smile falters for just a second before his voice softens. “Hey,” he murmurs, “you okay?”

And before you can stop yourself—before you can think about it, before you can shove the words back down—

“Do you think we can go back to normal after this?”

Jungkook stills.

His eyes search yours, lips parting slightly. He doesn’t answer right away.

“I don’t know,” he admits. His thumb absentmindedly traces over your shoulder, his voice quieter when he adds, “But we have a week, don’t we?”

A pause.

“We can pretend for a week.”

You exhale, the breath shaky, uncertain. “Yeah,” you whisper.

Pretend.

He watches you for a moment longer, then suddenly gets up, holding out his hand.

“Come on,” he says, with a tiny, lopsided smile. “Let’s make something.”

You let him pull you up. For a few minutes, everything feels normal. You tease him as you crack an egg (badly). He laughs when you nearly knock over the milk. You help him for two minutes before he inevitably takes over.

And when you finally sit down to eat, Jungkook’s made pancakes—remembering the way you always rave about how the ones from the diner are disgusting.

You take a bite.

It’s the best fucking pancake you’ve ever had.

You’re practically inhaling the pancakes like you’ve never been fed before, and Jungkook watches in amusement, resting his chin on his hand.

“I’ll make them again,” he says, smiling softly.

And you don’t mean for it to sound so… weighted. But before you can stop yourself, you ask— “When?”

Jungkook pauses. His eyes flick to yours, something unreadable passing through them. Then—he just smiles.

Like he knows what you mean.

Like he doesn’t want to answer it.

So instead, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “Do you have work today?”

You nod, swallowing another bite. “Yeah, in an hour, actually.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Skip.”

You blink. “What?”

He grins. “Skip for me. I have somewhere we can go.”

You narrow your eyes. “Where?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I mean no, I’m not telling you.”

You cross your arms, pretending to think. “Then no, I’m not skipping.”

Jungkook pouts, leaning forward. “Come on. Just trust me.”

You sigh, taking another bite, chewing thoughtfully.

You should go to work. You should. But then—he’s looking at you like that. And the clock is ticking.

So you say yes.

——

Jungkook leaves for a change of clothes and a quick shower without kissing you goodbye.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

But it does.

You both hesitated. You saw it—how he lingered in the doorway, how his fingers twitched at his sides, how his gaze flickered to your lips before he swallowed and stuffed his hands into his pockets instead. You could’ve made the first move. He could’ve made the first move.

Neither of you did.

Now, you’re standing in the shower, letting the hot water run over you, trying not to think about it. Trying not to think about how you have a week left.

You get ready. More than usual. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s because you don’t want him to remember you like this—puffy-eyed and broken, crying over him every night. Maybe, if you’re going to let yourself have this week, you want him to remember the best version of you.

Not the you that was always hurting.

He arrives half an hour later, fresh clothes, damp hair, looking like he never just spent the night crying in your arms. Like he’s willing himself to pretend too.

His eyes scan you as soon as you open the door, widening just slightly. And then, that soft, familiar smile.

“You look beautiful.”

You blink.

Swallow down the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

And for a moment, it really does feel like the first date all over again.

Like none of the pain ever happened. Like you’re just two people, excited to see each other. So, you let yourself believe it. Just for now.

“Let’s go,” he says.

And you follow him out the door.

The car ride is surprisingly normal.

You’re talking like nothing ever happened, filling the silence with lighthearted conversation that doesn’t scratch the surface of everything left unsaid.

It’s nice.

Until—

“Oh, shit,” you mutter, eyes widening at your phone screen. “I forgot to call my boss.”

As if on cue, your phone starts ringing. Jungkook glances over, and the moment he sees the name flashing across the screen, he grins. “What are you gonna do?”

“Lie.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

You shoot him a look, pressing the answer button. “Shush.”

The second you pick up, your boss’ distressed voice floods through the speakers.

“Oh, my baby, where are you?! Where is my Nari?! You both abandoned me today—do you know how much I suffered? I nearly fainted in despair! The customers have been asking for you all day! I had to tell them you were both dead!”

Jungkook is already shaking with silent laughter beside you. You force a fake cough. “I—I’m sick.”

There’s a dramatic gasp on the other end. “No! Not again my angel! What about Nari?!”

“She’s sick too,” you say.

“Are you together?!”

“Oh—uh—no, no, no, I don’t know, um—”

Jungkook loses it.

A loud burst of laughter echoes through the car, and before you can stop him, you smack a hand over his mouth. Big mistake.

He licks your palm.

You yank your hand back with a disgusted gasp, sending him a lethal glare.

Jungkook just grins, you mouth: Shut the fuck up.

“Who was that?!” your boss demands. “Was that a man?!”

“No! It was me!” You fake another cough. “I—I just sound weird because I’m so—so sick.”

There’s a dramatic sigh. “Oh, my poor baby. You rest, okay? Take all the time you need, but don’t die on me. You are my sunshine, my reason to live.”

Jungkook is crying with laughter at this point, his hand slamming against the steering wheel.

You pinch his arm.

“Um—thank you?” you say, not sure how to respond.

“I love you,” your boss says, and then the line goes dead.

Silence.

You and Jungkook burst out laughing.

He tilts his head back against the headrest, wiping at his eyes. “I love him.”

You roll your eyes. “He’s insane.”

“He’s iconic.”

You snort, shaking your head as Jungkook reaches over, lacing his fingers through yours without thinking.

And for the first time in a long time—

It really feels like things are okay.

The car ride is long.

Not that you mind.

Somewhere between Jungkook’s hand absentmindedly rubbing over your knee and the low hum of the radio, you knock out. The exhaustion from everything catches up to you, pulling you under.

When you finally stir, blinking sleep from your eyes, the car isn’t moving anymore. The first thing you notice is that the sun is setting, casting golden light over the sky.

The second thing you notice is Jungkook.

He’s already watching you.

You yawn, stretching in your seat. “Where are we?”

“The beach,” he says.

Your brows knit together as you glance at the clock on the dashboard. “How long have we been here?”

“A while.”

You turn to him, squinting. “A while? How long?”

Jungkook pauses. Then, casually, “An hour.”

Your jaw drops. “An hour?! Jungkook, why didn’t you wake me up?”

He just smiles, leaning over to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His fingers are warm against your skin. “Didn’t want to,” he murmurs. “I like watching you sleep.”

Your stomach flips.

You quickly turn away, hoping he doesn’t see how hot your face suddenly feels. “Creep.”

Jungkook just chuckles, reaching for your hand. “Come on.”

Still flustered, you let him pull you out of the car. The moment the door opens, you’re hit with the crisp ocean breeze, the scent of salt in the air. You inhale deeply, breathing it in, your body immediately relaxing at the familiarity of it.

You’re about to complain again about him letting you sleep for so long when he suddenly tugs at your hand.

“Look,” he says softly.

You follow his gaze.

The sun is melting into the horizon, spilling rich gold and soft pinks into the sky. The waves roll in gently, the shoreline illuminated by the last bits of daylight, and for a second—

It’s surprisingly nice for a day mid winter.

You forget to breathe.

Jungkook squeezes your hand. “See? Perfect timing.”

You swallow, watching the way the light catches in his eyes. “Yeah,” you admit. “It really is.”

The walk to the beach is longer than you expect, but you don’t mind. The silence between you is comfortable, the rhythmic crash of the waves filling the air.

When you finally step onto the sand, you realize—

This isn’t a tourist beach.

There are no loud stalls, no tacky umbrellas littering the shore, no crowds of people fighting for the perfect photo.

It’s untouched.

Natural.

You glance at Jungkook.

He could take you anywhere—he has the money, the ability, the connections to bring you to the most expensive places, the most extravagant dates, the most luxurious restaurants.

But he always chooses places like this.

The quiet field.

The little Korean barbecue place that barely had space for the both of you to sit.

And now this.

Something about that realization makes your chest ache in a way you don’t quite understand.

“Hey,” Jungkook says, squeezing your hand again.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. He tilts his head toward the waves. “Let’s go.”

You don’t say anything.

Just lace your fingers through his and let him lead the way.

You pick a spot near the shoreline, where the sand is soft and cool beneath you, still slightly damp from the tide. Jungkook drops his bag onto the ground, pulling out his camera—his professional, bulky, very expensive-looking camera—and immediately starts adjusting the lens.

You watch him, amused. “You brought that thing?”

Jungkook grins, already snapping pictures. “Of course.”

“At least take pictures of something other than me,” you whine, squinting as he turns the camera on you. “You’re gonna run out of storage.”

He scoffs. “You underestimate me.”

You shake your head, shielding your face. “Stop being all shy,” Jungkook teases.

“I probably look crazy.”

“No,” he says simply, peering through the lens. “You look beautiful.”

Your breath hitches. Before you can process that, he lowers the camera, smiling at you so fondly that you have to turn away, pretending to look at the ocean instead.

“Shut up,” you mumble, heat creeping up your neck.

Jungkook chuckles. “Strike a pose.”

You roll your eyes but eventually give in, playing along. He clicks away, capturing a mix of posed and candid shots, some with you laughing, some with your hair flying wildly in the wind, some where you’re just looking at him—soft, unguarded, real.

Once he’s satisfied, you snatch the camera from his hands. “Let me see.”

He watches you as you scroll through the photos, biting back a smile. You frown. “These are actually… really good.”

Jungkook smirks. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I mean…” You hum, pretending to consider. “It’s just ‘cause you have a big-ass professional camera.”

His jaw drops. “Oh, so it’s not me? It’s the camera?”

You shrug, suppressing a grin. “I don’t make the rules.”

He glares playfully, reaching for the camera, but you yank it away before he can grab it. He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Since I’m apparently talentless, you try.”

Jungkook moves behind you, wrapping his arms around you to adjust the settings. His chest presses against your back as he explains how to focus the lens, his voice low and warm in your ear.

You nod, attempting to follow along, though half your brain is too distracted by the fact that he’s so close.

Eventually, you manage to snap a few photos of him—some blurry, some off-center—but Jungkook plays along, posing dramatically. He flexes his arms at one point, smirking. “Gonna frame that one?”

You snort. “Absolutely not.”

When he takes the camera back, you both finally settle into the sand, watching as the last light of the sun dips below the horizon.

The air is thick with something unspoken.

Jungkook is quiet for a while, debating whether to apologize again—but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. So, instead, he clears his throat and asks, “Is Nari okay?”

You glance at him, surprised.

Then you exhale, smiling. “Yeah, she’s good. Probably really hungover, though. Did you see her last night? God, she was fucking insane.”

Jungkook groans. “Trust me, I know. I can still feel it.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “She really smacked the shit out of you.”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing his cheek dramatically. “I think she wanted to leave a lasting impression.”

You giggle, nudging him with your shoulder.

And then— He grabs your hand.

You blink, turning to him. “What—”

“Trust me,” he says, grinning.

And before you can question it, he tugs you up and starts running straight toward the water.

You’re right by the water now, toes sinking into the wet sand as the waves rush over your feet. Jungkook’s still gripping your hand, his grin wide and boyish as he tugs you forward.

“Wait,” you gasp, planting your feet. “I need to take my clothes off.”

Jungkook stares at you. “Huh?”

You blink. “Not like that.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Sounded like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you glance down at your dress. “I can’t go in the water—I have nothing to change into.”

Jungkook looks around, scanning the empty beach. “There’s no one here, is there?”

Before you can ask what he’s thinking, he peels off his shirt and then his sweatpants, leaving him in just his black briefs.

You gape at him. “You’re insane.”

Jungkook shrugs, smirking. “Maybe.”

“If we get caught—”

“We won’t.” He gestures at the open space, the quiet stretch of sand, the endless horizon. “No one’s here. Just us.”

You bite your lip, glancing around to confirm. He’s right. There’s nothing but the sound of waves and the distant hum of cicadas. So, with a deep breath, you reach for the hem of your dress and tug it over your head, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. The air is cool against your skin, but Jungkook’s eyes are warmer than anything, roaming over you with something like awe.

Before he can say anything, you dart into the water, shrieking as the cold bites at your legs.

“Holy shit, it’s freezing,” you whine, laughing as you dip further.

Jungkook follows, grinning. “You’re the one who ran in first.”

You splash at him in response, water smacking against his chest. He gasps dramatically. “Oh, it’s like that?”

And then—

He gets revenge.

You let out a loud squeal as he kicks a wave in your direction, soaking you instantly. “Jungkook!”

He cackles, dodging as you splash back, both of you breathless and soaked, chasing each other through the water like two kids. Your makeup is ruined, your hair a mess, but you don’t care—you don’t think you’ve ever laughed this hard in your life.

At one point, you both stop, panting, standing knee-deep in the water.

Jungkook’s hands find your waist. Your breath catches. The teasing disappears. The moment shifts.

The ocean hums around you, waves lapping gently against your skin, but neither of you notice. You’re just… staring. His dark eyes glint under the moonlight, and there’s something so raw in the way he’s looking at you that it almost makes you look away.

Then—

“I really love you.”

Your heart stops.

You swallow, turning your head.

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is soft but firm. “I mean it. I’ve been in love with you since you gave me that stupid menu.”

Your head snaps back up. “What?”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. That first night at the diner, when you didn’t know who I was. When you didn’t care who I was.” He shakes his head. “I was already gone.”

You just stare at him.

And it hits you. This shit is real.

It’s always been real.

And suddenly— You can’t be mad anymore.

You don’t want to be mad anymore.

“I love you too,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s whole face lights up. “You do?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile spreading across your lips. “No, I was joking.”

He gasps dramatically. “Wow.” Before you can react, he suddenly scoops you up bridal style, holding you effortlessly in his arms.

“Jungkook—”

“Say it again,” he demands, grinning down at you.

“No.”

“Say it,” he teases, pretending to dip you closer to the water.

You shriek. “Jungkook, stop!” He’s full-on laughing now, pretending to lower you, only to pull you back up. But then—

Then he actually drops you.

It’s completely accidental.

You disappear under the water with a loud splash.

For a second, there’s silence.

Then Jungkook panics. “Shit—baby, are you okay?”

You emerge, coughing and blinking, before bursting into laughter. “Oh my god.”

Jungkook exhales in relief, pressing a hand over his racing heart. “Jesus Christ, I thought I killed you.”

Still giggling, you lunge forward, attempting to pick him up in retaliation. Of course, it doesn’t work. Jungkook doesn’t budge an inch, watching you struggle in amusement.

“Yeah, no,” he chuckles. “Nice try, though.”

You glare up at him, panting. “You suck.”

He grins. “You love me.”

You roll your eyes. “Unfortunately.”

Jungkook pulls you in, his arms winding tight around your waist as he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. You’re both drenched, breathless, laughing. The waves lap at your ankles, salt clinging to your skin, and for a moment, it’s just this—just you and him, tangled up in the water, in the golden light of the setting sun.

But then, something shifts.

You feel it before you see it. The way his laughter fades into something softer, more reverent. The way his grip tightens, fingers curling against your damp skin. His eyes drink you in, tracing over your messy, wet hair, the way the last bit of sunlight glows against your face, your bare shoulders.

God, you’re beautiful.

So beautiful that he can’t help himself.

He lifts you effortlessly, a startled squeal escaping your lips before he swallows it with a kiss. It’s slow at first, teasing—his lips moving gently against yours, coaxing, savoring. And you smile into it, your hands sliding up his slick shoulders, fingers curling in his hair as he deepens the kiss.

The ocean sways around you, rocking you both as his tongue dips into your mouth, as his grip on you tightens like he’s afraid to let go. There’s something desperate in the way he kisses you, something unspoken in the way he presses you closer, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

This isn’t just lust.

It’s love.

It’s always been love.

Jungkook’s grip on you never falters. If anything, he holds you tighter, his arms wrapped securely around your waist as the ocean sways around you both. You’re still straddled over him, legs hooked around his hips, and you can feel every inch of him—his warmth against your soaked skin, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his hands roam your back, slow and deliberate.

“I just can’t help myself, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You’re so beautiful.”

His voice is hushed, almost like he’s in awe, like he’s looking at something sacred.

You take a shaky breath, looking around, suddenly hyper-aware of where you are. But there’s no one. Just the stretch of empty sand, the quiet lapping of waves, the distant echo of seagulls.

There’s nothing stopping you from just… letting go.

And so you do.

You lean into his touch, let yourself melt against him as his lips find yours again. The kiss is deeper this time, less teasing, more certain. Your hands slide up his neck, fingers curling at the nape of his damp hair, massaging gently as he groans into your mouth. He tilts his head, angling you just the way he wants before he moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat.

The heat of his breath against your skin makes you shiver.

He reaches the swell of your chest, slowing down when he feels your body tense. His hands—steady, reassuring—trace the edges of your bra, his thumbs brushing over the damp fabric clinging to your skin. “I’ll keep it on, baby,” he murmurs, kissing just above the lace. “Want you to be comfortable.”

You let out a small breath, your hands still tangled in his hair, and he smiles against your skin, nudging his nose between the valley of your breasts.

His lips are everywhere—your collarbone, the tops of your breasts, your shoulders. He moves as if he wants to memorize every inch of you, to worship you properly, pressing his mouth to you like he’s leaving something behind in every kiss.

His hands drift lower, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against the bare skin of your thighs. He groans as he does it, his breath hitching like just touching you is enough to drive him insane.

“You’re so soft,” he mutters, dragging his lips over your chest again, his voice thick with something close to reverence. “So fucking perfect.”

Your face burns at his words, at the way his voice dips into something so unbearably tender. He feels it—the way your body warms in his arms—and grins, nipping playfully at your skin before whispering, “Are you blushing?”

You bury your face into his shoulder, but it only makes him chuckle, his hands squeezing your thighs as he pulls you in closer.

“You’re adorable,” he hums, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “And you feel so good, baby.”

You shift slightly in his lap, and then you feel it—the hard press of him just beneath you, straining against his soaked briefs.

The realization sends a shiver down your spine.

Jungkook must feel it too, because his grip tightens, his jaw clenching as he presses his forehead to your shoulder, exhaling a shaky breath. “Fuck,” he groans, voice tight. “Baby, you—”

He doesn’t even finish his sentence, just grips your waist a little harder, like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

But the way his fingers dig into your hips, the way he sucks in a sharp breath when you shift again—you know he’s barely holding on.

And neither are you.

A slow, desperate need coils inside you, burning hotter with every kiss, every whispered praise. Your grip on his shoulders tightens, nails pressing into his damp skin as you start to move—grinding down against his lap, your soaked underwear the only barrier between you and the hard press of him beneath you.

Jungkook lets out a low groan, his head tipping back slightly. His hands fly to your hips, steadying you, guiding you.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, his voice nothing but gravel and hunger. “Just like that.”

His encouragement only makes you bolder. You roll your hips again, chasing the friction, chasing something more. Your head dips into the crook of his neck, your breaths coming out in small, shaky whimpers.

“Please,” you gasp, hands fisting in his hair. “More.”

Jungkook chuckles, though it’s strained, like he himself is hanging on by a thread. His lips find your jaw again, brushing teasingly over your skin as he murmurs, “Please what?”

You whine, tugging at him, growing frustrated with how he refuses to just give it to you.

And then his hand moves.

Fingers trailing down your stomach, over your drenched panties. A sharp gasp catches in your throat as he presses the heel of his palm against your clit, just enough to make you shudder.

“Please what, baby?” he coaxes, his lips ghosting over your ear. His fingers stroke over the thin fabric, his touch featherlight, barely there. “Tell me what you need.”

You feel like you could cry. The teasing, the way he’s looking at you—his dark eyes flickering with adoration, with lust—it’s driving you insane.

“You know what,” you huff, pushing your hips against his hand, desperate for more friction.

Jungkook grins. “Do I?”

His fingers press harder, rubbing slow, lazy circles over your clit, making you arch against him. Your body jolts from the sensation, a whimper slipping past your lips.

“Fuck,” you shudder, your arms tightening around his shoulders. “Jungkook, please—”

He hums approvingly, kissing just beneath your ear. “That’s my girl.”

His voice is like silk, like honey, dripping warmth straight into your veins.

You barely notice the way his other hand slides beneath your thigh, lifting you higher, pressing you even closer against him. You can feel the way he’s straining beneath you, feel how much he wants you, but he’s still taking his time, still teasing, still making you beg.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, fingers still working you through your soaked panties. “So pretty when you’re needy.”

Your face burns at his words, but the heat pooling between your legs is far stronger than your embarrassment. You moan into his neck, shaking in his hold as he keeps pushing you higher, higher—

And then, just as you start to lose yourself in it, he slows down again.

Barely touching you. Just skimming the edges of your desire, just enough to make you ache. You let out a strangled noise of frustration, shaking your head.

“Why—” You gulp, clinging to him tighter. “Why do you always—tease—”

Jungkook watches you, his breath coming out in short, shallow pants. The way you’re grinding against him so desperately, the way your brows furrow in frustration, lips parted, cheeks puffed out in a pout as you stare down between your bodies, trying to get more—

It makes something inside him ache.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. He’s been teasing too much. You’re struggling, desperate, and he’s just been watching, enjoying the way you writhe for him.

He groans softly, shifting beneath you. His hands slide lower, gripping your ass firmly, spreading you just enough as he tilts his hips upward, giving you something more solid to grind against. And then, after a second of hesitation, he finally gives in.

He tugs his briefs down just enough to free himself, his cock flushed, already hard and aching. The moment it presses against the thin, wet fabric of your panties, you gasp, your whole body jolting in his hold.

Jungkook exhales harshly, his fingers digging into your skin as he starts to move—guiding your hips with both hands, grinding you against him, letting you feel everything.

The feeling of his cock sliding against you, heavy and hot, sends a shiver up your spine. The fabric between you is soaked, barely a barrier anymore, and every slow roll of his hips makes your breath hitch.

You whimper into his ear, hands fisting at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck, babe,” Jungkook breathes, watching the way your lips part, the way your lashes flutter as he moves you against him. His voice drops, raspy, reverent. “You’re so cute.”

You don’t even register what he’s saying, too lost in the feeling of him rubbing against you. Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling slightly, and he groans, the sound deep and raw.

Then you let out a tiny sound—soft, breathy, a little “Oh” that makes his whole body tense beneath you.

Jungkook shudders, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he presses his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck—”

He keeps guiding you, rolling your hips over him again and again, dragging your soaked panties over his length, his cock slipping through your folds with every slow grind.

Your face is buried against his neck now, muffling the tiny whimpers spilling from your lips. His scent surrounds you—sea salt, warmth, the faintest trace of the cologne he’d sprayed on his wrists earlier. It makes your head spin.

He groans again, burying his face into your shoulder, his breath coming out uneven. “That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Just let me take care of you.”

You let out another whimper, tightening your grip in his hair.

Jungkook shivers. “You sound so fucking cute.”

His lips find your jaw again, then your cheek, then the shell of your ear. His voice is a breathy whisper, wrecked and desperate.

“You’re so good for me,” he murmurs, dragging your hips against him again. “So pretty. So fucking perfect, baby.”

The praise is endless.

Your thighs squeeze around his waist, your arms tightening around him as he keeps up the slow, torturous rhythm. The ocean sways around you, waves lapping gently at your sides, but all you can focus on is the way he’s moving you, the way he’s touching you, the heat pooling in your stomach—

You moan again, voice muffled against his shoulder, and Jungkook lets out a shaky breath.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “Just like that. Keep making those pretty sounds for me.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his arms flexing as he holds you up. He’s been carrying you for a while now, but the exhaustion finally hits. With a small groan, he shifts, setting you down gently so your feet touch the sand beneath the water.

You pout up at him, scowling playfully.

He chuckles, reaching out to pinch your cheek. “Fix your face.”

The attempt at dominance falls flat when you just blink at him, unimpressed. Jungkook grins, giving up immediately, and tugs you forward by your waist.

“Come here,” he murmurs, guiding you toward the shallower part of the water.

The waves lap at your thighs as he leads you to where the ocean barely reaches your hips. You shiver at the coolness of the water, but Jungkook is warm behind you, chest flush against your back. He wraps an arm around your waist, keeping you close, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“You’re shivering, baby,” he murmurs, voice teasing, hands smoothing over your stomach. “Cold?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before he shifts, tilting his head to press a slow, lingering kiss to your neck. His lips are warm, soft, and your breath stutters as his hands start to wander lower.

“Let me warm you up,” he whispers, fingers slipping under the waistband of your soaked panties.

Your body tenses instinctively, but his free hand smooths up your side, grounding you.

“You’re okay,” he soothes, lips brushing against your ear. “Just relax for me.”

And then his fingers are between your legs, parting your folds with a slow, deliberate touch.

You inhale sharply, your hands immediately gripping his wrists, but you don’t stop him. You can’t. Not when he’s touching you like this, not when his voice is coaxing.

Jungkook groans, feeling just how soaked you are. “You’re so wet.”

His cock twitches against your back as he grinds against you, his hips rolling subtly, letting you feel just how hard he still is. The heat of him, the weight of him—it makes your knees feel weak.

“God,” he breathes, “you’re perfect.”

His fingers start to move, slow, teasing strokes against your clit. You whimper, head tilting back against his shoulder as your body responds instantly to his touch.

“Yeah?” he whispers, his voice wrecked, pleased. “That feel good, baby?”

You nod frantically, breath catching in your throat as his fingers push lower, parting you, teasing at your entrance.

“You’re so cute,” he groans, his lips dragging along your jaw. “Look at you—”

Your grip tightens on his wrists when he finally pushes a finger inside.

A gasp leaves your lips, your body trembling against him, and Jungkook lets out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” he mutters, pumping his finger slowly, curling it just right. “So fucking soft.”

Your thighs squeeze together, trapping his hand, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, it makes him groan, the restriction sending heat straight to his cock.

“Relax, baby,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I got you.” And then he adds another finger, stretching you open, making you moan.

Jungkook growls softly, his other arm tightening around your waist, keeping you steady as he keeps working you open, fucking you on his fingers while his cock grinds against your back.

“You always feel so good,” he whispers, voice thick with arousal. “So fucking good for me.”

You moan again, turning your head to bury your face in his shoulder.

His fingers keep moving, deep and slow, his palm brushing against your clit with every thrust. The pleasure is building quickly, your thighs shaking, your breath coming out in ragged little gasps.

Jungkook groans at the sound, pressing his lips to your neck, sucking softly. “You gonna come for me, baby?” he murmurs, his voice a desperate plea. “Let me feel you.”

Jungkook’s fingers move faster, stroking deep, curling just right, and your body tenses, your breath stuttering as the pleasure swells unbearably inside you.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, feeling how tight you’re getting, how close you are. “Close?”

Your head tilts back against his shoulder, whimpers spilling from your lips, your hands grasping at his wrist, at his forearm, as if trying to push him away—

“Stop,” you whine, breathless, but he just smirks against your neck, knowing you don’t mean it. You always do this when you’re right there, always get so cute, so desperate.

“Don’t wanna,” he murmurs, fingers still fucking into you, thumb circling your clit. “Wanna feel you come for me, baby. Just let go, yeah?”

And you do.

Your orgasm crashes through you, a choked cry spilling from your lips as your walls flutter around his fingers, your body shaking in his hold.

“Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, his eyes glued to your face, to the way your mouth parts, to the way you clutch at his wrist as if you can’t handle it.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up, keeps rubbing your clit, keeps stroking you through it until you’re whimpering, legs trembling, pushing at his hand.

“Too much,” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut.

Jungkook grins, watching you fight the overstimulation, smirking as he finally slows down, his fingers slipping out of you, leaving you weak.

“You good?” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Shut up,” you mumble, still breathless.

You turn in his hold, your hands sliding down his chest, your knees bending slightly, ready to sink down into the water—

But Jungkook tugs you back up immediately.

“No,” he grunts, shaking his head. “Just let me fuck you.”

Your stomach clenches at his words, the raw need in them, and honestly—you didn’t really want to suck his cock anyway. Probably salty from the ocean.

That thought makes you giggle.

Jungkook squints. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, biting your lip.

He doesn’t push, just rolls his eyes before holding his hands out, palms up. “Jump.”

And you do.

His hands find your thighs again, spreading them as he hoists you up, your legs wrapping around his waist like second nature. The thick, hard length of his cock presses right against your swollen, sensitive pussy, making your breath catch.

Jungkook groans, adjusting his grip on you, the head of his cock teasing between your folds, nudging at your entrance.

But then—

“Wait,” you gasp suddenly. “Condom.”

Jungkook stills. “Shit.”

Your head tilts back, contemplating for a second. The waves crash gently around you, the sunset painting the sky in deep, fiery hues. He’s staring at you, waiting, his brows furrowed slightly.

“I’m clean,” you say after a moment.

He exhales sharply, nodding. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he answers immediately.

Relief rushes through you. You don’t know why it makes you feel so warm, so light, but it does—because it means he hasn’t been with anyone else.

You don’t even say anything. You just kiss him.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips pressing against his with a slow, deliberate kind of passion, as if rewarding him for that answer.

Jungkook groans into your mouth, gripping your thighs tighter, and then—

You sink down onto him.

Jungkook groans as you take him in, your walls fluttering around him, hot and tight even in the cool ocean water. His arms flex as he holds you up, his grip bruising on your thighs, and for a second, neither of you move—just panting, mouths hovering over each other, overwhelmed.

And then he snaps his hips up.

A choked moan falls from your lips as he starts bouncing you on his cock, thrusting deep, his grip keeping you steady as the water splashes violently around you. His abs tense with every movement, his muscles rippling under the soft glow of the sunset, sweat and seawater glistening across his golden skin.

“Fuck,” he grits out, burying his face in your neck, breath hot against your damp skin. “You feel so good, baby. So fucking tight for me.”

You whimper, arms tightening around his shoulders, fingers digging into his back as he fucks up into you, his thick cock hitting deep, dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. The pleasure is dizzying, almost too much, making your head fall back, your body trembling in his hold.

Jungkook growls, takes the opportunity to latch onto your throat, sucking bruises onto your salty skin, his mouth and tongue worshipping you, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse.

“More,” you gasp, rolling your hips against his, desperate for more friction, more pressure, more of him. “Come on, fuck me more, Jungkook—”

He groans, pulling back to meet your eyes, the intensity in his gaze making your stomach flip. “Yeah?” he pants, his breath coming in short, labored puffs. “That all I got, baby?”

You nod frantically, clawing at his hair, tugging at the damp strands, desperate. “Come on, come on—”

“Fuck,” he curses, tightening his grip before driving into you harder, faster, grinding you down against his base, his cock hitting impossibly deep.

You cry out, burying your face in his shoulder, moaning against his slick skin as pleasure sparks in every nerve of your body, your nails raking down his back.

Jungkook’s breath shudders. “Gonna make me fucking come,” he grits out, his rhythm faltering for a second. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby, so—shit—”

You feel it too, the way his body tenses, the way his cock throbs inside you, how close he is—

And then you whisper it.

“I love you.”

His breath catches.

You don’t stop. You murmur it again, softer, right against his ear, your lips brushing the shell.

“I love you,” you repeat, voice shaky, raw. “I love you so much.”

Jungkook lets out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan, something desperate, broken, and then—

He loses it.

His pace turns frantic, erratic, slamming into you with wild, reckless abandon, his moans spilling freely into the open air. The waves crash around you, the sound of water splashing mixing with your whimpers, your gasps, your whispered confessions.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants, gripping your hips so tightly it hurts. “Baby, I—”

“Come inside me,” you plead, clutching onto him, pressing your forehead against his, staring into his dazed, glassy eyes. “Please, Jungkook, please—”

And with a final, deep thrust, he does.

Jungkook groans into your neck as he spills inside you, pressing as deep as he can, his hips flush against yours as his cock throbs, filling you up. You gasp at the feeling, the warmth of it making you tremble, and your body clenches around him in response—your own orgasm washing over you like the tide, your thighs shaking in his hold.

Your whimpers are muffled against his shoulder, your body curling into his as you come, pulsing around his cock, milking every last drop from him. Jungkook shudders at the sensation, arms tightening around you, pressing you against his chest as he kisses the side of your head, whispering soft praises into your damp skin.

“Baby,” he breathes, his voice ragged, thick with emotion. “That’s it, just like that—fuck, you’re so good, so perfect.”

You barely register the way he’s still coming, his breath hot against your ear, his hands sliding up and down your back, grounding you, soothing you as your body trembles in the aftershocks.

For a moment, the two of you just stay like that—clinging to each other, waves lapping at your bodies, breaths mingling as the last bits of tension fade into the sea.

And then Jungkook shifts, inhaling sharply as he feels himself start to slip from you. He groans at the loss, at the way he feels his release spilling out, warm and thick between your thighs, mixing with the saltwater around you.

Before you can even react, his hand is sliding between your legs.

You let out a soft, startled whimper as his fingers brush over your swollen, sensitive folds, pushing back the mess that threatens to escape. The feeling of him pressing it back inside makes your breath hitch, your body jolting slightly in overstimulation.

Jungkook chuckles softly against your skin, kissing your shoulder. “Shh, I know, baby. Just making sure you keep all of me.”

A quiet, satisfied mewl escapes your lips, and Jungkook’s heart swells at the sound.

Gently, he sets you back down, steadying you as your legs threaten to give out. You’re still wobbly, still lost in the haze of pleasure, but he’s right there, his strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his chest from behind.

You sigh as his lips press soft, lingering kisses along your shoulder, up the curve of your neck, his nose nuzzling against your damp skin.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low, warm, filled with something deeper than just satisfaction. “Love you so much, you know that?”

You nod against him, still catching your breath, your fingers resting over his where they hold your waist.

Jungkook hums, swaying you gently in his embrace, as if neither of you are still half-naked in the ocean, as if the whole world doesn’t exist beyond this moment.

“Never letting you go again,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Never.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believe him.

——

The walk back to your spot is slow, quiet. Neither of you really care about the sand sticking to your damp skin or the way the night air makes you shiver. Your dress clings uncomfortably, Jungkook’s briefs are still soaked, but none of it matters.

You’re circling each other, still breathless, still grinning. The sunset has almost completely faded now, the last bits of gold slipping beneath the horizon. The sky is a deep indigo, stars just beginning to peek through.

Then—your phone vibrates.

A spam of messages.

Jungkook watches as you glance at the screen, then quickly press the side button to silence it.

His brows raise. “Wow. You love me that much?”

You smirk, slipping the phone back into your bag. “Just us.”

Then, before he can react, you lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

Jungkook stiffens.

And then—

His ears go completely red.

You giggle, pointing at him. “Oh my god, are you blushing?”

“No.”

“You totally are.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re so cute.”

Jungkook scowls, rolling his shoulders back. “I’m not cute.”

He flexes his arms. “I’m hot.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god, stop.”

“No, for real.” He strikes a stupid pose, flexing his biceps like he’s on a bodybuilding stage. “Look at these guns.”

You groan. “I hate you.”

He smirks. “No, you don’t.”

You roll your eyes, dropping down onto the sand with a sigh. You start playing with it absentmindedly, letting the grains slip through your fingers. Jungkook watches for a second before sitting down next to you, his long legs stretched out, arms resting behind him.

Then—an idea pops into your head.

You turn to him. “Can I bury you?”

Jungkook stares. “What?”

You grin. “Please.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you. You’re gonna do some weird shit.”

You gasp. “When have I ever done weird shit?”

Jungkook gives you a look. You sigh dramatically. “Come on, take this as your punishment.”

Jungkook groans, throwing his head back. “Fine.” Triumphantly, you push him down, guiding him onto his back in the sand. He groans dramatically the whole way down but doesn’t fight you.

It takes a while, but you eventually get him properly buried—only his head and a bit of his chest peeking out.

“Wow,” you muse, patting down the sand. “You look amazing.”

Jungkook just glares at you. “Are you done?”

“Almost.”

Then— You start tracing abs into the sand where his stomach should be. Jungkook wheezes. “Oh my god.”

“Hold still,” you scold, giggling as you use your fingers to carve out ridiculously exaggerated muscles.

“This is so stupid,” he groans, laughing through his complaints.

You grin. “Wait, I have a better idea.”

Before he can react, you grab his camera from the bag and start snapping pictures. Jungkook immediately panics.

“Wait—no—”

“Jungkook, this is gold.”

“Stop—”

“Oh my god, this is my best work.”

“DELETE THEM.”

“Nope.”

“I swear to god, I will—”

“You will what? You’re literally stuck.”

Jungkook glares. You smirk, snapping another picture.

Jungkook groans dramatically, throwing his head back into the sand. “I hate you.”

You giggle, setting the camera down. “No, you don’t.”

Jungkook sighs. “Unfortunately.” You grin, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead.

He stills. And then—

His ears go red again. Jungkook groans. “Okay, joke’s over. Get this off me.”

You sit cross-legged next to him, tilting your head. “Hmm. No.”

“Please.”

“Nope.”

“Please, baby.”

You snort, reaching for the plastic bag near his partially buried chest. His eyes widen. “What are you doing?”

You hum, pulling out one of his snacks. “Nothing.”

Jungkook immediately tenses. “You wouldn’t.”

You tear the wrapper open.

“YN.”

You take a bite.

Jungkook gasps. “Oh my god.”

You chew dramatically, sighing. “Wow. This is so good.”

“Stop.”

“I should take another one—”

“Baby, I swear—”

You reach for another, stuffing it into your mouth with a smirk.

Jungkook groans, wiggling aggressively against the sand. He’s trying to break free, but it’s too heavy, packed tightly around him. His arms barely budge.

He glares. “This is abuse.”

You shrug, munching away. Jungkook grits his teeth, then finally—

With a dramatic grunt, he forces himself up, breaking through the sand like some kind of buried zombie. Sand flies everywhere, dusting your legs, but you’re already scrambling up, grabbing the bag and running.

“HEY!”

You burst out laughing, sprinting across the beach. “You’re too slow!”

Jungkook chases after you. “Come back now.”

“Never.” He’s fast—too fast.

Within seconds, his arms wrap around your waist, yanking you to his chest. You squeal, kicking your legs, but he just laughs, spinning you around before trapping you in a tight hug.

“Give it back.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

Before you can react, he starts pressing quick, ticklish kisses all over your neck and jaw.

You shriek. “Jungkook—stop—”

“Give. It. Back.”

“NEVER.”

“Okay, fine.”

He suddenly wrestles the bag from your grip, yanking it open and downing half the snacks in one go.

You gasp. “You little—” Jungkook grins, mouth full.

Then, he swallows, leans in, and murmurs—

“Love you.”

Jungkook just grins wider, and then—because he is insufferable—he leans in and bites your cheek.

You yelp. “What the—”

“Mine,” he says simply.

Your heart stutters, heat creeping up your face.

You stare. And then—

You roll your eyes, laughing. “Yeah, yeah.” But your heart is pounding. Because even through all of this—

You know you love him, too.

After a long beat and a lot of chewing, Jungkook stands behind you, his fingertips light against your waist as he absentmindedly traces soft shapes against your damp skin. The ocean breeze is cool, sending a slight shiver up your spine, but his warmth is pressed all along your back, keeping you steady.

Then, suddenly, he’s peeling your dress off your shoulders that you had literally just put on.

You jolt. “Jungkook, what are you—”

“Just wanna feel you,” he murmurs, his voice softer than the waves lapping at the shore. “Skin to skin.”

Your breath catches.

This isn’t sexual, you realize. There’s no teasing smirk, no wandering hands. He’s just… holding you, the same way he always does. Still in his briefs, pressed against your back, warm and steady, as if he just wants to remember this—to remember you.

You let him.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, brushing against your damp skin. His arms tighten just slightly, and you relax into him, letting your eyes flutter shut. You could fall asleep standing here, the only thing keeping you awake is the occasional tightening of his arms and the way he keeps pressing the softest kisses against the back of your head.

For a while, neither of you speak.

Then, Jungkook takes your hand without warning, his grip firm as he tugs you back toward the blanket.

The moment is over.

You clear your throat, rubbing at your arms as you pull your dress back on. Sand clings to every part of you—your legs, your arms, your back—and you try not to shift too much as discomfort creeps in.

Jungkook notices immediately. He kneels in front of you, reaching for a bottle of water from his bag. “Stay still.”

You blink at him. “What are you—”

He uncaps the bottle, carefully pouring water over your legs, his other hand brushing away the sand. Your stomach flips. “Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“Just let me do this,” he murmurs, voice low, focused.

Every time he wipes a bit of sand away, he presses a kiss to the spot—your thigh, your calf, your knee. It’s painfully intimate. So much so that you can’t even look at him. Neither of you speak.

The sky is dark now, the air cooler. The two of you are curled up on the blanket, Jungkook scrolling through his phone, his head propped up on his palm.

“Oh my god,” he suddenly mutters, showing you his screen. “Look at how they edit me.”

You glance at the phone, biting back a laugh. It’s an over-the-top, ridiculously filtered photo of him, all smooth skin and exaggerated puppy eyes. The caption is full of heart emojis, calling him ridiculous pet names— Kookie oppa~.

You snort. “I bet you secretly love that.”

He glares. “I do not.”

“Would you like me to call you Kookie?” you tease, voice sing-songy.

“NO.”

You grin, stretching your legs out. “Okay, oppa.”

Jungkook groans.

You giggle, reaching for his phone, but then—a new message pops up at the top of the screen.

Manager [8:49PM] : Jungkook, where are you?

He quickly tilts the screen away, locking his phone.

Your brows furrow. “Are you supposed to be somewhere?”

He shrugs. “Meeting.”

“…That you skipped?”

“Stop,” he mutters, nudging your foot with his. “Relax.”

You sigh, deciding to let it go. You rest your head on his lap, staring up at the sky. He absentmindedly strokes your hair, his fingers threading through the strands.

“She’s pretty,” you murmur.

Jungkook hums. “I know.”

You blink up at him. “I meant the sky, dumbass.”

He grins, eyes twinkling. “Yeah, but you’re prettier.”

You groan, shoving at his chest. “Shut up.” He laughs, dropping his head back against the blanket.

A rustling sound.

You freeze. “What was that?”

Jungkook, unbothered, hums. “What?”

You sit up, glancing around. “Did you hear that?”

He shrugs. “No.”

Another rustle.

Your eyes widen. “Jungkook. Someone’s here.”

He bursts out laughing. You turn on him. “Was that you?!”

“No,” he says, amused. “It was a scary monster.”

You slap his arm. “Don’t say that, let’s go.”

He snickers. “Okay, okay, it was me. Joking.”

You shove him, glaring.

——

It’s late—probably past eleven—when you finally pack up and start the walk back to the car. You’re dragging your feet now, exhausted, your sandals dangling from Jungkook’s hand.

He notices how slow you’re moving.

Without warning, he scoops you up, hoisting you against his chest.

You yelp. “Jungkook—put me down!”

“No.”

“You’re getting sand all over you—”

“I don’t care.”

You pout, kicking your feet. “You’re annoying.”

He grins. “And you love it.”

You roll your eyes, letting yourself rest against his shoulder.

—

The moment you get in the car, you knock out.

Jungkook glances at you every now and then, watching the way your face softens in sleep. He fights for his life to focus on the road.

Then—he gets an idea.

Turning the volume dial all the way up—

BOOM.

The speakers explode with noise. You jolt awake with a scream, nearly hitting your head on the roof.

Jungkook is in hysterics.

“Are you insane?!” you shriek, smacking his arm.

He wheezes, clutching his stomach. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

You glare at him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Seriously.” You groan, rubbing your eyes. “How much longer?”

“Hour and a half.”

You sigh, tilting your head back. “Ugh. I won’t be able to sleep now.”

He nudges your knee. “Talk to me, then. I miss you.”

You scoff. “You’re clingier than I thought you’d be.”

“Only because it’s you.”

You shake your head, unlocking your phone. The first thing you see—

Nari [ 11:42PM ]: Bitch are you ignoring me?!

Nari [ 11:42PM ]: Wya??

Nari [ 11:42PM ]: I just ran out of pickles. i might go insane.

You snort.

Nari [ 11:43PM ]: Wait. ARE YOU ON A DATE WITH LOVER BOY?!?!

You hesitate—then reply.

You [ 11:43PM ]: yeah, I am.

Her response is instant.

Nari [ 11:43PM ]: WHERE. DID YOU GUYS MAKE UP?

You groan.

Jungkook, peering over, asks, “Is that Nari?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

You sigh. “She’s just…complaining about pickles.”

He snickers. “Sounds about right.”

The car rolls to a stop in front of your apartment.

Jungkook walks you up to your door, hands stuffed in his pockets. Then, before you can turn the key—he hugs you. Tight. His lips press against your temple. “Love you.”

You pull back slightly, blinking up at him. “Just love you?” you tease.

He groans, rolling his eyes. “I love you.”

You grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That’s better.”

Then—you step inside, shutting the door behind you.

“Wait—”

Too late.

You hear him groan from the other side.

[kirlicues]

Hillside Lane | Sims 2 Residential Lot Download

This plain brick home with 3 bedroom, 4 baths is built on a 2x4 lot and features a pool, pool house, and outdoor kitchen in the back yard.

Like my previous lot, this home also has an issue with one of the roofs (over the garage) creating a "trough" that is unrealistic and would cause leaks in real-life homes. I personally don't mind since the rest of the home looks so nice. Plus with 4 bathrooms you'll never have to worry about red bladder bars, so consider your trade-offs! 🤭

At the back of the lot there's a pool and pool house with outdoor kitchen and fireplace, perfect for family gatherings and kids birthday parties!

Let's have a look at the inside the home shall we?

1st Floor: Clockwise from top left (the front of the property): garage, kitchen, sunroom, kitchen, bathroom, and living room.

2nd Floor: Clockwise from top left (the front of the property): Landing, bathroom, kids bedroom 1 (currently set up as an office), kids bedroom 2, bathroom, and master bedroom.

Pool house:

Here are a couple of pictures from the inside:

Living room:

Kitchen/dining room:

Hillside Lane: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run this lot through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home has only 1 piece of CC, which you may already have in your game. It can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want it though.

CC List (Included): -Maxis Match Wall Cabinets by CTNutmegger at ModtheSims

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some "Lost & Found" Maxis objects? Check out this post.

[htchnr]

ミ★ thrill of the hunt ꜜ AARON HOTCHNER.

𖦹 masterlist. 𖦹 buy me a ko-fi! 𖦹 kinktober masterlist.

「 ꜜsummary,, kinktober, hunting kink + unsub!hotch. 」

「 ꜜcontent,, outdoor sex ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ piv sex ⋆ semi public sex ⋆ creampie ⋆ slight knifeplay. ꜜwc,, 1,8k. 」

© 2023 𝐇𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐍𝐑. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!

he’s restless. he hasn’t been on a hunt in a while, in fact, since you’ve been together. you’ve never told him to stop, but you can sense he doesn’t want you to see that side of him, coming home late at night covered in blood that isn’t his. the novelty of domestic life suits him, he likes cuddling with you, lazy mornings.

tonight though, you watch his side profile as he reads, watch his eyes flick over the same page several times, unseeing. he fidgets his knee up and down and slides his hand over his jaw, tapping a finger against his top lip. he’s so handsome, warm looking, alluring, and you realize with a rush that goes from your head to your cunt that you want him.

“hey.” you say, breaking the taut silence of the room, he looks up from his book, blue eyes focussed on yours. “i want us to play a game.” he stares at you while you explain your idea, smirking first with amused adoration, then slightly patronizing as he tilts his head.

“hide and seek? with me that wouldn’t be much of a game honey.”

“no.” shaking your head you stand and stretch your limbs, reveling in the way his dark eyes track your movements.

“i want you to hunt me.”

he pauses, thinking it through for a second. “since you interrupted my reading you better run extra fast.” he almost growls then, his usually sweet eyes gone impossibly dark.

“get to running sweetheart.” his voice low and threatening almost.

“fuck fuck fuck” you mutter out loud, almost forgetting that the whole point of the game is for him to find you. suddenly it feels very real. after all, he’s a killer, using both stealth and skill. one girl is nothing to him, a speck of dirt that is easily rubbed out.

reminding yourself that this man loves you and would never kill you doesn’t stop the pounding in your heart as you pause at a fallen tree, wondering if you can fit inside. you realize the game is exciting you just as much, even though you’ve done this for him, to help his boredom, you feel simultaneously afraid and aroused— it’s confusing as hell.

when people hide on tv or in films it’s never so messy. you cringe as dirt slides over your skin from the tree, matted leaves catch in your hair and your legs are awkwardly twisted. still, you’re inside the rotted trunk, and you’re hidden, at least to regular human eyes. you don’t have to lay still for long before you hear him coming. he’s not attempting to be quiet, but is humming under his breath, almost taunting you.

“i’m coming to get you sweetheart..” he sing-songs and you bite your lip not to whimper.

his footsteps pause, and you imagine him, scanning the trees for any sign of you. the urge to see him in his hunter pose is too much and you peek out through a crack in the tree trunk, you can’t resist a look, even if it costs you the game. he stood, the darkness of the night swallowing him along with the darkness of the forest.

his attitude has changed, and he looks nothing like the soft, charming man you’re used to seeing everyday. his shoulders are tight, his hands twitching by his sides— his left hand hovering above his knife that sits in it’s sheath. he’s grinning, his eyes are two black focused orbs, sweeping the scene.

it is amazing to see him like this, and as he moves towards you in one smooth, animalistic movement fear combines with desire, licking up the bottom of your spine. almost ripping the tree apart he unearths you, pulling you out from your hiding place, his hands under your armpits, lifting you as if you’re a child, or a rag doll— the ice cold blade of the knife pressed against your throat.

“i told you to run” he murmurs, the look in his eyes is dangerous, his chest is heaving with panting breaths, his voice is rough and low and betrays his arousal even if you couldn’t see the outline of his cock pressing hard against the fly of his jeans.

“i did” you whimper as he glares and bends his head to kiss you unrelentingly, nipping your bottom lip viciously.

“not far enough, not fast enough.”

“i tried Aaron, let me up…” you struggle intentionally weak against him and he holds you easily with a snide look in his eyes.

“i won the game.. i should get my prize.”

“your prize? oh… “ you words dissolve into a shameless moan as he simultaneously bites your neck and the cold knife tears through your shirt, his rough hands groping your breasts and pinching your nipples. You moan as you move your fingers to his zipper, yanking it down and pull his aching cock out, hot and throbbing against your palm as you stroke him. his mouth falls open as he lets out a strained breath, moving his larger hand on top of yours to force you to speed up your strokes. he seems to want it rough, and you feel exactly the same way.

his hands hold you easily, cupping your spine as he shoves you down on a patch of dry leaves. he crawls on top of you, his hips jerking a little as if of their own accord. “put your hands above your head.” he commands with a raspy voice and you nod, following the direction, twisting them together as if bound, and looking up at him imploringly.

pinning you with a glare he kisses you again moving his hand inside your underwear— swearing when he finds you soaking, pushing two fingers inside you desperate to feel your heat, before he regains control of himself and moves them teasingly in and out, never quite hard or deep enough. “i see.. you like this, you like the chase?” he asks. you moan pathetically, eyes rolling back.

“i like being caught.” you pant, trying to grind down against his hand hard enough to get yourself off.

“turn over.” he groans. “if you like being hunted like an animal i’m going to fuck you like one.”

thrilled, you scramble on all fours, glad to be off the hard ground— you wonder somewhere in the back of your mind if he’s doing this for your comfort. he hovers over you and you hear the clink of metal as he undoes his belt, the sound sending an unexpected bolt of arousal through you, he pulls back on your hips so your ass is cushioned against him and pushes inside you with one smooth stroke, not waiting to let you adjust before starting to move. you cry out as he sinks in and out over and over.

you clench your eyes shut as you shamelessly moan. he grins darkly, moving his fingers between your legs and rubbing your clit as he plows deeper inside you. you scramble for something to hold but he just holds you, fucking into you and you have no choice just to let him bounce you on his cock, let him touch you until you feel as if you were about to explode.

“Aaron! fuck.. please..” you plead, not even sure what you’re begging for as he slides one hand up your throat, pressing the cold blade flat against the hot skin of your throat. your thighs pressing together make you feel even tighter to him, and the sounds leaving his lips against your ear, the filth spilling from his usually smooth and composed self even during sex gives you a clue he’s just as lost as you are.

“scream all you want, no one can hear you out here.." he mutters in your ear. His lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he urges you towards your climax both with his filthy words and the never ending stroke of his fingers against your sensitive bundle of nerves. bucking back against him you let yourself go, clenching around him and riding out the pleasure as you cry out, tears trickling down your cheeks. he holds you as you fall apart, pausing just to revel in the sensations before he picks up his brutal pace again, the knife being thrown down into the dirt as his arm reaches around your throat, resting against your shoulders.

he thrusts a few more times, his balls slapping against your cunt so deliciously as he finally comes inside you with a loud guttural moan, his warm cum painting your walls as he fucks it into you.

He pulls out, his sticky cum pouring out of your abused hole— dropping onto the leaves with obscene splats. he hovers above you on the forest floor for a few moments before he comes back to himself, realizing you’re both outside at night on damp leaves amongst bugs and god knows what else. he let’s out a shuddered groan as pulls you up. your knees shake shamefully and you lean into his solid side with a grateful sigh.

he helps you back to the house, shoving you in front of the fireplace, not speaking while he fusses round you, washing the dirt off your face with a warm washcloth, picking the leaves out of your hair and frowning at the scratches on your arms as if they personally offended him.

“i’m okay..” you reassure him, your eyes heavy with post-sex bliss. you wonder how you can convince him that you enjoyed the game and that you are not so breakable as he thinks. he knows you well though, and as he lifts you up to bed and pulls you on top of him, your head resting on his hot chest. he nips at your ear, sending a wave of lust through your exhausted body.

“we are definitely doing that again..” squealing quietly with glee you hug him tighter to you and slowly fall asleep, happy knowing you have a man who is willing to take such good care of you, but also fuck you into the ground with a knife against your throat if you ask for it.

TAGLIST ➥ @toastbrot8410 @mrs-ssa-hotch @fictionallifestuff @weirdothatwritess @crystalflwr @stella95827 @taintedstranger @mija-novella @gffesegjoiegj @bubbly-parker @mediocremalachor15 @goldenangelwingsandcandy @0nex-is-dead0 @2hiigh2cry @the-1n0nly @hotchsdharma @tgskitten @crystlroses @notforeverlong @emmeilyy @whatisthereality

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 100 (Conrad Puts a Ring on It!)

A fresh fluttering of snowflakes coated the stones beneath Heather's feet. Gord's paws left prints in the cold white powder as they climbed the small hill from Dachshund's Creek back to their home on Sable Square. She spotted the police detail who'd hovered in the neighbourhood since the body turned up at the docks, but she wouldn't let their presence dampen her spirit tonight.

The air was peaceful, with families gathered indoors to celebrate the night before Winterfest. Gord shook off crystals from his long fur, and Heather kicked the snow from her boots before heading back inside.

The house was peaceful, too, and she took off her outdoor gear to head back upstairs. She found Conrad perfecting the decorations on the tree. "Are they both asleep?"

"Lavender's out at least until she's hungry again, and Ash knows the sooner he goes to sleep the sooner he can open more presents." Conrad chuckled. "But I doubt he's actually sleeping."

"Thanks for getting them both down. I thought maybe we could watch Devin Villareal's new movie, Winterfest to the Rafters, on Simflix. At least until I fall asleep on the sofa... Why are you looking at me like that?"

"We can watch whatever you want," he said. " But I want to say something first."

He dropped to one knee, opening the ring box in his hand. "Oh my Watcher! Conrad!" Heather tried to keep her excited voice low, afraid to wake the kids.

"The night I asked you to marry me was a whirlwind. I meant everything I said, but I didn't plan it right, and we've been through enough together that I should have. We're probably not going to do everything traditionally, but my dad told me 'a ring says you're ready for forever.' And I should've done this the night I asked because I've been ready for forever with you from our first date in the city. I'm ready for forever with all of us."

Heather was practically speechless as she tried on the gorgeous rose gold diamond ring. "It's beautiful, Conrad. But you know I didn't need a ring for me to trust your commitment to us. No matter what we go through, you show us every day."

"Tell me we'll spend the rest of our lives living up to the promise of that ring, and that's all I'll ever need."

"I promise." She pulled him in for a kiss, the ring adding weight to her hand as she wrapped her arms around his back. The ring felt new and she'd have to get used to it, but the real weight of the ring wasn't in ounces and carats. Like Conrad said, it meant forever. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Can I come out now?" Ash's muffled voice behind his bedroom door interrupted their embrace, and he raced out to see the ring. "Do you like it, mommy? I said you would!"

Heather laughed. "You were right. I really love it!"

Ash turned to Conrad with an excited grin, reaching up his arms for a hug. "I told you she'd love it!"

"You're the smartest kid I know, buddy. I never doubted you."

"Can I stay up and watch a Winterfest movie with you tonight?"

Heather shook her head. "What happened to going to sleep so you can wake up to open presents sooner? You don't want to be tired tomorrow. After we have breakfast we're going to Henford, and I have it on good authority Father Clement has your grandparents' house on his route, too."

"But I'm too excited to sleep!"

Behind the door to Lavender's room, they heard her stirring. She never woke in a bad mood, but she babbled for help from her crib. Heather turned to Conrad with a smile. "She's hungry, I'll feed her."

"And I'll help Ash count z's 'til he's asleep," said Conrad, shuffling him back to bed while Heather entered her daughter's room. Lavender nursed quietly, staring at the bright lights on the tree with keen interest. The quiet moment gave Heather time to stare at her ring as she stroked her daughter's hair.

It took effort to get Lavender back to sleep. She could probably sense the excitement, and as a wiggly infant she always wanted to be where the action was.

But Lavender was so good. Sweet and happy. Maybe that's just how Conrad made babies. They'd have to have another for Heather to know for sure... She pulled herself back from her meandering thoughts. She worked too much, and he was climbing the ranks at the station. Ash and Lavender needed all their free time.

And then, of course, there was Ximena, wherever she was tonight.

She entered Ash's room to find him passed out above the covers. Conrad sat up next to him, with Queen Cupcake sleeping soundly at his feet. He stifled a yawn, smiling when she came in.

"He was reading The Giving Tree to me this time, but he didn't even make it to the part where the boy grows up and builds the house."

Heather smiled. "We've all had a big day," she said, tucking her son under the covers. "Are you still up for a movie?"

"Of course. Winterfest to the Rafters it is."

They got up to head downstairs to the family room, but Ash spoke up from his bed before they closed the door behind them.

"Good night mommy. Good night Conrad. Happy Winterfest Eve!"

Heather would never admit it to her son for fear of setting the wrong example, but by some stroke of wonderful fate, her decision to hack Landgraab Systems had brought Conrad into their lives.

It felt like the best decision she'd ever made. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

Thank you @changingplumbob for brainstorming Devin's new Winterfest movie for this lil' cross/mention when I sprang the idea on you literally yesterday! 🙏

WCIF Poses and Rings? From Proposing Poses by Atashi77. The Soloriya ring box accessory is also available for download from the linked Patreon page for the creator, in case you have some sims getting engaged soon!

BUT I downloaded a different cc ring box to get Heather's actual engagement ring, which she never takes off. This functional wedding ring by Maru is really nice, and I know there are feelings about CurseForge but this is where I found it! It's so persistent (as advertised!) Heather even wears it over gloves, which I hate, but not enough to change it up or remove her gloves in freezing Brindleton Bay. Winter will end eventually!

I also used a pose to get Ash 'asleep' on the same bed with Conrad relaxing (and Queen Cupcake just showed up at Conrad's feet like she knew I wanted the most perfectly blissful action shot of all time and promptly fell asleep against his warm feet. Thank you Queen!!!). The pose itself is from Akiyumi's Child with a Fever poses, which are excellent. Ash is fine of course. He just looks like he fell asleep above the covers, which is all I wanted!

[pjomakesyourkidsgay]

. . . frank zhang

˖°𓇼 bf!frank is literally the gentlest boy ever, i love him. bf!frank is probably usually the quiet, reserved kind of boyfriend but is absolutely willing to do anything with you. bf!frank who loves outdoor dates. bf!frank who also loves stay-at-home dates. bf!frank who, when outside, would turn (away from prying eyes ofc) into some animal and let you ride him so that you won't get tired. bf!frank who just absolutely needs to pet every stray cat you see. bf!frank who loves matching with you: bracelets, shoes, hoodies, hats. bf!frank who lets you test skincare and even make-up products on him. bf!frank who's the perfect guy for when you're falling asleep. like i swear his huge biceps are just so so perfect for leaning on. bf!frank who lets you hold onto his arm while walking. bf!frank who's also kinda clingy in the best way, always needing to be around you or holding your hand or even just touching your knee with his. bf!frank who rarely initiates kisses because he's shy to and he wants to be really sure that you want it so he just waits for you to make the move. bf!frank who just needs words of affirmation and appreciation sometimes, like give this boy a hug. bf!frank who deliberately does silly things because he loves making you laugh. bf!frank who goes out of his way to do something for you, even if it's as simple as getting you a glass of water. bf!frank who's sensitive and really listens to your needs and problems. bf!frank who's hesitant with telling you his own feelings but you know anyway and immediately comfort him. bf!frank who loves randomly sitting next to you while you're doing something and just one-sidedly cuddling you until you finish. and let's be real he'd let you nibble on his arm while he plays with your hair. bf!frank who's the complete and utter best boyfriend when it comes to periods like. it's already on his mental checklist every month to get you blankets, a hot pack, water, food cravings, binge watching a show together. bf!frank who loves you very much and isn't afraid to show it.

the warmth that used to be stuck to you was long gone, now sitting at the other end of the couch. however, you failed to notice, gaze permanently stuck on your phone and the cats that played inside the screen.

frank has his arms crossed, pouting at you from afar. he's been waiting for your attention for what seems like hours already, ever since you got out of the shower and sat down.

he tried playing the cold-shoulder game, but you didn't even see him move away from you. he's tried calling you multiple times, but neither of your ears had perked up. he was determined, now, to get you to look at him.

once again frank pushes up against you, scooping you up close into his arms, but you move nothing but an inch, only resting your head against his chest and snorting at cat memes.

okay, that was it.

frank was done. he pushes you off (gently) and morphs into a doberman, staring at you straight from the ground and growling softly. no response. he turns into a snake, squeezing your feet a little. no response. a tiger? no. a bear? no. a lizard? ...well, he probably shouldn't turn into a complete zoo in the house.

he decides on white cat, loafing beside you with a very sulky face. he refuses to stop pawing at your leg, yowling loudly when you finally turn to him with a grin.

...which quickly drops in confusion. you pick him up, holding the cat high, and then, laughing, say, "frank? i- is that you?"

he purrs in response, finally happy with your attention. you bite back a smile at his cuteness, his cat tail swishing side to side and his eyes closed in what you can only recognize as a cat smile.

"aw, i'm sorry, did you feel left out?" you set him down and affectionately scratch his head, putting your phone down. cat-frank headbutts your leg and then switches back to human, his head still buried in your shoulder.

"hi frankie," you greet, scratching his head still. he makes a satisfied sound from the back of his throat, then brings his head up to look at you, still pouting.

"you've been on your phone for two hours," he complains. "i wanted to cuddle."

"i'm sorry," you apologize again, pinching his cheeks. how can you resist his adorable face? "we can cuddle now, if you want?"

he looks sheepishly to the side. he didn't want to take advantage of your mistake, but he wanted you all to himself for the whole day. "well, um. i'm kinda hungry now."

"i can cook pancakes?"

"and i'm feeling restless."

"we can stretch a bit?"

frank sighs and looks at you straight on. "i want to go for a run outside," he reveals, lips still turned downward.

you blink and then you groan, sliding down on the couch with an arm over your eyes. "fraaaank, it's 9 am!"

"it's late enough!" he protests, jumping up and throwing his hands in the air.

"it's too early!"

you groan again, refusing to get up off from your place on the ground. you and frank have a stand off (or, rather, a stand and a lie-down off), both very fixed on your own goal and both refusing to relent.

this can't go on forever, you decide, so you stand too and place both hands on your waist. "okay, fine. let's go out for a run and then we eat pancakes somewhere. after that we stay home the whooole day, okay?"

frank immediately lights up. it's a miracle he didn't turn into a golden retriever and start jumping for joy. he doesn't even give you a vocal response. instead, he grabs you by the waist and runs off to the front door, half-dragging you in the air and only stopping when you shriek and yell, "i don't have my running clothes on!"

dividers by: @dollywons

[devochive]

Reader who is just as much of a jackass as Jax is. Both of you are competing for the “best prank” on the rest of the circus members. However, one day Jax decides to ask Caine for a “massager” claiming you complained about muscle aches. Jax gives it as a gift, the reader not knowing the outfit contains the toy. He wants you to wear on the next adventure and hopes to push your buttons. Whether the reader gets revenge is up to you.

i think i get it! hopefully this is okay 🫶🏽

tags: make shift vibrator, fingering, outdoors, cursing cause i didn't feel like censoring it.

more below the cut. | minors dni.

"You're kiddin' ... there's no way Zooble would sleep through that." Jax grinned, at you .. a hand on his hip as you both walked through the halls at a moderate pace.

"Mhm, wait til you see them." Was all you said, clearly confident of your own doings.

Like clockwork, Zooble appeared, "What are you two assholes staring at?" Zooble squinted.

Jax couldn't help it, a thunderous roar of laughter erupted from his mouth and held his stomach. Pointing at Zooble with the opposite hand.

"What the hell is so funny?" Zooble didn't notice , they were so used to switching and swapping parts on their body that they failed to notice the comically bouncing googly eye on their face, replacing their usual left eye.

"N—Nothing, Zoobs. You look great.." You giggled and yanked Jax away before he gave away the joke before it had its time to play out.

You guys rounded the corner, "That puts me ahead three points, bunny boy." You said smugly.

"What? No way." He rolled his eyes, and the laughing fit quickly wore off.

"What do you mean, no way? Those were the rules !" You huffed, and relished in your frustration.

"The rules, of my game, dollface."

"Should've known you'd cheat.."

"Look, how about this, next adventure we go on. Double the points. Whoever comes out on top wins. Simple." He shrugs his shoulders.

"Hmp. Fine, you've got a deal." You were planning to get the one up on him. Even if it meant humiliating the other members in the process. There was nothing else to do in this digital world, so why not have some fun at the expense of others?

You two parted ways for the night, and unbeknownst to you Jax had a devious plan already cooked up.

"Hey, Caine."

The ringmaster was cleaning up the mess from the last adventure, "Oh , hello there Jax! What can I do for you?" His voice boomed like usual.

"You know, y/n said they've been havin' some trouble with... uh, back aches. real bad back aches. Needs, I dunno.. a massager or something. Got anything like that?" He gestured.

"Hmm.. I suppose I can cook something up!" He pretened to dig in his pocket, his arm disappearing all the way down to the forearm until he pulled out a make shift massager that had multiple vibrating parts.

Jax's grins grew wide, it was almost creepy how narrow his eyes got. "Thanks , Caine. You're the best." He caught the massager such Caine tossed to him. Jax waved and quickly went to his room. He spent the entire night carefully crafting an outfit for you, though right in the crotch the vibrator was hidden inside the cloth. The things you could make happen here we almost comical. But, Jax took whatever advantage he could get. No matter how ridiculous.

Now lastly. The remote. He'd be able to control whenever the "massager" turned on and off , plus fluctuate its intensity.

The next morning came in a flash, maybe because he was up throughout the night.. no matter. It's not like they get tired anyways.

He showed up at your door, outfit in hand. He knocked until you opened it.

"Jeez, Jax first thing in the morning and— ..... whats that..?" You pointed at the clothes folded in his hands, it was a one piece outfit but it cut off to make shorts at the bottom.

"For you, dummy." He teased and shoved it into your arms.

"You must be out of your mind if you think I'm wearing this Jax." You scoffed and held it up in front of you. It wasn't too provocative..  you just didnt trust him.

"C'mon doll, don't be a loser. Just wear it,— wear it and successfully pull one prank on a member and the winning title is all yours." He spiced up the deal, grinning at you.

You knew there had to be a catch, but if he thought you weren't going to take advantage of this he'd be wrong. "Fine. I'll win, and when I do. You have to anything I say for the entire day."

"Deal." He responded a little too quickly and you shut the door in his face. His smile remained and he hummed to himself as he went looking for the others while you changed.

It was odd how well this outfit fit you, snug but not too tight.. just when did he get your measurements..? Ugh, whatever. It was a little uncomfortable in certain areas , but what were you expecting? Jax to be some master tailor?

"I can't believe I'm doing this.." You muttered before exiting your room, meeting up with the rest of the lot just in time. Caine was explaining the ins and outs of todays adventure. Something about fishing at the digital lake. You weren't paying attention, trying to figure out a quick prank to pull on an unsuspecting member so you could get out of this outfit.

BUZZZZ.

You jumped and yelped, covering your mouth as you felt something vibrating against your clit. Your cheeks went red and you tried to keep still as a few eyes darted to you, but only for a moment. 'What the, fuck?' You thought, and immediately looked at Jax. Unfortunately he wasn't even looking at you.

"Alright, now go on my little superstars! Good luck!" Caine ended his speech and disappeared in puff of smoke.

You all exited the tent and headed towards the lake.. just then you fell another buzz and stumbled to a stop, Kinger and Gangle walked past you with concerning looks... followed by Jax. You walked with him , cheeks still red.

"Jax. I'm taking this stupid outfit off."

"Fine, you'll lose immediately though.. don't say I didn't warn ya." He said and seemed completely unbothered, clearly aware of how competitive you can be.

"Th.. That's not fair and you know it." You growled under your breath.

"Lighten up doll, maybe this is just what you need. A little fun and pleasure." He shrugged before the buzzing started again, and you let a whine slip past your lips before biting down on your bottom lip.

"Whoops.. hand slipped."

"You're going down you, little pervert."

You felt like steam was going to erupt from your ears. You pushed past him, flustered and frustrated. He just chuckled as you stormed off. Clearly pleased with himself.

The buzzing stopped and you breathed , you had to come up with something.. maybe you'd hook Gangle's fishing line to one of her ribbons so when she tries to cast it, it'll go all wrong and make her unravel.

The plan was nearly perfect .. except everytime you tried to distract gangle Jax pressed that damn button and the vibrator buzzed against your thobbing clit.

Every time you tried to initiate your plans , it was always interrupted. The buzzing didn't even stay on long enough for you to reach your climax so you were constantly being edged.. you had to take a break, you could feel your lewd jucies running down your inner thighs..

"I'm going to kill him.." You said, but the words left your mouth pathetically. You leaned against a tree, far from the others.. maybe if you came then you could .. function at least.

"Oh, wondered where you ran off to. Havin' some trouble there doll?"

"N.. No, Jax you'd better not—"

BUZZZZZ.

You almost crumpled to your knees but Jax was right in front of you, holding you against the tree. "Poor thing, can't even stand. How ya gonna win like this, huh?"

Your eyes were glassy, legs shaking. "Y.. You asshole.." Your legs were trembling and you could feel Jax's hand sliding up your torso.

"How about this, give up and I'll let ya cum dollface. No strings attached." He stared at your helpless form. Eyes clearly foggy with lust.

"N.. No way, hhck..!" The buzzing got more intense and you finally collapsed to the floor.

".. O..Okay , please..! please let me cum, Jax.." You whined, your cunt puffy and throbbing with need.

"Heh, that's what I thought.. good game, y/n." He croutched down in front of you. His body pretty much blocking yours fron any eyes that could possibly end up seeing you two.. he pushed aside the shorts and your panties and plunged two fingers inside of you without a second thought.

You yelped and instinctively scooted back but the tree kept you in place.

"Shh.. someone might hear ya, babe. Just cum on my fingers real quick yeah?" He whispered into your ear and your cunt convulsed around his fingers at the thought. You grabbed his arm but he didn't stop, still hammering his fingers in your squelching cunt.

"Fuck... you're so wet." He muttered and stared at your cunt as it swallowed up his fingers.

"Jax!" You yelped and your body jolted as you came on his fingers, panting a little.

"Ya good , doll?" He asked, slowly removing his fingers from your dripping snatch.

You nodded and helped you adjust your clothes, before assisting you to your feet. "How about you go get changed.. I'll make up an excuse if the others say something." He said in a more gentle voice now, his eyes were still wild with lust but he figured now may not be the time.

"R..  Right .. thanks, Jax." You still felt numb down there, your legs still a bit shaky.

"Oh, you still lost by the way. Heh."

Of course you did.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Five

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Language.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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You find yourself in the cold, sterile room of the sleep clinic. The bed beneath you feels foreign, the sheets crisp and unfamiliar. Electrodes cling to your scalp, chest, and limbs, tethering you to the machines that will monitor your every twitch and breath.

"You ready?" the technician asks, her voice breaking through the clinical quiet. Her eyes are kind but professional, revealing none of the potential outcomes of this study.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the anxiety gnawing at you.

The lights dim, and you're left alone with the soft hum of machinery. You close your eyes, willing sleep to come quickly, but it evades you for a while. Eventually, exhaustion takes over and pulls you under.

You drift into a dreamscape that's unsettlingly familiar—Mervyn's garden. The flowers bloom in impossible colors, their petals shifting like liquid in a breeze that doesn't exist. Morpheus appears again, standing among the blossoms, his expression unreadable.

"Why here?" you ask, more to yourself than to him.

"Your mind seeks comfort," he replies. "And yet it brings you back to chaos."

The scene shifts suddenly. You find yourself back in the sleep clinic bed but not alone. Matthew perches on the headboard, his dark eyes watching over you.

"You think they got what they needed?" he asks casually.

"Doubt it," you mutter. "Feels like a whole lot of nothing."

Morning arrives too soon, dragging you from restless slumber into harsh reality. The technician re-enters the room with a clipboard in hand and a neutral expression.

"How'd I do?" You force a smile, hoping for some clarity.

"We'll discuss it with Dr. Andrews," she says. Her tone is too measured to offer any hints.

You're led to a small consultation room where Dr. Andrews awaits with your chart spread out before him.

"Your results are... inconclusive," he says after a moment's hesitation. "We didn't find anything definitive."

You let out a sigh of frustration. "So what now?"

"We'll need to run more tests," he continues. "Your symptoms are real; we just haven't pinpointed the cause yet."

You nod numbly as he explains next steps—more nights in strange beds with electrodes glued to your skin, more waiting for answers that might never come.

As you leave the clinic, Matthew swoops down from somewhere above and lands on your shoulder again. It still astounds you that he can travel between realms, but you are eternally grateful to have his company during your waking hours.

"Guess it's back to square one," he remarks.

"Yeah," you agree softly. "But at least it hasn't gotten worse… you wanna get food?"

"Fuck yeah,"

"How about that diner on Fifth?" you suggest. "They've got outdoor seating. I can pretend that you're a pet"

Matthew ruffles his feathers in approval. "Sounds good. You know I can't resist those fries."

You make your way through the crowded sidewalks, dodging commuters and street vendors until you reach the small, retro-style diner. The smell of sizzling bacon and fresh coffee hits you as you approach, and your stomach growls in anticipation.

You find a table outside, under the shade of a striped umbrella. A waitress with a bright smile brings menus and fills your cup with steaming coffee.

"I'll have the breakfast special," you say, glancing at Matthew. "And can we get an extra side of fries?"

The waitress nods and scribbles down your order before disappearing back inside.

"So," Matthew starts, pecking lightly at a napkin for amusement, "how do you feel about all this? The tests, I mean."

You lean back in your chair, taking a sip of coffee. "Frustrated, mostly. It’s like being stuck in a loop with no exit."

Matthew tilts his head, studying you. "But you're not giving up."

"Never," you reply firmly. "I need answers."

The waitress returns with your food—a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a generous serving of fries on the side. She places everything down with a practiced ease and leaves you to it.

You break off a piece of toast and hold it out for Matthew. He pecks at it gratefully before turning his attention to the fries.

"Here," you say, picking up a fry and holding it close to his beak.

He takes it delicately, munching away with visible delight. "Best part of any meal," he quips between bites.

You smile, feeling a small sense of normalcy amidst the chaos that has become your life. Sharing a meal with Matthew distracts you—no doctors, no tests, just the simple act of eating together. Even he is a bird.

"Want some bacon?" You hold up a piece for him.

"Nah," he replies. "Too greasy for my bird stomach, you would not believe how much I had to shit after snacking on measly strip…” You try not to think about Matthew having bird diarrhea while you chew your bacon eyes wandering over the bustling cityscape. People pass by in waves, unaware of your silent struggles. Matthew’s presence brings a small measure of comfort. The bird’s casual attitude toward your predicament eases the tension you carry like an invisible weight.

Matthew finishes another fry and cocks his head at you. "You think they'll find anything useful next time?"

You shrug, swallowing a bite of scrambled eggs. "I hope so. It’s hard not knowing what’s wrong. But at the same time, how many tests have I already been though? Pretty sure they're gonna start running out and just chalk it up to me being crazy."

"Well at least you’ve got me," he says with a wink—or as much of a wink as a bird can manage.

You chuckle, the sound surprising even to you. It feels good to laugh, even if just for a moment. "Yeah, I do. Thanks for sticking around…" Then you think about it. Why is Matthew hanging out with you while you are awake?

"Matthew?" You question, catching the raven mid gobble of another fry.

You look at Matthew as he swallows the fry, his beady eyes glinting with curiosity. “Why do you stick around when I’m awake?”

He pauses, feathers ruffling slightly. “Good question,” he says, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. “Maybe I just enjoy your company.”

“Come on,” you say, leaning forward. “There’s gotta be more to it than that.”

Matthew pecks at another fry, taking his time before responding. “Alright, alright. The boss told me to watch you, okay?"

The boss? Why would Morpheus care about your well being?

You stare at Matthew, his nonchalance doing little to mask the gravity of his revelation.

"The boss? Morpheus asked you to watch over me?"

Matthew's beady eyes meet yours, and he nods slowly. "Yeah, he did. Said you were important."

"Important? To who?" You lean in, your heart pounding in your chest. Did he still think you were a threat? "What does he mean?"

Matthew looks around, ensuring no one else is listening. Then he leans closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Alright, but you gotta promise not to freak out."

You nod, the curiosity gnawing at you. "I promise."

"Okay," he says, settling himself on the table. "So, I think Morpheus has a crush on you."

Your eyes widen in disbelief. "What? That's... that's insane."

Matthew shrugs, picking at another fry. "Is it? Think about it. Why else would he send me to keep an eye on you?"

You try to process this information, but it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands. "But he's... he's the Lord of Dreams, and Endless. He's older than the gods. Why would he care about me?"

"Hey," Matthew pecks at the table for emphasis, "he's more human than you think. Just because he's got all that power doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings."

"Matthew, he has the emotional intelligence of a rock."

Matthew cocks his head, a twinkle of amusement in his beady eyes. "Maybe. But even rocks get polished over time."

"Oh my god, this conversation is ridiculous," you sigh in exasperation, shaking your head.

Matthew chuckles, a surprisingly comforting sound. "Ridiculous or not, it's the truth. Why else would he send me to watch over you?"

"Because I am an interloper within his realm he can't control?" You offer shortly before chewing your lip. You take a deep breath, trying to make sense of everything. "So, what now? Do I just... pretend I don't know?"

Matthew shrugs, fluffing his feathers. "That's up to you. But you should know, he's not just watching over you for no reason. He genuinely cares."

You nod slowly, the gravity of the situation settling over you. "Alright. I'll think about it."

Matthew pecks at another fry, giving you a reassuring look. "Take your time. Just know that whatever you decide, I'm here. And so is he. I think."

He thinks. Hah!

" Great talk," You say, not knowing what else to say. "Thanks, Matthew."

"Anytime," he replies, his tone light and playful. "Now, how about we get back to those fries?"

You wander through Fiddler's Green, your eyes scanning the landscape for the perfect spot to set up your painting supplies. The rolling hills are lush with emerald grass, dotted with wildflowers that seem to glow in the afternoon sun. Trees sway gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets you can almost hear.

A narrow path winds through the meadow, leading you toward a small pond. The water reflects the sky like a mirror, capturing every cloud and beam of sunlight. You pause for a moment, taking in the serenity of the scene. It's almost too beautiful, too perfect—like a dream within a dream. Enough about that dream fuckery, this isn’t Inception…

You walk a bit further and find an old oak tree with sprawling branches that provide ample shade. The roots twist and curl around each other, forming natural seats. You set down your canvas and easel, unrolling your brushes and paints with practiced ease.

The quiet of Fiddler's Green wraps around you like a comforting blanket as you dip your brush into a vibrant blue. You begin to paint the sky, each stroke bringing the scene to life on your canvas. The colors blend and dance under your hand, capturing the essence of this magical place.

"Nice choice," a voice says behind you.

You turn to see Gilbert standing there, his ever-present book tucked under his arm. His eyes twinkle with approval as he takes in your setup.

"Thanks," you reply, smiling. "It's hard not to be inspired here."

Gilbert nods, stepping closer to examine your work. "You've got quite the talent," he observes. "Capturing the spirit of this realm isn't easy with its ever shifting state."

You shrug modestly, focusing on adding detail to a distant tree. "It's all about finding the right moment," you say. "The way the light hits the water or how the flowers sway in the breeze."

He watches you for a moment longer before sitting down on one of the gnarled roots. "Do you ever feel like you're painting more than just what you see?"

You glance at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he says thoughtfully, "it's like you're capturing the very essence of this place—the dreams and hopes it represents."

You consider his words as you continue to paint, adding layers of color and depth. Maybe he's right. Maybe you're not just painting what you see but also what you feel—the peace and tranquility that Fiddler's Green offers.

As you lose yourself in your work, Gilbert's presence becomes a comforting backdrop. He doesn't need to say anything more; his quiet support speaks volumes. You don't notice when Gilbert fades, returning to his disembodied state as Fiddler's Green.

You lose yourself in the flow of colors and brushstrokes, the world around you fading into a blur of creativity. The air hums with the energy of Fiddler's Green, each breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers and fresh grass. It's as if the very essence of The Dreaming seeps into your painting, making it come alive on the canvas.

A shadow falls across your work, and you look up to find Morpheus standing beside you. His presence is as commanding as ever, his dark eyes studying your painting with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"You paint," he states, his voice a soft murmur that seems to resonate through the meadow.

You nod, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. "I'm not really that good," you admit. "But this place is too beautiful not to try."

Morpheus tilts his head slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Beauty often inspires creation," he says, stepping closer. "May I?"

You swallow hard and nod again, handing him the brush with trembling fingers. His touch is cool but not unpleasant, but rather than fully take the brush, he stands behind you, close enough that you can feel the faint rustle of his robes against your back.

"Relax," he instructs softly. "Let the moment guide your hand."

His fingers gently cover yours, guiding the brush across the canvas with fluid, confident strokes. The colors seem to blend more harmoniously under his direction, each line and curve coming together to form a more cohesive whole.

"See how the light plays on the water?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Capture that essence—the way it dances and shimmers."

You try to focus on his words, on the way his hand moves with yours, but it's hard to ignore how close he is to you. His presence is overwhelming yet comforting, grounding you in a way you haven't felt in a long time.

"Art is not about perfection," Morpheus continues, his voice a soothing melody. "It's about capturing what lies beneath the surface—the emotions and dreams that shape our reality."

You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in as you follow his lead. The painting begins to transform before your eyes, becoming something more than just an image on a canvas. It feels alive, imbued with the very spirit of The Dreaming.

Morpheus steps back after a few moments, leaving you to finish on your own. His eyes meet yours, filled with an unreadable expression.

"You have more talent than you realize," he says softly.

You look at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "Thank you," you whisper.

He inclines his head slightly in acknowledgment before fading back into the landscape, leaving you alone once more with your painting and thoughts.

The colors on your canvas seem brighter now, more vivid—a testament to the brief but intense moment you've just shared with Morpheus. Your brain glitches and a solid blue screen appears behind your eyes, serenity is replaced with panic.

Shit. Matthew is right.

Date Published: 8/7/24

Last Edit: 8/7/24

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