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kabuki-writes · 6 months ago

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Aeternitas Nunc Est

chapter: 7 chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

pairing: emperor geta/emperor caracalla x acacius' daughter!reader

summary: Your wedding night with Emperor Geta.

Note: Yes, i kinda back after it took me nearly an eternity before i was able to present this smut-heavy chapter. I am not super-experienced with writing smut, but i tried my best and hope you'll like it! :) Also big thanks to all the sweet beans, who sent me well-wishes over the last weeks!

word count: 2.8

You watched the lights of Rome in the dark veil of the night, which had layed itself upon the hills of the eternal city. The royal palace sat upon one of those sacred hills, watching over the gigantic capital of the growing Empire, just like the Greek believed that the Olymp watched over their lands. This palace here was not only the residence of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla anymore, it was your home now too. You'll never get back to your families home, to your parents. With this marriage now, you were no longer in the hands of your father, but became the property of Geta. He was able to do with you as he pleased, which included an order to kill you or your family in an instant. A sword that was over your head from the day that your father betrayed the Emperors - and somehow you needed to find a way for yourself in this dangerous situation now. No privilege would save you now, your mind and your wits were your only weapons left.

Empress. It still felt surreal that this was the way you were called now. The title felt heavy on your shoulders just as the golden tiara crown of Empress Poppea on your head, while you listened to the footsteps of your husband behind you, echoing on the clean marble floor of his personal chambers as he approached you. Just as it was tradition, he'd taken you away from the celebration at one point, so that you to were able to seal this bond off with the mandatory wedding night.

Geta's hand reached out to you, taking one of the strains of your hair between his fingers, while his eyes lingered on your form, your curves hugged by the fabric of your beautiful wedding dress. Even though the thought of simply ripping your gown off your body and taking you right here right now, was an urge in his mind, he knew quite well that he had to treat you different like he did with his concubines. He needed you to surrender yourself to him, so that he could shake off the feeling of desperation he had, when he thought of you. Geta wanted you as a whole, not just your body, but your mind as well - an Empress that served him and loved him like no one else did.

„You can hate me as much as you want now. It doesn't matter", he whispered, standing close to you so that you were able to feel his hot breath against your skin. "I could kill you and your family, everything is in my hands, depending on how you play your part." Your eyes went silently to him, but you were not backing off in any way. "Then why don't you do it right now, my Emperor? Kill me and we're done with it. This wedding celebration becomes nothing more than dust and ashes then."

It were those words in this very moment, when Geta understood that he wasn't able to get you through fear. It surprised him, his irritation clearly written on his face. No one ever dared to speak with him like this, no one ever defied him in any way and yet you did - without hesitation. And while it would usually anger him, somehow in your case, he found it intruiging. Yet it also reminded him about the fact that he didn't just married you because he was able to bind General Acacius to his and his brother's rule.

His hand reached out and he traced the details of your jawline, before he placed his thumb and index finger at your chin, the tall young man basically towering you as he stood right in front of your form.

"That would be too easy, don't you think? I just presented Rome its new Empress. But let me remind you of the fact that you're nothing without me now. When my brother and i fall, so do you, which is why your father should follow our hand instead of chasing a dream that is long forgotten."

His thumb slowly ran over your lips, touching them softly as if he couldn't wait to simply kiss them. You stood still, eyes locked with him, as if you waited for him to make the first move. Maybe he thought you were a sheep, something to easily pray on like all the other women he usually got with one snap of his fingers, but despite your situation, there was still pride in you - hope even. "My father serves no one but Rome", you answered, but suddenly Geta tightened the grip on your chin. "Then you should hope that his definition of Rome is right this time. But let us stop talking about him, shall we? This is our wedding night and we both waited enough."

With those words his hands went to the brooches that held your dress together. Even though your body tensed, you knew you couldn't do anything about him being the first man to lay hands on you as he was now your husband. His dark eyes lingered on you like a wolf ready to consume his prey, especially once your dress fell from your shoulders to the ground, revealing the beautiful curves of your body.

"From the very first day i saw you, i was sure that you were the incarnation of Venus...", he mumbled, while his pale fingers traced your collarbones, the curves of your now exposed breasts, down to your hip. He took his time with it, as if he was looking at a marble statue in front of him. "Perfection."

His words rang in your ears and although it was an honor to hear those words from the mouth of an Emperor, it felt different. Otherwise, you instantly thought about the fact that his attention, his desire for you could be something useful. And you should at least try to keep him pleased if you didn't want him to think back to your father's betrayal. So out of a sudden, your hands went up to cup his cheeks, while your eyes met his. For a second he even froze in place, surprised by your sudden action. From the day you knew that a marriage with Geta was inevitable, you had to befriend the thought of induldging into something you couldn't change in any way. It was better to adapt in order to survive, better do play your part in order to gain peace - and through this, you might find a way to change the course of history?

Maybe this idea in your mind fired your bravery as you swallowed your pride and placed your lips on his. It was almost a provocation, rather than a romantic form of showing your devotion. "I might not change so quickly into the woman you expect from me", you whispered against them, his lips curving up into a wide smirk, amused by your tone shift. "Why should i want this? I enjoy our little game way too much..."

His hands suddenly grabbed your neck at the sides as he hold you in place, forcing you into another kiss, a more intense one this time. He quickly broke your hesitation with a straight entry of his tongue into your mouth, invading it like a conquerer and pushing you into a dance. You couldn't step back, you couldn't turn your head away, his fingers, the cold metal of his rings, drilled themselves into the skin on your throat and neck, imprison you in this position. It felt like an eternity until he released his lips from yours, before he brought them to your ear. "If i'd wish to fuck a submissive servant, i simply fuck one of my concubines, or a slave. You however,...", he whispered with a devilish grin on his face, which sent shivers down your spine. "It brings me much more joy, when you fight me... although i know you'll come to the point of loving me soon enough. And i will wait for it".

He didn't waste any time as he grabbed your arms and pushed you down on the the four poster bed, which was prepared for you two. A sea of pillows and blankets under the sky of heavy velvet drapes. Geta pinned you down onto the mattress as he placed kisses all over your neck, marking you as his own by leaving dark bruises on your skin. His words weren't a lie, because every time you tried to push him away with the way your body moved, he only took it as a motivation to continue in an even more craving and demanding way. There was no reason for you to keep this up for long, as it was not changing anything. Slowly his one hand creeped between your legs before he touched your sancturary, which was never been owned by any man before. With a grin, he coated his fingers with the wetness on your entrance, as he felt how your body shivered under his touch. "So you are not devoted to me yet? Then why are you wet like the ocean down there?", Geta whispered teasingly into your ear, while he pushed two fingers into you, causing you to gasp.

In fact, Geta was no brute. He could come off as a cruel man, but he knew that you were untouched, so he took his time to enjoy your body, while also preparing you for what's to come. In a way, he didn't want to hurt you, even though it was hard for him to hold back. His lips found their way from your neck to your breasts, while he stimulated your clitoris slowly with his fingers. There was no doubt that Geta was experienced, no surprisingly given the horde of concubines he called his own. But none of those women ever gave him the same satisfaction as you did in this moment. The feeling of your soft, skin under his lips was electrifying for him, while he went down to place kisses on your chest and lick over one of your nipples before he teasingly bit it with his teeth.

You couldn't clench your teeth together forever, while you tried so desperately to resist. There was still a form of resistance in you, as you didn't want to surrender your body so easily to the touch of a man that had threatened your family and force you into marriage. But it got harder, when the first sounds of pleasure escaped your lips, which incited Geta to keep going. The way your nipples grew hard under the touch of his tongue and the sucking of his lips was a divine example for him how you would soon tear down your wall freely. Out of a sudden, he reached for your wrist and forced your hand to the hem of his robes. "Go on, take them off", his demanding whisper catched your ear and you couldn't explain why your body simply followed his orders. Maybe a twisted 'excitement' guided your hands as you shoved his toga off his shoulders, following his belt and his tunica, the heavy brocade fabrics falling down to the white marble grounds, before you were able to see his body for the very first time.

Geta was the embodiment of the dissolute Emperor, whose main role from his early childhood was to become the most powerful man in all of Rome. The days his father had forced him onto the battlefield where long over, he hated the mere thought of dirt, hard work and the smell of a camp of legionaries. His body was pale as if he'd never seen the sunlight, a reminder how priviledged the Emperor's truly were in difference to the rest of Rome. Even though he wasn't seen as a strong man, who could fight against a gladiator, his slender body was still decorated by light and defined muscles. All those parties, the drinking and whoring aside, Geta did care for his body out of the fear to end up ill like his damned father, who died pathetically in his bed. But the most present part for you now was Geta's hardened erection, ready to have his moment, pre-cum already glistening in the dim light of the oil lamps that surrounded you. Your heart pounded against your chest, almost as if it would rip out of your skin at any given moment - like a prey in front of a predator and yet you stared into his eyes in defiance.

Oh how he was turned on by this beautiful defiance in your eyes, the thinking that you will never surrender yourself to a God. It motivated him to turn those tables, to make you scream his name as he would fuck you to elysium. And with that in his mind, he grabbed your wrists and pinned you down, bringing his body between your legs as he spreaded them. His hips blocking your possibility to push your legs together again. His face went down to your face, as he forced a hungry and predatory kiss onto your lips, your tongue fighting against his, before your suddenly bit his lip during the battle of dominance. Geta's head shot back, his dark eyes staring at you before a laugh escaped his lips again. "I have a pretty bold wife, so hesitant!"

"Call me your wife, but i will never love you!", you quickly hissed back, showing him the hate that had built up in your stomach with every second passing, but he didn't care at all. His grin spoke more than a thousand words. Without a warning, he slowly pushed himself into you. He could've simply thrust in you, not caring for your pain in any way which was hard to avoid when a woman lost her virginity. But it was softer than he inicially intended to be. You wanted to curse him, but all you were able to get out of your mouth, when you felt how the stinging pain got replaced with a different feeling, something more carnal, was a moan through your clenched teeth. Geta didn't need to hold himself back, the dark moan that came from his lips only mirrowed the pleasure he felt, when a tight cunt held his hardened cock. "I don't need your love, it'll come sooner or later. What i want now is your body, surrendered to me... and trust me, you will stop fighting me". With those words, the young Emperor began to thrust into you, starting with slow movements, while his one hand was still holding his position beside your head, the other was holding your wrists above your head to avoid any form of resistance.

Not that you could resist anyways, there was never a way out from the day your wedding got announced. Seeing his lust shimmering in his dark eyes, which were focused on your face, watching how you tried so desperately to not show him any form of pleasure, it felt like a torture. Geta knew what he did, he knew how to treat your body to get his desired reaction. And once he felt your resistance cracking down under the deep thrusts, while your bodies were starting to move in unison, he loosened the grip around your wrists. "I might've made a mistake... you're not so bold as you think you are", he groaned, before your eyes shut open and you grabbed his shoulders. Not bold enough... His voice haunted your head. You didn't surrender, maybe it was time to set new rules. With a devilish grin, he wrapped his arm around your hip and switched the positions with one movement. You found yourself on his lap, but one of your hand already found its way in his short gingerblonde hair, which you grabbed and pulled, before your hip moved against his. In this position, you were the one to look down on him, while he was able to easily hit your deepest core with his dick. "Now you got claws?", he whispered, but you didn't fall for his provocation and continued to ride him with a newly fired self-esteem, that even surprised him. But it wasn't as if he was able to think more about it in this very moment, when his fingers pressed into the skin of your ass, while he hold you down, the moment he shot his load in you. The semen that may carry an heir into your womb, a legacy Geta wished for himself - and not for his brother. A lineage that started from him and him alone. It was a good timing as your body 'surrendered' as well, your moan filling this room with your shared high, the only true implementation of a marriage.

Now you were truly his wife. Married to an Emperor. An Empress.

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#gladiator 2 #gladiator ii #emperor caracalla #emperor geta #geta x reader #caracalla x reader #joseph quinn #fred hechinger #gladiator ii fic #kabuki writes

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endless-ineffabilities · 1 year ago

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the sapphire and his sun

Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Musings about Aemond Targaryen and the only one he truly needs. His one true hope and love. His beloved wife.

a/n : i had to write something after that episode! holy Aemond! This pretty much wrote itself and I could expand it in the future ~ if inspiration strikes true!

word count : <2k ▪︎ masterlist

Aemond used to think his only solace was himself.

His mother had never been much of a mother in her own right, too muddled in the web of deceit that she and Otto spin at their fancy. Criston posited as something of a father figure, but his true loyalty is to his Queen. His brother has always been a wastrel, and his sister wasting away in her own mind.

Aemond never had anyone. Not truly.

Until you.

He still remembers the day you walked into his life, a lone ray of sunlight breaking through the clouds of stormy grey. You appeared to be a frail-hearted young lady, eager to please and to be a devoted wife to her prince. All the while he saw your spirit dimmed from being offered by her House to be Prince Aemond's newly betrothed.

All to secure an alliance.

There was no promise of loyalty or love. Being the prince, he is able to take into bed any whore he wishes. But one look at you - just the one - and all thought of any other lover vanished from his mind.

The first night he was supposed to take you to bed and consummate your marriage, the meek cast in your eyes had disappeared, and in its place a defiant glint he hadn't seen before.

"If I am to be used by my prince, I will do it with the remaining shred of my dignity. I will not cry, I will not beg for a life I have already lost. If all that I am now is a vessel for duty, then so be it." You looked at him, as if for the first time, and with the flames dancing across your face, Aemond would remember that moment as when his sun first shone down on him.

He felt his anger flare for but a moment, his constant fear of being betrayed taking over him. Had everything been an act? Was this to be a marriage of unpleasantry and resentment?

But it quickly dawned on him that the act - the betrayal - was that if his wife was willing to play a fool and dance under his strings like some marionette.

He preferred this. He preferred you.

"Mayhaps I will not bed you tonight, my lady wife. Not yet," he had said, your face slowly twisting in surprise. "I will let you keep more than just your dignity, for you will also possess the choice. Trust that it is only for the time being, at least, until it is imperative that I produce an heir. From this moment forward, I swear to take no else to bed as it is my oath as your husband."

He watched the minute switches in your expression. The wariness. The confusion. The relief. And he already felt it then, as silly as the notion might be, that you had recognised who he really was and that you accepted him.

Aemond was no scoundrel. He wasn't a villain in your story. He wasn't some mighty, untouchable prince.

He was a boy. He was now your husband. He had decency. He had a heart.

And you may not have yet realised, but this heart - wretched as it might have been - he was surrendering it to you.

With the turn of the moon came ill tidings - the death of his father Viserys. Although he was also not much of a father to begin with. Aemond felt numb to it all and there was no time for any emotion to take root, for the conspiracy festered like an open wound. His brother was to be made king.

"Must you go and find him?" you asked. "What if something were to happen?"

He had been blank and unfeeling, unsure of what to make his father's passing. But then, some warmth bloomed in him at your concern. His darling wife cared. He hadn't yet been allowed to indulge in the pleasures of your flesh, but your nights were filled with conversation and confiding.

He took your hands and pressed a kiss atop each one. "It is I who understands Aegon's doings, my wife. Ser Criston is in need of my aid. My brother would sooner sail away than fulfil his duty, which is why he must return at all cost."

"Let him sail away. Let him go and live as he pleases, husband. He never possessed the temperament of a king. You on the other hand... "

His father is dead. His brother could be gone. The enemy encroaches.

But gods be damned, you believed in him.

Aemond didn't know for certain what happiness felt like, he'd never had a single taste of it. And how morbid it was for him to possibly feel it then. But...

"You would make a far better ruler than anyone, and I don't just say that because I am your wife."

Happiness. How fascinating.

How utterly... simple.

For he realised that he had felt it before. Not even in grand moments, no, but in the littlest of things.

He had felt it when you once laughed in pure bliss when he first rode with you atop Vhagar.

When you would help fasten him into his training armour.

When he would watch as you read one of your stories.

His happiness was standing right in front of him. His ray of light, his sun.

And his sun persisted even when he singlehandedly cast the realm into macabre blacks and greens.

Shaken and despondent, he stumbled into your chambers to deliver the news to you first. In the passing hour, everything will change. Will you turn on him too?

"It was an accident," he confessed. "I thought I could control Vhagar, but... she is her own beast. She always has been. I admit I was angry and it was my folly to seek vengeance, but I did not mean to... " His voice broke, and he felt your finger wipe at something wet from his cheek.

He did not even notice that he was crying.

You still said nothing, so he grew frightful. What if nothing he said would ever be enough? No explanation, no apology. He can't lose his light.

"I never held any love for him," he carried on painfully, "but he was my blood. And I... I just - "

"It wasn't your fault, Aemond."

A ray of hope. A remaining strength.

You repeat, "I believe you, and it wasn't your fault."

It mattered not whether his mother would shun him, or his grandsire would frown upon his gruesome action. Rhaenyra was coming for him, as sure as dragonfire, and he would soon have to face the consequences of his actions.

But none of that worried him, not then.

He had to stay alive, however he can, so that he can protect you. It was not remiss of him to overlook that the ladywife of Lucerys' apparent murderer would also have a target on her back.

Aemond knew that the fight was inevitable, and he was going to win it. For you.

In tears, in love, in pale shades of grief, he kissed you with everything he had in him.

A solemn promise. A declaration of love.

"No one shall know the truth of it, my love."

"What do you mean?"

"They will not know, but you will. And that is all that matters. There is no stopping it now and I must face the war head on. What the realm will come to accept is that I intended to fell my nephew and that I do not regret doing so. They have to fear me. This is how I can keep you safe."

"Aemond - "

"Do you trust me?"

The only thing that mattered, the one answer that decided whether he bent or broke. The Seven Kingdoms were to be covered in gloom and shadow, its fields marred with blood and many a broken bone.

His world, however - his world still had light.

"I trust you. With everything I have, I do."

To be tagged in Aemond or Daemon fics, comment on this post !

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen oneshot #house of the dragon #ewan mitchell

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hitomisuzuya · 4 months ago

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husband scaramouche x fem!reader. head canons. fluff. soft!scara.

i really got the urge to write headcanons about husband scara, and how he would act with a pregnant wife. this is mainly cute headcanons. i may do the same thing with childe and aventurine.

when you announce to scaramouche that you are pregnant, he kneels in front of you and puts his hand on your stomach. "there is a cretin growing inside you?" despite his..unique choice of words, there is a hint of wonder and pride in his voice. once you scold him for said choice of words, and he tries again, he puts his ear to your stomach and says, "hello in there? are you a girl or a boy? whatever you are, i am waiting to welcome you into this world."

yeah, you definitely married him for a reason. looking down at him, your heart swells with so much love that you thought it might burst. this man, the feared balladeer, notorious for so many things is also your husband, the very same man hovering his hand so gently over your belly.

scaramouche would have this fierce need to be a good parent because he has already been the victim of having a shitty parent. there is no way he would do the same thing to his child.

that being said, he also takes being a husband very seriously. he even is a bit old fashioned about it. no wife of his would work if she didn't have to. of course, you could freely choose to work. he wouldn't stop you, but he certainly didn't have to like it. the way he sees it, his wife is strong, but if he can be strong for her, he can and he will. he is the protector. the provider and that was that.

his wife is the center of his world. he also married you for a reason. you don't let him get away with his shit. you argue with him, and back talk him without fear. you tell him what's what while still being patient with him. you have shown him qualities like being gentle and caring still exist. and he would burn all of teyvat and celestia itself if anything dared take you away from him.

whatever his wife wants, his wife gets, pretty much.

also, the kind of husband that says he doesn't want cats, but then you find him napping with said kitten sleeping curled up on his chest. you want cats and other pets, and he can't say no to you. but also know this, he genuinely enjoys having pets. you gotta know when to look at the right times to see them. moments like the one you took a picture of. they do happen. and often.

during your pregnancy, he is incredibly on top of things. he keeps all of your doctors appointments carefully noted. he makes them in advance on the exact day that they should be. if the doctor wanted to see you back in a week for some tests, the appointment was scheduled exactly one week later, at the same time as the previous appointment. he is incredibly particular.

really, the doctors and nurses have never seen anything like it before. this man would background check everyone if he could. twice.

literally fort knox level protection anytime you go out. there is not a chance anyone will come close to accidentally bumping into you. you had to have a talk with him about snapping at people he thought walked too close to you. twice. he struggles with improvement in this area to say the least.

if you have some crazy pregnancy cravings food in the middle of the night. it could be at 3am and he wouldn't care. he would be out the door getting it. in fact, man would start a war over it. "i don't care if that's what not you do. my wife is pregnant. i say you can do it, so you can do it."

when it's time for you to go on bed rest, he makes sure he is doing everything for you. if you needed anything, he got it for you.

when you found out you were pregnant, you also had this thought: 'god help the doctors and nurses working when i go into labor. i don't they will be prepared for scaramouche.' and you were right.

the nurses at your doctors office even put notes about him in your chart for the emergency room and hospital staff to look at in advance.

scaramouche makes sure everything is done straight to the letter. and that includes little things like your iv getting put in. he is even able to calculate the exact amount of time it takes for your iv drip bag to empty and is calling the nurse to change it. don't take this as being overbearing, he is just very nervous and scared. and this is how he deals with it. he wants to be able to help if the slightest thing goes wrong.

that just doesn't always show in the most polite ways to the staff sometimes.

the look on his face when he hears his child cry for the first time, and holds them for the first time is so soft. like he has seen one of the most beautiful things in this whole world besides his wife. it even makes the doctors and the nurses think that dealing with his colorful temperament was worth it just to see that look on his face.

#genshin impact #fem!reader #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #husband scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 17 days ago

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Thunder Underground

Summary: an aunt Aemond never knew he had returns to Westeros and recognises her own fire in him | Word Count: 7k~ | Warnings: incest (obviously), oral (f recieving), she kind of seduces him, p in v, toxic family dynamics

My Dearest Sister, I write to you in a different condition as when you left us. The years have been long, the burdens of the crown heavier still. The realm is not as it was when I was young, and nor am I. Time has taken its toll upon me. But as a King, I belong not only to myself but to my people. So I must endure. It grieves me that so much time has passed without your presence in court. I have long wished for your return, but the paths we walk in life seldom allow us to turn back. Still, the love of kin should not be so easily set aside. I would have you come home, Sister. Come home while I yet live, so that we may speak again as brother and sister, not as names whispered across the sea. The realm is in need of unity, and the blood of the dragon must stand as one. The days grow short, and I would see my family whole once more before my duty is ended. Maesters have assured me that your return will be met with all due accommodation, and that arrangements will be seen to should you require them. I await your reply with great hope. Your Loving Brother, Viserys

She read the words with a face she could not school out of contempt. Nose wrinkled in disgust at the letter that lay curled before her on the ornate desk. It reeked of Maester’s interference. Viserys as she knew him was never able to spell ‘accommodation’, despite his schoolings and sheer determination of his tutors. She let the parchment curl back in on itself, glancing out the windows carved from white stone at the view she often enjoyed, bathed in golden sun, the great sea sprawled below.

The distant sails of merchant ships drifted lazily across the dying sun’s reflection. The sea remained still and undisturbed, shimmering against the neighbouring white walls that guarded the city. She had spent many years watching this view, unchanging before her for the last few years she had called this place her home, allowing this place to swallow the ghosts of her past she had left behind in Kings Landing, to drown away her sorrows in laughter and wine. A life unburdened by a name that was always too heavy.

And now, the past reached for her again.

The telltale knock came at her door, not unexpected, but a tad unwelcome at this moment.

Nonetheless, two ladies drifted in, moving like two elegant little birds. “Good morrow, my lady,” Serenna smiled, a Pentoshi girl with gorgeous olive skin and dark hair, golden rings adorned her fingers as she approached her to pull off her robe.

“You look troubled,” the other added, earning a glare from the silver-haired princess. She was always sharp-tongued and too honest for her own good, that Lysara, a Braavosi girl with no fear of speaking her truth.

She did not think of dignifying it with a reply before a wash of blush pink entered her periphery. Lady Arayna Velis, the mistress of this grand estate given to her possession after the death of her husband, swept into the room as if she had always been her own woman. Dressed in flowing Myrish silk, hair decorated in artful curls, she was the picture of a woman who had tasted power in herself, and did not intend to lose it. More importantly, she knew the worth and power of a dragon. Her dragon.

“Good morrow, my dear,” she greeted warmly, almost tiredly, but in the way that she was well-rested. The two ladies stripped the Targaryen princess and dressed her in fine silks of purple to compliment her light eyes. It felt like water over her skin, drifting down her legs to tickle around her ankles, the fabric fine enough to show her breasts peeking through, but not translucent enough to see her skin.

“You seem restless,” Arayna commented, furrowing her brows to show the line that stood in worry between them. She simply sighed, as if a similar comment had not come from Lysara a few moments previous.

“In truth, I am,” she responded brushing her hair over her shoulder for Serenna to braid her silver locks, “does a dying King’s summons ever bring good news?”

Arayna arched a brow in amusement, settling herself into a chaise near the window to bathe in the sunlight, with all the comfort of a woman who knew she owned all around her, “ah, I see. Westeros calls for you again. I had hoped you would ignore it for a while longer.”

She bit back a smile. Of course she had hoped that. Not unlike her elder brother, Daemon, she and her dragon had become somewhat of a spectacle amongst those across the Narrow Sea, especially in Pentos. Merchants, Lords and everything in between travelled from all corners of this exotic land to glimpse upon them both, to watch as she maneuvered her great beast in neat tricks, spins and fire-breathing spectacles.

Mistress Velis certainly had no qualms about accepting the coin. And without her, she would not struggle necessarily, but she would bitterly miss the small fortune she would have made without the Targaryen princess. In truth, she was easier to handle than her hot-headed brother, and was at ease with the choice she had made in investing in her.

“You know I have no interest in their squabbles,” she sighed as Serenna clasped a golden necklace around her throat, “but my brother is dying, that is no secret. He wishes to see me before his time comes.”

The mistress chuckled, “and yet, you appear as if you are torn between love and disgust.”

“Something like that,” she muttered with a grim smile.

“You have been comfortable here. Pentos has treated you well. You and your dragon.”

“Daemon once said something similar. He was eager to stay, before tragedy ushered him back to our homeland,” she looked upon herself in the looking glass, brushing a waved strand of silver from her cheek, “when he was here, across the Narrow Sea, for the few moons I saw him he seemed at peace. With Laena and the children.”

The Mistress lowered her head. The loss of Lady Laena and her child was still much felt in this corner of the world. In fact, it was believed that Mistress Velis herself recommended the physician to tend to her, and thus felt a stab of guilt every time her passing was mentioned. As if a physician could have prevented the tragedy of her circumstances.

“He loved her, in his way of course. As only Daemon can. But I do wonder if he had smothered that grief beneath something else.”

Beneath someone else, she thought without voicing.

She did not say the name, Rhaenyra, but it stood on the tip of her tongue nonetheless.

Mistress hummed, “you already know the answer, my dear. Daemon does not know how to live without reaching for something else to consume. If it is not battle, it is power. If it is not power, it is a woman.”

“Or in this case, both,” she muttered under her breath.

She exhaled slowly, looking out beyond the shimmering sea, thinking about what lay beyond it, a strange land she had once called her home. Her family. She knew certain details but not what lay beneath them, the subtle politics, the childish quarrels, and knew she would be flung head first back into that dark, unending chasm the minute she touched Westeros soil.

“It does not matter,” she murmured, almost to herself, “when I return, it is not as their princess, but as a spectator.”

Mistress smiled, and stood beside her, cupping her face lightly. Like a mother appraising a sharp dagger. "Then gods help them all," she mused, "for if you are simply watching, they are already doomed."

As if feeling her restless nature, her dragon stirred, and her great wail was heard across the shore.

Aemond felt the dull but powerful crush of Criston’s weapon against the shield he held before his face, the thin material yielding in the face of steel and strength. He tossed it aside, swinging his morningstar sword heavily but with precision, slicing through the air where Criston dodged his attacks.

He could feel them watching, the dark-haired duo watching amongst the Lords and Ladies, and could not help but feel they did not belong amongst them. Amongst him.

It was only when Aemond pressed the tip of his blade to Criston’s padded neck that he felt the familiar rush of victory and pride.

“Well done, my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” he barked back, flicking his wrist to pull the blade from his sparring partner, “nephews. Have you come to train.”

It was not a question, and yet it rendered the duo motionless and stiff all the same. Aemond couldn’t help but grin at the flash of dread in Luke’s eyes. How long had he yearned for that look of distress? Far too long. Too long, so it festered. And now stood a man who had so long been hateful.

The gates creaked open and it was difficult to tear his eye away, but he did. Vaemon Velaryon stepped through with all the confidence of a man entering a battle he was sure to win. But with all the disgust that meant it could not be hidden from his face when he glanced upon the two brunet princes.

Aemond’s smirk was subtle, but it fell slightly at the second white-haired figure who drifted through the training yard. He felt her before he saw her. She was in a deep violet gown, heavy on her form as if such fabric now weighed her down and unaccustomed to the climate. Her hair was braided in waves and fell down her back, and the sun caught the unmistakable Targaryen hue of her eyes.

“Who is that?” Aemond heard Luke mutter like a mouse.

“Our aunt…by some relation,” Jace responded, uncertain.

“I didn’t realise we had an aunt.”

And neither did Aemond.

And truthfully he was no better than them, and the rest of the spectators, gawking at her like a wild animal. His own gaze fixed upon her as she walked with the unmistakable grace of someone who did not bow for any man. She moved with effortless confidence, earned or not, the sway of her long, regal stride neither hurried nor hesitant. She did not glance at the courtiers nor acknowledge the way their whispers followed her like the train of her gown. She was older than Rhaenyra, younger than Daemon, but the numbers seemed insignificant or irrelevant. She had Rhaenyra’s stern resting face, but none of Helaena’s quiet nature or soft features. She was sharp edges and elegance, as though she had been carved from the same stone as their ancestors but had chosen to live outside the monument of her blood.

And Aemond had never seen anyone like her.

She caught the sight of his silver hair, and looked at him, not past him. Her sharp, violet eyes locked onto his, unflinching and assessing. There was no recognition, no amusement, only curiosity, laced with something he could not name. And for the first time, Aemond knew what it felt to be the one being studied, and he was unsure if he liked it.

He tightened his grip on the handle of his sword, and turned back to Criston. But the moment had already made a brand in his chest.

She however, had known the weight of stares and glares her whole life. But few had ever watched her as closely as the mysterious Targaryen in the training yard. Could it have been Aegon? The prodigal son Viserys had always wanted and had waited for? The news of his birth was so celebrated, it had even reached her ears in Pentos. Though at the time, all she had the energy to do was send a polite token of congratulations with a small letter attached.

But to her knowledge, she did not recall the news of a one-eyed firstborn.

Any other children? She had no idea about. Or if they even existed at all.

No doubt Alicent Hightower would let her know.

Inside, the cool, dark walls of the Red Keep felt so suffocating in comparison to Mistress Velis’ household. That was bright, airy, sunny and open. Whereas here it had the feeling of being choked, but equally of isolation. For such sprawling corridors with many rooms, it felt so empty. And so utterly different. Where before she had noted Targaryen heraldry, now lay symbols indicative of the Seven, something she and her brothers had never entertained in childhood.

The woman that approached her, at first, was unrecognisable. But with the dark, rich green clothing, deep chestnut hair and equally dark eyes, she could not say she was anyone else but the mere child she had seen before she left for the sea.

All she could think was that she looked tired, still young for her years, but worn down from her circumstances. Her hair was styled with golden beads, her dress no different. And for a moment, neither spoke.

"You look well," she said simply, as if they had seen each other just yesterday.

Alicent’s lips pressed together, as if weighing whether to return the sentiment. "I was unsure if you would come," Alicent finally said, her voice measured, "Viserys has called for you before. You never answered."

“And yet I am here now.”

They had not parted on good terms. She had opposed Alicent’s marriage to her brother. Not out of jealousy, gods knew she had no love for courtly matches, but because she had seen what it was. A child sold to an old king. She had spoken of it openly, bitterly, though her words had fallen on deaf ears.

And then she had left.

Alicent’s fingers twitched against her skirts, but before she could speak, she exhaled softly and tilted her head. “My greeting is genuine, you do look well.”

Alicent blinked as if surprised and she couldn’t help but laugh, “do you believe I wished you ill will?”

Alicent hesitated, because yes, she had thought so. And yet…she could see it now. The honesty. The lack of malice. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I suppose I am well," Alicent conceded, "though I am not the girl I was when you last saw me."

"None of us are."

The tension eased, just slightly.

“You arrived through the training yard, I trust you saw my son.”

“I did,” she confirmed, furrowing her brows, “Aegon?”

“No, no, that one is my second son, Aemond.”

Aemond. She echoed in her head. Testing it in her mind's voice. “He has your look.”

The look of a Hightower.

Alicent smiled faintly, tainted somewhat by an undercurrent of sadness, “and the stubborn pride typical of his house.”

She smiled back, but cocked her head at the inference. Fair enough. “It has been years since I have been at Court but even I can spot those with steel in their spines.”

Alicent nodded, hands clasped, “Aemond was a small child. But has always worked twice as hard to prove himself.”

She hummed. But could not find it within herself to form a reply to it. A Targaryen who felt he had much to prove and live up to was a dangerous mix, she had seen it herself in Daemon when she was but a mere child. Always searching for greatness, even if they could not quite grasp it. Lashing out with claws, fangs and biting words when it was not in reach.

Viserys had always been the one to bore the brunt of Daemon's impertinence. Yet she had always been the one who offered nothing but complete honesty.

“Come,” Alicent added, guiding her in the labyrinth of her difficult past, “Viserys is eager to see you.”

She knew there was much more than a simple supper to her arrival. Viserys always had an ulterior motive, a further reason for her presence. And she knew that the moment she clocked eyes on Rhaenyra and Daemon in her brother's chambers.

It was hardly the first thing she noticed though. From her first step inside the strong stench of herbs and the cloy or rot hit her. The room was dim, lit by the dull haze of the sunlight through layers of cotton curtains and sheets.

He was so buried beneath a canopy of cloth that she could not make out his frail form. But all she heard was the croak of death lacing his laboured breathing.

“Little sister,” Daemon smiled, in the way only he did. She had missed the way Daemon's face lit up in her presence. When she was born, he had hoped for a sister, so sick of sparring with monotonous Viserys that it had become boring. She briefly wondered how Daemon interacted with his own twin girls. Did he treat them with the same adoration as she was afforded? For some reason she could not have said.

All the same, she let out a breathy laugh in relief, “brother.”

Daemon chuckled, stretching his arms to hug her, the embrace, as well as his smile, genuine. For all his faults, he had loved her. And his hold on her lingered just enough for her to feel it.

“You took your time,” he quipped, stepping back to make sure what he was seeing was real.

She scoffed, “do not twist the dagger, brother. I am here now.”

There was no real malice to any of it. It was merely all sibling jest, as it always was. And she was happy to see he had barely changed.

“Aunt,” Rhaenyra greeted, her hand perched atop her humble bump. She turned to her niece, and did not mean to show how she felt on her face, but couldn't help it. Never could.

“Princess,” she replied, smoothly. Perhaps attempting to school her tone too much. She saw the twitch of her brow, knowing it had come off cold.

Truthfully, they had been close once. Like sisters. Similar enough in age to become natural friends. But now, in the cold light of day and decades through turmoil, she had no desire to play pretend.

Rhaenyra and she appeared similar. She'd grown harder, more assured but equally more burdened.

“You look well,” she added, neutrally.

“As do you.”

Daemon huffed through his nose watching them both. It was as if she could see into his mind in the way only a sibling could. Something along the lines of ‘all I hear is the hissing and spitting of cats’.

The silence stretched a beat too long. Enough to make it uncomfortable. Without trying to break it, she moved away, to greet the brother she had come to meet. His voice was almost as bad as his appearance, shaky, wheezy and weak, and when he stretched out his hand to take hers, his grip was just a touch too tight, too desperate. His mind seemed no different either, that too was weary, fractured and twisted. One moment he was speaking as if he had not yet married Alicent Hightower at all, and the next he was remarking how well Daemon and Rhaenyra’s two sons have grown. He was a broken body stretched across decades, unsure of his place in any of them. But for certain she knew the brother she left behind for the Narrow Sea was dwindling.

So that is why she could not deny him when he asked for her presence the next day at supper.

A deep pit inside her wanted to be rid of this wretched place once and for all, to avoid the heartbreak of leaving Daemon and Viserys behind again, to circumvent the inevitable conversation with Rhaenyra, and to escape the hold this lonely island had on her soul. This new family felt unfamiliar, and briefly, her mind staggered back to the one-eyed nephew she did not know she had, the one that intrigued her.

And apparently, the feeling was indeed mutual.

The day had been long, but rest could not find her easily as she left Viserys’ dark chambers for the halls, only to hear the faint footsteps behind her, too heavy. The steps of a pregnant woman.

She turned before she was even addressed. Rhaenyra wore her house well, better with age it seemed. The dress she wore seemed melted onto her like molten gold, dragon scales painting her figure, with red accents at her exposed collarbone. It was all the self-assurance and confidence she had come to know of her niece, deserved or not.

“Aunt,” she greeted coolly, earning a soft nod.

“Niece.”

Rhaenyra hesitated only briefly, “I sense some strife between us.”

How apt, she thought. “Do you wish me to deny it?”

"No," Rhaenyra replied, "I want you to speak plainly. We were close once. I have missed your counsel, however harsh.”

"And yet you ignored it when I was here," she said evenly, stepping closer. Her eyes softened slightly, not in forgiveness but with regret, "I understand you had to fulfill your duty. Laenor could not give you heirs. But Harwin Strong—"

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched, her eyes glancing nervously about for wandering ears. “My sons–”

"Your sons are innocent. They cannot help the circumstances of their birth. But you, Rhaenyra… you are clever. You are strong. And yet you placed your own throne upon sand. Did you not foresee how this would be used against you?"

Rhaenyra pressed her lips tightly together. "You were not here. You did not see—"

"True, I was not," she said simply, voice gentling just enough, "but desperation makes even the strongest among us reach for comfort, no matter how ill-advised. I do not despise you for it, Rhaenyra. I merely wish you had found another path. A better way to ensure your future as queen would be less perilous."

Rhaenyra swallowed heavily, her shoulders lowering slightly as her defenses dropped, if only briefly.

"And now," she continued carefully, watching her closely, "you turn your sights upon my brother. I loved Daemon once, I still do, but he will not ease your path."

"I need strength by my side," Rhaenyra replied, her voice low and firm, "Daemon understands me. He fights for me."

"Daemon fights for Daemon," she murmured knowingly.

"Would you rather I stand alone?"

"I would rather you choose wisely," she said softly, eyes unwavering, "though perhaps it is too late for that."

Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line before she spoke again, this time with a sharper edge.

"It is easy for you to stand there and speak of what I should have done," she said, her voice quieter now, but no less firm, "you never had to wed for duty. You were never forced to bear heirs for a kingdom that scrutinised your every breath. You were never the heir."

She stilled. The words hung between them, sharp as a blade. Rhaenyra stepped forward, her eyes filled with burning fire, "you have always had the luxury of freedom. I have not."

A slow exhale left her lips, and when she looked at her niece again, there was no anger in her gaze, only something deeper. Something heavier. "You are right."

Rhaenyra blinked, caught off guard by the simple admission. And the sight almost made her laugh. She tilted her head slightly, a small, humourless smirk gracing her lips. "I was never the heir. I was never anything but a princess, one of little consequence, meant to play the dutiful sister while my brothers quarrelled over crowns and kingdoms. So I left. I left because I knew my presence here would change nothing. Because I was tired of watching my brother make decisions I could not stop. Because I could not stomach watching that union and pretend that it was right–”

She stopped herself. Exhaling her annoyance out.

"But I will not speak of it now. Not when he is dying."

Rhaenyra swallowed thickly, glancing away for the first time.

"I made my own life, Rhaenyra," she said finally, her voice softer now, "I had the freedom to do so because I was never important enough to be chained. But you were. You are. And yet, you make choices as though that weight doesn’t rest on your shoulders."

Rhaenyra’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, "I did what I had to do."

"Yes. And now it is yours to bear," she added with a small nod, "but do not be surprised when the realm turns your missteps into weapons. We are women, Rhaenyra, there is always something for them to call a fault."

She did not attend court the next day. Did not witness the fiery confrontation concerning the succession of Driftmark. All she knew, was like most things Targaryen happened to be involved in, it had ended in bloodshed. And her brother, as expectedly, had acted rashly. With no consequences.

It held little weight in her mind as she traipsed the dark, candlelit halls of the Keep towards supper, spotting a dreamy silver-haired young woman along the way. Helaena. She moved as if her gentle feet did not touch the ground, mythical.

Settling into step beside her, she found her niece’s presence comforting, not darkened by the venom and poison of courtly politicking. And these moments she cherished. Helaena had a soothing presence, comforting in a way she hadn't expected.

She seemed too good, too gentle for this dynamic.

“There was so much shouting I could not make head nor tails of what had happened,” Helaena murmured.

She raised an eyebrow with a dry smirk, “yes, I heard Daemon handled it all calmly in his own subtle way.”

Helaena let a rare giggle free, “subtle like a sword.”

“Precisely,” she added with a genuine smile, “I had always expected Vaemond to perish at sea, cursing storms and flailing a blade like a typical Velaryon.”

“You knew him?”

“Oh yes,” she smirked, “we were once betrothed. Briefly.”

“Truly?” Helaena asked with wide, curious eyes.

“One of Grandsire Jaehaerys’ grand schemes. Something about keeping bloodlines close. I was five and ten I think. He was obsessed with ships and I was…well, obsessed with not getting married.”

Helaena laughed again, a sweet quiet sound, “people say strange things about you. But I think…you are not like them.”

The words warmed her heart, swelling against her ribs, “neither are you, sweet girl.”

The hall was grand, suffocating in warm, constricting candlelight. A womb throbbing with tension. As expected, Alicent had prepared the seating with calculation, emotionally driven. She was pleased to find her spot nestled beside Helaena, the girl's hand now looped through her arm.

Far from the defiant portion of the table.

Clever, she thought. Next to the quiet daughter and the silent son. Kept clear of the brightest fires in the room.

Not that she was known for avoiding such.

Instead of sitting right down, she allowed Helaena to slip to her seat and floated towards the brunet boys seated together. Seated stiffly. Young men now, not children, but still uncertain of their place here.

Jace was first to notice her, but she paid no mind to the silence that followed her steps. Luke followed his brother's eyeline, blinking nervously as he clapped his eyes on his mysterious Targaryen aunt. Both rose to their feet at her approach with all the awkward courtesy of boys caught off guard.

She smiled, enough to soften the usual sharpness. “So, you two are mine by blood, if not by memory.”

Jace flushed, stammering as if he'd been caught with his breeches around his ankles. “Princess— I mean, Aunt— we weren't sure if—”

“If I was real?” She added, “you would not be the first.”

Both boys let out a nervous laugh, the tension in their shoulders easing somewhat.

“No need to stand on ceremony,” she said, “there's enough of that here already. I'm not here to scold, nor should I be someone you fear.”

Jace nodded slowly, still watching her like one might study a new star, attempting to figure out its place.

“I hope you will stay long.”

She hummed a laugh, “that depends how long I can keep without causing a fuss. Or pouring wine over someone's head.”

Luke laughed then, a short one, as his voice broke halfway.

“Go on, sit,” she told them gently, “you've enough eyes on you without your aunt drawing more attention.”

With a polite nod, a glance at Rhaenyra, who seemed relieved, she swayed to her seat, noting the long glare of a single eye on her the entire time, even as she sat before the quiet niece she had become so enamoured with. The chatter quietened.

And certainly afraid of no challenge, she glanced sideways at Aemond, seated even more stiff. One hand on the table flat. His goblet untouched. For someone with half his sight, he stared with the power of two, as if looking upon a puzzle.

She raised an amused brow, “you will find me no easier to read burning a hole in my profile, nephew.”

He said nothing in return, all but a low sound resonating in his chest. One that feigned boredom.

She felt the force of Aegon’s empty cup hit the table next. A preview of his behaviour to come for the evening. Aemond was no more enthused either. In fact, both had rather sour faces when Jace, Rhaenyra's eldest, offered to dance with Helaena. A look of more shock than mere outrage.

“‘Tis only a dance, nephew. No need for plans of violence,” she smiled at Aemond over the rim of her cup.

His gaze did not stray from his sister, but she saw the muscle in his jaw twitching. “It is never just a dance.”

There was nothing else to peer at than the looming figure of Otto Hightower before her. Of course Aemond would be seated beside him, the ones who were more like one another than they realised.

“Princess,” Otto nodded, disinterested and not hiding it at all well. He was greyer now than when she last saw him, but in a strange sense it rather suited his character. The thick clothing around his shoulders, sweeped in deep greens and blacks, with a ring on every other finger, his wedding ring she noted as well, he looks quite captivating as Hand of the King. A title he never liked to part with.

“Lord Hand,” she mused, “still navigating the crown's rough waters, I see.”

“Someone must,” she huffed dryly, his calculating gaze roving over her as they often had even many years ago. “And you, Princess? Have you found your time away beneficial?”

“Freedom often is,” she clapped back, fierce eyes on him, not needing to flicker sideways at his daughter. The inference was clear enough.

She glanced across the table, watching as Rhaenyra bent forward in a rare laugh at Daemon’s innocent offering of peas. She knew of course, Rhaenyra had never liked peas. So the idea of the offering must have tickled her. The laughter seemed contagious, as Rhaena and Luke, Baela, Jace, Helaena, even Alicent and Otto it seemed, shared a warm glow of happiness about them.

And in the middle of it all, Viserys. Bleary eyed and emotional as he had never been before. Watching his fiery family for once, exchange with soft eyes and even softer words.

She found her chest tight at the sight of it all. For so long she had been a stranger to her own land, her own family, in exchange for freedom and identity. It was moments like this where she would never admit, but she felt…lonely. Like there was something inside her that needed to be filled, but never could, not by wine, not by fine food or extravagant parties.

One that could only be filled by family.

She’d played her part. Smiled when required, offered polite responses, indulged in the glistening roast and sugared fruits set before her with grace. But it was enough. More than enough.

She placed her cup down with a quiet clink, then slowly rose from her seat, the soft rustle of her gown drawing a few curious glances. She felt Aemond’s gaze flick toward her from his side. Curious.

“If you’ll forgive me. I find I’ve overindulged in all this rich food and fine company.”

“Of course, Princess,” Alicent nodded, eyebrows drawn in faux concern, knowing full well what her true reasoning was. She had had enough. And that was all the truth there was to it.

Her eyes found Rhaenyra and Daemon first as she turned, and then Aemond beside her, already looking her way but not up at her face. She moved like a dream, her fingers ghosting his fingers loosely around his cup. A gesture nobody would notice.

And before Aemond could fake a convincing reaction, she was gone like a whisper.

At least her chambers were quiet. Not judgemental. It was bathed in a warm, womb-like glow. She half-considered staying, if this is what her evenings would be. Wine. A rose-scented bath. Enough silk to drape her body as if she were swaddled like a babe.

But no. Her soul belonged across the Narrow Sea.

Her nightgown was thin and whispered against her skin, a dip between her breasts and the light blush colour a compliment against her complexion. Perhaps a little overzealous for nighttime. But she insisted on sleeping as beautifully as she dressed during the day.

She was in the middle of extinguishing the candles when she heard several slammed doors down the corridor, and boots, heavy, angry.

She made no secret when she opened one door and peered out, and with as little shame to her striking appearance neither. Her lips quirked at the sight. Her nephew, the tall one. Aemond she recalled. Stormed towards her corner of the Keep, towards his own rooms it seemed. He was so enraged, his head lowered and breath quick, that he did not notice her at first.

And when he did, “do you wish to lecture me as well.”

She raised her eyebrows at his tone. “No. It appears as if you've endured enough of that tonight.”

He stopped outside her rooms, but his body was still wound so tightly he might as well have been pacing. She noted the way his gaze had to fight his mind at the appearance of her in such translucent fabric.

“What happened?” She asked.

He sighed, bitter. “They laughed.”

“And that is all?”

“No—no, it is not just—they laughed at me.”

“Children mock. I would not concern yourself with those who fear you baiting you into recklessness.”

“I am half-blind,” he snapped, bitter. “And they never let me forget it.”

The fire in his voice licked up at her skin, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow step forward, still within her doorway but closer now, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her presence through the cold anger that wrapped around him.

“You think I don’t know what it is to be mocked?” she said, her voice firm. “I was a princess born last and forgotten first. My brothers called me delicate, pretty, useless. So I left. I made myself useful elsewhere.”

His eye searched her face, restless, skeptical. “You had the freedom to leave. I do not.”

She rolled her eyes, “do not bore me with excuses I have already heard,” she groaned, resisting the urge to scream, “but you do have something far more dangerous.”

“What.”

She stepped fully into the doorway now, bare feet silent on the stone floor. “Rage,” she smirked, “and teeth. If you learn to wield them instead of letting them wield you, they will never dare laugh again.”

He swallowed, hard, gaze flickering over her lips now, her collarbone, the faint shimmer of skin beneath silk. “You speak as though you admire that.”

She did not dignify that curiosity with a response. Let him wonder. Her eyes glittered. “I think you’re a boy trying very hard to be a man, and doing a rather dangerous job of it.”

The insult, if it was one, did not anger him. He stared at her, breathing harder now, as if he were holding back the tide of everything he wanted to say, or do.

She stepped back slowly.

“Do you mean to sulk here all night, nephew?” She could have grinned, “or do you mean to come inside.”

She swore the black of his eye enlarged abnormally. Anger? No it could not be. Lust.

He did not take his gaze away from her as he, as if by some invisible hand pulling at his collar, he drifted inside and pushed the door closed with a click. His lips were parted, as if she had inflicted some kind of witchcraft on him.

She bit her lip and walked backwards, her backside meeting the oak of the bed frame, the flesh of her thighs cool against the fragrant air. The colour of her nightgown against her skin almost made it look like ripples on still water, and she felt her nipples harden against the soft fabric at the thought of being so bare before him.

Her hand reached out, grasping his sleeve, tugging him toward.

“You carry so much in you,” she whispered, drawing him closer so her sweet breath ghosted his cheek, “expectation. Restraint. Anger. But you were not born with it, were you.”

Her fingers ghosted against her legs, slowly, deliberately, lifting the hem of her nightgown inch by glorious inch. Stopping short of the sweet secret between her thighs. The light of the remaining candles, as if somewhat blushing at her blatant nature, flickered, creating dappled amber orbs across her body.

His eye was hungry. Fixed upon her as if she were myth made flesh.

She leaned in, her other hand sliding over his belt, her lips grazing his ear. “Would you like to know what freedom tastes like?” she asked him with a gentle, confident squeeze of his already hard manhood.

She did not need to pull him in. Aemond surged forward, his lips not quite clumsy, but deep, starved. She welcomed it with a smile, her hand tangling itself in his silver gold hair, tasting his need and fed it with her own. No lover burned brighter than a Targaryen lover.

Aemond only pulled away long enough to press his knees to the flagstone floor, his palms cradling her upper thighs. She had not even had to ask for him to. Her lower back pressed near painfully into the bedframe as he pushed her back, enough to pull one of her legs over his shoulder, his breath hot, needy and stuttering against her.

He did not need an invitation.

He dragged the flat of his tongue against the slick crease of her folds, groaning low at the taste of her, reaching her waiting pearl with a deliberate intensity that was slow and mind numbing. She gasped, her insides tightening and pleasure blooming around her body, her fingers found his hair, clenching gently at first.

He was focussed. Unrelenting. As if he has suddenly been liberated.

And gods, did he taste her like he was learning freedom with his tongue.

He doubled down, ravaging into her like she were some forbidden fruit and he had found the core. And she ground against his face, chasing the sensation of his nose against her pearl and his tongue curling into her slick entrance until her thighs trembled, her gut tightened, and she came apart in waves against his lips. And he allowed her to ride his mouth as if he were made to be beneath her.

When the tremors faded, she glanced down, still breathless, to find him looking up at her, mouth glistening, his eye blazing with possessive fire.

He rose swiftly, chest heaving, and tugged her nightgown up and over her head, casting it aside. She stood there, bare in the candlelight, powerful and unabashed, a dragoness unbound.

Aemond looked at her like he had no idea where to begin, like he wanted to kiss every inch, mark every hollow. He tugged at the clasps of his tunic with urgency, nearly ripping with the frenzied manner in which he needed his skin bared to her.

He pressed into her, pushing her body back into the plush sheets, the heat of his bare flesh flush with hers. She could almost hear the hum of desire in his blood. The taut lines of his body. All restraint and muscle.

He groaned when she dragged her nails up his back. Her other hand stole between them, wrapping her palm around the base of him, only for him to gently swat it away.

“Let me.”

She allowed it.

The head of him pressed against her warmth, blinking at her as if she might disappear beneath him. She was slick and open for him, welcoming. And when he pushed in, he was met with such little resistance it was akin to gliding through warm wades of water.

He'd had whores. Tired eyed women who whispered pretty lies and let him rut into them for coin. But this? Her cunt was hot, clenching, so tight it was maddening. There was no faux over-pleasure, just a breath and her fingers clenching at his arms. Just the slow ache of stretching her around him.

She was not unfamiliar, but it felt forbidden.

This woman, older than his own half-sister. Not knowing of her existence at all. She exuded a dangerous power, as if all before her were merely in her way of some greater plan for herself.

He looked upon her as if she were a pawn. Not a body at all, warm and clenching around him. And for some reason, that made him harder than anything else.

Her legs curled around his waist, urging him deeper without words. And Aemond muttered a whispered ‘gods’ under his breath. Each thrust into her carved her name into his marrow.

The pressure built too fast. And he felt it like a wave tugging him under. Her breasts moved in view with every snap of his hips, daring him to fall apart.

Sensing he was holding back, her hand pushed against his chest, twisting to push his back down to the bed, and flinging her leg over his waist. She wasted no time in ushering his cock between her legs again, her hips falling to grind against his, feeling the shudder all over his body.

She was not about to let him cheat her out of a good climax.

The image itself was enough for his stomach muscles to tense, and his eager hands found her hips, fingertips creating red marks in her skin he hoped would bruise. And watched as her cunt swallowed him with each grind and sink onto his cock.

Too sensitive. Too much.

His lips parted slightly, her name caught in his throat as he felt her clench impossibly around him. He chanced a look at her face, a picture of pure need and hedonism, chasing her own selfish high as if his pleasure mattered not at all.

And as if watching the wave take her under, she whispered, “oh fuck,” and fell apart, grinding on his cock with fervor, intent on prolonging this sweet feeling as long as she could. Her head tipped back, molten silver hair drifting over the soft skin of her shoulders. The scent of sweat and sex heavy.

And gods if it didn't take Aemond with it.

He jutted upwards, rooting himself into her as deep as he could go, his hands drifting to her thighs, squeezing the skin as if to pull it apart to push inside further. With each shallow, almost pathetic thrust, he spilled deep inside her, her cunt greedily pulling him in.

His breathing was ragged and needy. And her hands touched his chest as she leaned down, her breath against his cheek, foreheads brushing.

Truthfully she did not know what she saw in this man she called her nephew. It was not a complete list of quirks, if she were to name it. Not entirely. He was built with wiry muscle, yes, and pure Targaryen arrogance that she saw so clearly in Daemon too.

But like she, he was alone, or at least felt alone in this world. He painted the picture of a tortured prince, so long wronged, and bitter and hateful as a result of his hardships. That hate. Had made him so isolated. Even in one's own family.

A loneliness she recognised innately. And craved to feel it alongside hers. A companion. Even if only for tonight.

Aemond moved, drifting closer to her lips to seek her out.

She would give him tonight with her body, her soul and loneliness. But the moment the sun kissed the sea, when the bells rang for morning prayers and when the dew was still sparkling on the flowers, she will be nothing but wind on the water.

Because she knew if she didn't, she would hear the very words that slipped from his lips. His fingers tight on her flesh, grabbing, insistent and possessive. As if she were the most valuable asset in some distant dream that had not yet occurred.

“Stay,” he begged—no, demanded, “and I will take everything that has been denied from us. The throne. The realm. With you at my side, and a crown upon your brow, as mine.”

350 notes · View notes

niningtori · 11 months ago

Text

mad about you | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you, delusions of kang taehyun x you

summary: beomgyu is not only a spoiled, rich asshole whose whole life has been served to him on a silver platter, but he's also your student council vice president. things finally come to a head on your final trip as college students, but not in the way you would expect. or, beomgyu catches you, the student council president, smoking weed and tries to blackmail you for it

genre: romance, angst (only a tiny bit...? shocking i know), fluff (kinda...? shocking i know), SMUT (MDNI!!!), sub!idol, beomgyu enemies to lovers

warnings: bad writing, not proofread at all, smut (MDNI!!!), sub!gyu LMAOOOO, marijuana, dirty talk, praise, handjobs, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 7.1k

notes: please... this took MONTHS for me to write i fear i am the worst request taker on moablr. this was really difficult for me to complete but alas... it is done. if you hate it, my fault! just please don't bully me i've got enough shit going on in my life rn 💀 i hate it too but that's okay!

being a straight-a student is hard. being the student government president? even harder. being both? hell on earth. but now, in your senior year of college, you’ve finally managed to get it down to a science. things run relatively smoothly, which is due in no small part to the blood, sweat, and tears you’ve put in to make the student body happy, never mind the lengths you've gone to for the faculty. you can confidently say you can cope with nearly every trial and tribulation that comes your way with a smile on your face. well, except for one recurring disaster: beomgyu.

at first, he was nothing more to you than a pest buzzing around for no real purpose other than to mildly annoy you. it was strange because he seemed normal at first, but then he would pick on your looks, every time you made a mistake in class, and even how you happened to wear your hair that day. this was annoying and, well, hurtful. still, it was of no real consequence, so you were able to ignore him when that was the case, but now you know better than to underestimate just how disastrous beomgyu’s presence can be. as the student government vice president, he should be your first and most trusted ally, but he’s nothing short of, for lack of a better term, a major asshole deadset on making your life even more difficult than it already is for reasons unknown to you.

you think it may be because you would have probably beaten him for the actual president’s chair, which led him to run for vice president, instead. you don’t know why he minds this, though, because he couldn’t seem to care less about the council, not to mention school in general. it’s not that he gets bad grades, because he doesn’t. in fact, when he gets called on in class, he always gets the answer right even when he clearly wasn’t paying any attention. still, you work twice as hard as anyone else and yet your grades are only rivaled by his own. even taehyun, your (probably unrequited) crush, can’t help but be beaten by beomgyu as if the hand of god itself smacks down on everyone else every time you all take a test.

getting good grades should be an admirable thing, right? it helps with potential internships and jobs and all that, but the thing is: beomgyu doesn't need any of it. even if he fails all of his classes, he's set for life as the son of a formidable CEO of a company whose profits are more than you could ever dream of attaining. there is absolutely no doubt that beomgyu will succeed him, and there is even less doubt that he'll undeniably be very, very good at it. what’s worse is that even if he failed to meet expectations, he’d still get the position, anyway.

that, in comparison with your family’s laughable financial circumstances, would be enough to make you secretly hate the boy just on principle; but jealousy is ugly, no doubt, so you’ve kept your feelings to yourself. you would have fallen into a pit of self-loathing and guilt had beomgyu actually been kind, and you may have even grown to like him if that were the case, but no. beomgyu is not kind. he’s a total prick. you see it in his smug little smile when the test papers get handed back and he annihilates everyone — other than you — in class, especially taehyun. you see it in the smirks he sends you when you catch him making out with whoever his new girlfriend of the week happens to be, and in the way he openly mocks you by calling you a prude in front of the entire student population. and most importantly, you see it in the way he watches you struggle to stay afloat while he cruises on by without a care in the world.

honestly? beomgyu knows better than to bully the girl he has a crush on just because he wants her attention, but who told you to make it so damn hard on him? it’s not like he didn’t consider being nice at first, but your aloofness to his charms only caused him to believe that he was nearly invisible to you, and he simply wouldn't stand for that. naturally, the best course of action was to get you to hate him — at least that means you’re actually paying attention to him. that’s what he tells himself as he’s sticking one of his spindly legs out as you walk past him, effectively tripping you in the process and making the entire class erupt into laughter. your nostrils flare as your head whips up to meet his condescending gaze. once again, your eyes are completely on him. check and mate.

that's what it feels like, at least, until you’re hurriedly pulled up by a concerned taehyun and he’s frantically asking if you’re alright while fixing up your (now) fucked up hair. your eyes, which were just brimming with anger and contempt for him, are now overflowing with lovesickness and infatuation for the other boy. well, never mind about the whole “checkmate” thing, it’s like beomgyu doesn’t even exist in the same world as you anymore.

“you need to relax,” taehyun says, gently closing the notebook in front of you and sliding over a few of your favorite snacks.

“th-thank you, tyun,” you reply, shyly. he grins when he sees he’s succeeded in distracting you.

“no problem, we wouldn’t want that pretty little head of yours to break from thinking too much, now would we?” he teases. you feel heat rushing to your cheeks at his words. he doesn’t really mean them, he never does, but that doesn’t stop your heart from racing when he says things like this to you.

having a crush on taehyun is only natural. that’s what you tell yourself, but the way you have a shrine dedicated to notes he’s passed you and polaroids you’ve taken together sitting prettily in your room is most definitely unnatural. he doesn’t need to know about that, though.

“my head’s not going to break,” you huff with a playful roll of your eyes. “i just need to finish outlining the major stops on the trip and i’ll be done, i promise.”

it’s true that all you have to do is outline where you’re going to stop on the council’s senior trip, which doesn’t sound like a big deal in theory, but in actuality, you have to clear each stop with the faculty and make sure you stay within the budget in spite of beomgyu’s insufferable attempts to exceed it. he’s made light of the finances and talked up special events to the rest of the council members, even taehyun. you tried to snuff out these suggestions with realistic arguments about how expensive it will be, but his response was to call you a killjoy. simple and straightforward, but effective, nonetheless. everyone, even taehyun, was so excited to try everything he hyped up, so how could you say no when taehyun turned to you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and practically begged you to relent? you, unfortunately, didn’t and don’t have the heart to deny him, so you caved, and now you’re stuck trying to figure it all out.

“you promise?” taehyun asks, snapping you out of your spiral, with his cute cat-like fangs showing ever so slightly.

“i promise,” you nod and he cheers triumphantly. again, you can’t help but feel your cheeks warm, and you’d bask in the moment if your gaze didn’t happen to catch beomgyu’s scrutinizing one at this very moment. he looks at you like he’s watching a monkey putting on a show, and your happiness is instantly replaced with a sense of embarrassment. you’ve never told a single soul about your feelings for taehyun, but eerily enough, beomgyu seems to know something the rest of the world does not. he seems well aware of your deepest secret. why he doesn’t just expose you in order to humiliate you, you have no idea, but you do know you don't like how much he knows.

you really, really shouldn’t be doing this. and certainly not here, of all places, but you just can’t help it. smoking weed is terrible for you, and you of all people should know, seeing as how you led a presentation on its ill effects in front of the entire student body in your freshman year. but it’s hard to truly care when you’re wound so tightly you feel like you’re about to burst.

beomgyu is getting his way again, as always, and you’re worried about having to make yet another last minute change to your trip’s itinerary for tomorrow because he called today’s stop boring, which led to the rest of the council silently agreeing. so here you sit on the top of the hotel building as the rest of the group are out sightseeing, taking a long, lung-scorching drag from the blunt in between your fingers.

“didn’t take you for the smoking type, madame president,” a voice cuts in from out of nowhere. beomgyu. fuck.

you try to keep your cool, but you end up choking on the smoke as you hurriedly go to flick the blunt away, but beomgyu’s hand grabs your wrist before you can quite make it there. his touch feels like a brand searing itself into your skin, but you’re too overstimulated to notice.

“i didn’t tell you you had to stop,” he muses condescendingly as you rip your wrist away from his grasp. he winces. you don't catch it. instead, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the presumption that he has the power to tell you to do anything.

“i’m not one of your little minions,” you snap in spite of yourself. “quit acting like you can boss me around.”

“is that so?” he questions, not without an air of smugness. alarm bells blare in your ears as you try to sniff out where his confidence is coming from. sure, he caught you smoking, but it’s your word against his. that’s right, there’s no need to be scared. if he says anything at all, you can just feign innocence and say you were the one who caught him sneaking out to smoke.

“yep,” you answer with a grin at your new plan, popping the “p” with the same obnoxiousness he usually terrorizes you with. you’re no match for him in terms of popularity, but you will never lose to him when it comes to credibility.

“you’re not afraid that i’ll snitch on you? you’re not scared of me telling everyone how little-miss-perfect spends her alone time?”

“you can try,” you reply with a shrug. he’s silent for a few moments, as if he’s in deep thought.

“you know what? you’re right,” he concedes with a sigh, and shockingly so. the beomgyu you know and loathe would never give up that easily. “you don’t have to listen to what i say. nobody would believe me over you, right?”

you eye him suspiciously before giving a slight nod.

“and most times, you would be absolutely right. like, just imagine if i told them you faked being sick and flaking on everyone else just so you could get high. nobody would believe me. i wouldn’t even believe me,” he continues. you have no idea why he’s going on and on about this, but you don’t like it.

“what the hell are you playing at?” you ask through clenched teeth.

“i mean, i’m just saying that nobody would believe me. not unless i showed them something like, i don’t know, this?” he says with a grin, holding up his phone and showing you an alarmingly high resolution photo of you taking a hit of your blunt. your eyes widen in sheer horror and you immediately jump to try to retrieve his phone from his hands, but beomgyu is quicker. he tauntingly holds it up in the air with one arm and stops you from coming any closer with the other. you try to jump to reach it, but you’re no match for his stature and long limbs. damn him for being so fucking tall.

“delete it!” you shriek, but all he does is click his tongue and shake his head like the insufferable asshole he is.

“oh, sure,” he says nonchalantly. your eyes widen even further as he lowers his phone and fiddles with the screen, still keeping you at arm’s length so you’re helpless to grab it for yourself.

“r-really?” you ask incredulously, sincerely taken aback by his compliance. stupid, stupid you. he tuts in response.

“you don’t really think i’ll make it that easy, do you?”

“fine,” you relent, jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed in an almost comically exaggerated way. “what the hell do you want from me?”

“nothing much, just lemme smoke with you,” he answers with a lopsided grin, showcasing a dimple in his cheek you had never noticed until now.

“w-what?” you ask dazedly.

“god, you’re slow,” he tells you with a roll of his eyes. “smoke with me and i’ll delete the picture. i won’t even mention it again.”

“are you being serious?” you whisper.

“dead serious,” he smirks.

“... fine,” you find yourself relenting, yet again. you don’t know if you necessarily trust him to actually follow through with his words, but what choice do you have? why he wants to smoke with you, you have no idea, but if it gets him to keep his mouth shut, then you really can’t ask for much more than that.

you sigh and take a seat, walking over near the entrance of the rooftop and propping yourself up against the concrete wall behind you. surprisingly, he stays planted in the same spot as if he didn’t hear you. you pat the ground next to you impatiently in light of his hesitation. he snaps out of his daze as he sits next to you so tentatively it’s like you’re a stray cat he’s afraid to scare off. well, good. it’s best for him not to get too comfortable around you. you hate the guy, after all.

you take another deep inhale and he watches you with a gaze that can only be described as lovesick, but you’re too preoccupied to pick up on it. when you exhale, you find yourself starting to pass the blunt over to beomgyu before thinking better of it.

“wait,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can grip the blunt.

“what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“am i gonna catch something from you if we share this?”

“oh, fuck you,” he grunts, effectively snatching the blunt back and putting it to his lips.

“it’s a real question! i’ve seen the girls you mess around with, and i’m not trying to catch anything from you!”

“i’m careful,” he argues with a roll of his eyes. “a lot more careful than you think.” you pout at his reaction, but for some reason, you believe his words.

“if i catch anything, it's on you,” you reply, hackles still raised. shockingly, he doesn't press the matter any more than that.

“... so,” he says after exhaling a deep drag.

“so what?” you ask.

“so why are you out here smoking instead of going out with everyone else?”

“do you seriously think you have the right to ask me that?” you scoff. there’s no way in hell beomgyu is trying to get you to be vulnerable right now.

on beomgyu’s end, he can’t help but feel slighted, even though your reaction is definitely his fault on account of how he essentially antagonizes you at every given opportunity.

“i’m just saying that it’s weird how you’re here instead of, you know, actually enjoying the trip.”

“oh, please. as if there was gonna be any possible way for me to have fun on this fucking thing,” you bitterly reply.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks without any malice, but with genuine curiosity.

truly, honestly, sincerely, you do not know why you say your next words. maybe it’s because you’re high, or maybe it’s because you need to tell someone — anyone — how you really feel, for once. all you really know is: you can’t stop yourself.

“i mean, how could i possibly enjoy myself when i’m left to figure everything out on my own? everyone only cares about having fun with no actual idea how we’ll do it while realistically staying within the budget and our timeline, and my vice president is deadweight, so it’s not like he’ll help,” you complain, taking a jab at beomgyu in light of your waning self control. you’re prepared to verbally spar with him after that last comment, but he surprises you.

“is that how you really feel?” he asks.

“yeah, it is,” you tell him. “that’s how i always feel,” you can’t help but add, more to yourself and less to him, but he hears you, anyway.

“i’m sorry.” you whip your head around to make sure you’re not having some sort of auditory hallucination. did beomgyu just apologize to you? it can’t be. there’s no earthly way.

“i’m sorry. i really am,” he repeats. your whole world feels like it’s thrown off of its axis when you see how somber and genuinely apologetic he looks.

“it’s… it’s fine,” is all you can really muster up the words to say.

“no, it’s not. i’ll help you as much as i can, i swear,” he earnestly insists. you nod in bewilderment at his earnestness — feeling too awkward to do much else.

things are quiet for the next few minutes while you two are passing the blunt back and forth. beomgyu can feel the high finally hitting him in full force, and it takes every brain cell within his clouded mind (as well as every ounce of his courage) to finally get out his next sentence.

“why him?” he mumbles so lowly, you don’t quite catch his words.

“what?” you lazily ask.

“why taehyun?” once again, you find yourself choking on the smoke. god, you’ve really got to get a grip and stop letting beomgyu surprise you — your lungs would thank you for it.

“w-what do you mean?” well, you always knew that beomgyu knows about your feelings for taehyun, but hearing him directly ask about them is enough to throw you off.

“i mean, why do you like him?” he asks, devoid of all the confidence he usually oozes.

“what’s not to like?” you say offhandedly. if you cared enough to pay attention to his reaction, you’d see how he withers at your words. even more so when you continue.

“he’s really, really funny. plus, he’s handsome. not to mention smart and —”

“so what? i’m all of those things,” beomgyu interrupts, irritation bitterly lacing every edge of his words. “and if you call him smart, anybody can be.” oh hell no. you’re so indignant at him calling taehyun stupid, you don’t even catch beomgyu’s childlike envy towards him, let alone why he feels it.

“just because his grades don’t compare to yours, doesn’t mean he’s stupid,” you argue.

“then what does it mean?” he asks with a roll of his eyes at your obvious bias for the other boy.

“it… it just means that he’s —”

“a real genius. yeah, i’m sure you think so,” he snarks.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” you snap, despite your better judgment to just let it roll off of your back. if he were talking about you, you may very well have done so, but this is taehyun he’s talking about. your taehyun.

“it means he can’t compare to me,” he says, more as means to convince himself rather than convince you, but you’re so angry, you don’t even notice.

“and what makes you think you’re so goddamn special?” you ask, sarcasm absolutely dripping out of your voice.

“i’m funnier, hotter, smarter, richer. how can he compare to me?” he snorts. if someone were to ask you why you feel so defensive at this moment, you would be unable to say why, but if you had to guess, you’d say it’s because taehyun is so good it’s impossible to see him any other way. your frustration builds up, hotter and hotter in your chest until you’re on the brink of exploding.

“you say that, but he will always be something you’re not,” you spit.

“and what, pray tell, might that be?” he cockily challenges.

“nice,” you say with conviction, and it may be cheesy, but you mean it. “he is really, really fucking nice and considerate. that’s why i like him.” well, that one went straight to his gut.

“i can be nice!” he exclaims. “i tried to be nice, but you just didn’t care! it was like i was invisible to you!” all you can do is stare, but he’s not finished. “you act like you’re some fucking angel, but i saw the way you looked at me like i’m some stupid, rich asshole who isn’t worth a damn.”

finally, you realize that something is wrong.

“beomgyu, why do you even care about what i think about you?” he doesn’t give a fuck about what you have to say in any other context, today’s example being only the latest in the litany of times where he’s shown you that exact sentiment.

at this, he’s silent, which you truly did not anticipate in lieu of his tirade mere moments ago. you take a good look at the boy, and you finally register that the tips of his ears are a bright red under the fluorescence of the lone light shining next to the doorway.

“i just… i always care about what you think,” he mumbles, face growing redder and redder under your scrutinizing stare as he breaks eye contact with you.

“you could’ve fooled me,” you snort. “you’re always undermining everything i say and do. it’s almost like you’re doing it on… purpose…” you trail off, puzzle pieces finally fitting together in a way you would never suspect.

“beomgyu?” you ask.

“mm?” he murmurs, still refusing to make eye contact.

“do you… do you like me?” and the question sounds so silly you can’t believe you even asked it. this guy fucking hates you, you’re sure of it, but you grow less and less sure of this sentiment with every moment he hesitates to answer.

“... yeah. yeah, i do. but so what? you don’t even care,” he mopes, and just like that, everything makes sense. his teasing, his contrarian nature, and his obnoxiousness are just part of his ruse. he’s just like a child begging for attention by acting out, but to what end? just so you’ll pay attention to him? well, he was on the money when he said you didn’t like him even when he tried to be kind, so maybe, in his own sick little way, he was right.

but that doesn’t mean you don't feel completely blindsided by this revelation.

“what the hell?” is all you can manage to say.

“shut up!” he demands with no real heat to it, just embarrassment.

“i… i can’t believe your solution was to be an asshole,” you say incredulously. “if you had just been nice, or even just normal, i would have warmed up to you. i know i was being childish, but goddamn, you’re worse.”

if he was blushing before, and he was, he’s absolutely blood red now.

“i-it’s your fault for being so judgmental!” he sputters, but even you know he’s just grasping at straws. it all makes the worst kind of sense to you now, and you’re very much shocked at how oblivious you were mere moments ago.

“i can't believe this,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to your temples in an effort to straighten everything out in your muddled head. “you hate me.”

“you’re so dramatic,” he huffs with a roll of his eyes, which would convincingly come across as disdainful, if only his words weren’t so shaky and unsure.

you take a good look at him now, and he can feel it. he’s a very handsome guy, and he knows it, but he can’t help but feel vulnerable. he clears his throat and straightens up his posture when he thinks that you may be comparing him to taehyun... you are not.

none of his actions escape you, which is a far cry from what usually happens, but now that you've discovered his true feelings, it’s almost impossible not to catch his tells; you even wonder how you missed them. his awkward handling of the situation is endearing, in a way. you like watching him squirm, which you realize must be the way he felt about you all those times he teased you. it just makes you wanna push him more.

you’re not exactly known for your impulsivity. in fact, you’re known for the exact opposite. you take things slowly, steadily. you plan every minute detail in consideration of every possible outcome, but as for right now? right now, as you sit and watch beomgyu pout, you just want to let go and do what you really want, and what you really want is to watch him break.

you grab his face with your hands and turn it towards you, and he scowls for just a moment before blinking his big, reddened eyes in curiosity at your unreadable gaze.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks, too exhilarated by your touch to think about batting you away.

this is a bad idea — a horrible one, even — but that does nothing to deter you. how can it when his skin on your palms makes it feel like there's pure electricity thrumming through your bones? fuck it, might as well.

you don’t realize it yourself, but you look incredibly focused as you pull him in, his lips meeting yours. you’d think with the shock he must feel that he’d be taken aback for a second, but beomgyu, as always, does not abide by your rules. he immediately grabs your face and presses his lips even harder against yours. you’re surprised at how much heat is behind it — how much frustration.

it’s incredibly interesting to watch his reactions as you kiss him, which would be weird, but he’s far too engrossed in this newfound pleasure to notice your stare. his eyes are shut, but they tremble with every passing second, making his long eyelashes quiver. you never noticed how long they are before now. you chalk up the swiping of your tongue against his chapped lips to sheerly wanting to study his reaction, and oh man, it does not disappoint. he whines against your mouth, eyebrows furrowed like he’s pleading for something. you want to find out what that something is. cruelly, you take his bottom lip between your teeth and lightly bite. he whines even louder, his eyes fluttering open, and he pulls away and says his next words in a tinny voice.

“c-can i touch you?” he pants, forehead pressed against yours, lips cherry red.

“no,” you say with a smile against his mouth. he would whine again if he could, but he can’t quite do it at the moment, not when your hands have moved from his cheeks in order to explore the rest of him. you curiously run your fingers through his long, silky hair, and he can’t help but moan when you experimentally tug at it. it’s breathy and light, and you’re intrigued, to say the very least.

you don’t have the most experience in the world when it comes to the, uh, matters between men and women, but you are a fast learner by nature, so it takes no time at all to figure out where he likes to be touched. his lips, obviously, and his hair. his ears, so flushed and pink and cute, must be particularly sensitive, and you test this hypothesis by dragging your teeth along his earlobe. he lets out a loud, broken moan when you do, and anyone else in the world would have been embarrassed by making such a noise, but not beomgyu. he’s so pretty and pliable underneath your touch, which feels so tantalizing that all shame escapes him.

“do you like that, beomie?” you whisper teasingly, employing a nickname you’ve heard from a few of his ex-flings, and another strangled cry leaves his pouty lips when he feels your breath touch his ear.

“mhmm, i like it! like it so much, princess,” he babbles, eyes screwed shut as you trail your lips from his ear to his unblemished neck.

“princess?” you can’t help but question. “where’d that come from?”

“think about calling you that all the time,” he moans as you suck on a previously unmarred patch of skin on his neck. “think about you all the time.”

“and what do you think, beomie?” you whisper encouragingly, as if he’s a stupid boy squirming under your thumb.

“th-think about how much i wanna fuck you,” he admits. “h-how much i want to fill you up, make you m-mine.” honest to god, your panties were already feeling a little sticky just from teasing him alone, but his words make your core heat up tenfold. you shift your legs while trying to make yourself more comfortable, but you fail miserably.

“you’re delusional,” you snort, as you pull away from him, but his lips try to chase yours before you lightly push him away.

“i’m not! i-i jus’ wanna make you feel good,” he slurs, and oh god, you simply can’t be saved.

“well, wanna make your delusions reality?” you can’t help but ask before you can think better of it, but when you see how his eyes light up in hope and pure, primal lust, you realize you don’t regret it.

the walk to his hotel room is silent, so unbearably silent that you can’t help but second-guess yourself. are you really gonna do this with beomgyu of all people? but it’s been so long since you’ve let go, who will it hurt just to have fun for once? maybe you, probably you, but who cares? it can't be any worse than it is now. besides, you're graduating soon. if things go as badly as you’re pretty sure they will, you’ll never have to see beomgyu again after the fact. plus, things really can’t seem to get any more embarrassing than the humiliation ritual you put yourself through every day that you spend pining after taehyun.

and so, you enter his hotel room, which is easily double the size of yours (sans a roommate, no less) with a look of determination. beomgyu completely misses it, though, as he shuts the door behind you and immediately tugs you towards his bed, quick to rekindle the atmosphere you two had on the rooftop. surprisingly, it’s not hard to do so when he’s back to kissing you so desperately it’s like you’re his lifeline.

he impatiently swipes his tongue across your lips, mirroring what you did earlier, silently asking for entry. you oblige. he groans at the feeling of your warm tongue brushing against his own, savoring the way you taste, which yes, does have notes of weed, but there’s something sweet in there, too. something he’s only ever fantasized about with his hand down his pants.

one of your hands is currently tangled in his hair, just the way he likes it, while the other one exploratorily finds its way down his lithe body. you’ve never done what you do next before, but he seems so incredibly sensitive, it feels like a matter of course to put your hand up his shirt and tweak one of his hardened nipples. he lets out a strangled cry, which only makes you certain that you’ve done the right thing.

“is it good, beomie? is it everything you wanted it to be?” you tease. he nods like an idiot.

“y-yes, even better,” he moans. “feels s-so good.”

in the dim lighting of his hotel room, you can see that he means it as the tent in his pants gets harder and harder to ignore. the poor thing is so wound up by your caresses that he may just cum untouched, anyway, but what fun would that be? so, before you can think too much about it, you palm him through his jeans.

“ah!” he cries, eyebrows furrowed. you palm him again, rougher this time, and just like clockwork, he cries even louder.

“want me to keep going?” you ask, studying and soaking up every reaction of his. all he can do is nod.

he unzips his pants and he’s all too willing to help you slide them off of him, tossing them on the floor before hurriedly grabbing one of your hands to meet his barely clothed bulge. it’s big, because it’s beomgyu and of fucking course it is. as if he needed another reason to be conceited.

it doesn’t seem like he’s very conceited, though, as he moans like a whore at you hooking your fingers under his waistband and tugging his boxers off of him. his cock is very obviously leaking, and it’s as bright red as his ears were earlier, completely flushed with beads of precum drooling off of it. there are angry veins running up the sides of it, which sounds gross, in theory, but you can’t help but feel like they make it even prettier. you gulp when you imagine how they’ll feel when they’re dragging in and out of your pussy.

“don’t stare!” he says, breaking you out of your reverie. honestly? he knows it’s pretty, just like every other part of him, but he feels incredibly scrutinized under your gaze. you don’t listen, still very much staring as you take your thumb and experimentally swipe it over his thick, reddened tip. then again. then again.

“s-stop teasing me, please,” he whimpers, but you’re so enamored with his reactions you can’t help yourself. you spit on your hand and grab the base of his cock, which is no small feat considering how thick it is, and you give it a harsh tug. he bites his bottom lip to try to stifle his moans as you start to jerk him off, applying pressure exactly where he needs it most, but he quickly gives up on being quiet when you bend over and lick his tip. he tastes salty, but not unbearably so, and in a way, he’s almost sweet. that could just be your imagination, though.

beomgyu is no longer trying to bite back his moans, but he's stuck in another dilemma: he can't seem to unscrew his eyes for long enough to fully appreciate the sight before him. one of your hands is gripping the muscle of his thigh as leverage while the other aids in squeezing and pulling the parts of him you can’t quite fit in your mouth. you’re not looking at him, which would normally be disappointing, but it’s impossible to be anything less than satisfied when you’re hollowing out your cheeks to suck on him even harder. you take your hand from his dick and ghost your fingers over his balls, and he has to push you off of him so he doesn’t blow his load right then and there.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, wiping some spit and precum off of your lips. he’s enchanted by the way your lips are swollen from sucking on him, so much so that he almost forgets to answer.

“‘m gonna c-cum,” he says shyly.

“and?”

“i don’t want to yet. i wanna make you feel good, too,” he argues petulantly.

“oh? is that what you do in your dreams? you make me feel good? i’m surprised, i figured you’d like me to do all the work and —”

“shut up!” he hisses, and you can’t help but laugh.

“let me eat you out,” he offers, trying to distract you from his evident embarrassment. it’s tempting, very tempting, indeed, but you’re so hot and bothered that you kind of just want to get to the main event. especially since you just know it’ll feel good to finally have him inside of you. it’s been so long since you’ve been with somebody, after all.

“no, thanks. do you have a condom?” you ask, ignoring his suggestion, and he’d be humiliated if only your question weren't so damn exciting.

“n-no…” he stammers. your face falls for a second before he rushes to get out his next words. “b-but i can pull out!”

“sorry, this was fun and all, but i’m not letting you fuck me without protection.”

“please?” he begs. “i’m clean, i swear! i told you i’m more careful than you think. i really don’t sleep around that much, honestly,” he admits.

“what?” you ask, genuinely bewildered before calling his bluff. “bullshit. i see you with a new girl all the fucking time. quit lying.”

“i’m not! i promise — i promise — i don’t sleep around a lot. i only act like i do ‘cause of you!”

“because of me?” and it actually makes sense when you think about it. he acts out, bullies you, and pretends he’s involved with a lot more girls than he actually is just to try to get you to look his way. oh man, what are you gonna do with him?

“you’re so pathetic,” you sneer before hiking up your skirt and mounting him.

“w-what are you —”

“shut up before i change my mind,” you spit. and just like magic, his mouth is snapped shut.

you start by rubbing your clothed pussy against his bare cock. your slick has already ruined the fabric beyond salvation, so you don’t really mind ruining it some more. beomgyu is absolutely in awe at your actions, rutting against you feverishly. he’s greedy, if nothing else, so he impatiently moves your soaked panties to the side and tries to seek relief in your warm hole. you let him grab your hips as he tries to ease himself into you, but he’s stunned at the resistance he’s met with as he tries to push himself in.

“s-so tight,” he groans as his fat cock breaches the tight rim of your pussy. the muscles contract as they stretch to accommodate his widened tip.

you were right about how good you anticipated the feeling of his veins scraping against your insides would be, and you revel in the feeling as you sink down inch by scorching inch. beomgyu, on his end, looks absolutely devastated as you slowly take him in. his mouth is twisted open in a silent scream, and his eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill over at any moment. when your ass finally meets his hips, you can feel his length pulsating all the way up to your cervix. it’s a snug fit, too, and it takes everything in him not to hump you like a fucking dog.

slowly, you raise yourself up again, almost completely off of him, before slamming yourself back down. then again. then again. he whimpers when you do it, grabbing your hips to help steady you as you ride him for everything that he’s worth. he’s enraptured as your breasts bounce with each movement, and he can’t help himself now — he begins to thrust into you wildly, matching your rhythm and making you cry out. if you were in your right state of mind, you’d feel sorry for the poor souls who are on the same floor as him.

“pussy so f-fucking good,” he grunts as he feels you squeezing around him, and you’re about to smirk before he pushes you onto the bed then turns you on your side so you’re facing away from him. he tries to slide back into your needy cunt, but the new position makes you feel even tighter. still, with the combination of his slick and yours, he’s able to push himself in again before rutting into you. he presses one of his big hands against your stomach while the other one hastily grabs one of your tits, and suddenly he's back to fucking you like a wild animal.

you've never in your life felt so wanted, so needed, but beomgyu needs you in a way so carnal it makes you feel even more turned on. he nips your ear, mimicking your actions from earlier, and begs for your praise.

“a-are you feeling good? you’re feeling good, right?” he chokes out as he hits a particularly deep part of your pussy.

“so good, beomie,” you moan. “you’re fucking me so good.” those words would normally never leave your lips, but he seems desperate for your validation, and you know he’s too far gone to mock you.

“oh god, this is w-what i dreamed about,” he babbles as he takes the hand that was pressing on your stomach and uses it to massage your clit, earning a strangled scream from you. “th-this is what i’ve always wanted.” and if you could see his face, you’d notice how his eyes roll backwards in sheer ecstasy.

“i’m gonna cum!” you cry, all self-restraint gone.

“m-me too, princess,” he moans. “c-can i cum inside?” it’s a pipe dream if he’s ever had one, and you can believe that he’s had one, but your response floors him.

“yes, yes, yes! do it inside, i want it!” and that’s enough. he spits out a curse as he hammers himself into you, making you almost sob as you come undone with him inside of you. the feeling of your pussy sucking him in even more as it wildly contracts around him pulls him over the edge, so he paints your walls with his seed and fucks you through both of your highs.

he stays there until he goes soft, slowly pulling out and watching in awe as the cum spills out of your hole. he pulls you flush against his body and sighs as he tenderly fixes up your hair.

“i really, really like you,” he earnestly whispers into your hair.

“i —”

“it’s okay if you don’t like me yet,” he interrupts. “i can wait.” you’re glad you’re not facing him, because you actually feel a little awkward at his sincere words, but you can’t deny that it makes your heart flutter to hear them.

“okay,” you say.

“okay?” he asks, just to be sure he heard you correctly.

“yes, i-it’s okay. you can wait.” he’s so excited that he throws himself on top of you and turns you to face him, lips greedily meeting yours, putting every ounce of yearning into the kiss.

honestly? with the way things are going right now, he probably won’t have to wait very long at all.

notes pt. 2: yeah... i'm so sorry that this is bad i'm just used to writing angst angst angst and this def veered more into cute territory but whatever just don't bully me

permanent taglist: @my313 @superbbananananana @lonelybutterflytae @cherrycolaberry @midwinterblizzard @everythingvirgoes @sooberryworld @20-cms @inkigayocamman @hyueika @boba-beom @vicurious28 @blossommi @lickingan0rchid @katsukis1wife @binniebakery @notevenheretbh1 @shymexican @milkandoranges @that1sadgrl @archoive @paegesoobin @buttercreamerie @ifwtxt @softesyoongi @serenityism00

mad about you taglist: @m00gyu @bambammtori @yelsuki @denleave1088 @hyewka

join my taglist here!

#niningtori #mad about you #sub!idol #sub!beomgyu #beomgyu angst #beomgyu fic #txt angst #txt fic #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #txt x you #nini's hard hours #txt hard hours #beomgyu hard hours #txt fluff #beomgyu fluff

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neurotica-tales · 23 days ago

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Yandere Zhongli Headcanon

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Up next: Yandere Neuvillette Headcanon, Yandere Kaeya Headcanon, The Contract of Stone (Yandere Zhongli x Reader)

To find my master list, click HERE.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The love of a god is slow but absolute.

Zhongli is not a man who falls easily. He has seen nations rise and fall, countless lives flicker like candles and extinguish in an instant. So when you—a mere mortal—capture his attention, it is not a passing fancy. It is fate, carved into stone.

To hold his attention is to be etched into his very being, as permanent as the Geo element itself.

Now, Zhongli does not fall in love the way mortals do.

His affection does not strike like lightning or bloom like spring so there's no 'love at first sight' at all.

Instead, it seeps in like all the tea he loves drinking-- slow and inexorable. Like mountain roots growing beneath the surface of the earth—hidden, patient, and irreversible.

He notices you quietly at first.

A voice in the market, a thoughtful gesture toward a stranger, your laughter echoing against Liyue’s stone alleys.

He watches from the shadows, not out of fear or shame, but because he is still deciding if what he feels is… real. He has lived too long to mistake fascination for affection.

But something in your smile—warm and fleeting like a candle’s flame—starts to gnaw at the hollowness left by millennia of losses.

So he watches. And he waits. And eventually, he decides: it is real.

That is the beginning. Not of your story, but of his.

When Zhongli finally begins to speak to you, it’s natural. Charming. Gentle.

He asks you questions with sincere interest, and never forgets a single answer. He walks you home, tells you tales of Liyue’s past, and gifts you little things—stone trinkets carved with ancient care, the kind only someone with too much time and devotion could make.

He hides his desire behind elegance. Behind ritual. His gestures are so steeped in tradition you almost don’t realize how personal they are.

But to Zhongli, affection is sacred. A promise. A contract. And he assumes—quietly, calmly—that the moment you accept his company, you are accepting terms that you do not yet understand.

He would never say it aloud. That would be rude. But inside his mind, he has already carved the terms in stone:

“You are mine, and I am yours. Eternally.”

Now, one thing you must understand is that Zhongli is not like some other characters I write for.

After he falls in love, he does not collect your belongings. He doesn’t steal your hair or preserve your scent.

But he remembers everything, especially with his too good of a memory.

The precise rhythm of your footsteps on stone. The way you breathe when you sleep. The exact color your eyes reflect in the morning light.

If a poet asked for inspiration, Zhongli could describe you in ten thousand stanzas without repeating himself.

He whispers your name in meditation. Carves poems about you into hidden stone tablets buried beneath layers of the earth. You are not a fleeting infatuation to him—you are a pillar of his world. As necessary and foundational as the earth beneath his feet.

He will never cage you in gold. But he will never let you leave his world.

Zhongli is the kind of yandere who never lashes out… directly. He will always be civil, even when his heart is twisted in jealousy.

And so, when he sees you one day laughing with another person and enjoying their company, Zhongli merely watches from afar.

He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t scowl. But you will feel when he is displeased.

It begins with a look—his golden eyes latching onto you from across a plaza, unwavering. Then a stillness in the air, like the wind itself holding its breath.

When you ask him if there's anything wrong, he'll deny it and say everything is fine. Why do you ask?

But later, you may notice that person experiencing strange misfortunes. Perhaps a business venture collapses. Their ship is lost at sea. They fall ill with no cause. Zhongli never confesses anything. If asked, he will sigh, offering his condolences with impeccable manners.

“What a shame,” he says. “The world is unpredictable.”

But make no mistake—Liyue is still his city. And the land itself bends to his will. If someone dares take what is his, the earth remembers.

Zhongli will never chain you.

He doesn’t need to.

Because in his mind, you already belong to him. The contract was sealed when you touched his life and made it feel aliveagain. He is eternal, and so now—so are you.

If you grow old, he will hold you in reverence. If you die, he will bury you beneath sacred amber and speak to your soul in dreams. He will guard your memory, your name, your soul, like a god guards a sacred shrine.

And one day—when all is dust and even the Archons are forgotten—he will still sit beneath the stone trees of Liyue, remembering the curve of your smile, whispering your name like a prayer.

Because to love Zhongli is to be remembered forever.

Even if you never asked to be.

#yandere #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin headcanons #zhongli #yandere zhongli #morax #genshin morax #yandere morax #male yandere #yandere male

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riemanifests · 4 days ago

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You can achieve anything.

If you knew you would 100% succeed at anything, what would you do? what would you manifest? what skills or hobbies would you get into? write it all down. write down every single thing. every idea, every goal, and every achievement you want to complete. and don't overthink it or filter it, write it from the soul no matter how small, big, unique, or crazy it is. this is for you being true to you, so do it. to make yourself think from a free perspective, ask yourself this: "if i knew i could 100% succeed at anything, what would i do?" the reason i bring that question up is because it's easy for us to find many excuses to hold ourselves back. one of the common reasons is fear of failure, which is something i have gone through terribly over the years. however excuses are just excuses, and there's nothing that can truly hold us back but ourselves. see we're not our identity, our labels, or even our history, we're just beings. unlimited beings at the core who are everything. who has access to any and everything. so your true self does not have any limitations at all, they can do whatever it is they want at anytime and succeed. so when you go back at that list i want you to know that you can succeed in doing all of those things. maybe you won't be perfect and maybe it wont be 100% successful, but you have the chance to do it. another thing is, well not knowing how to even execute your ideas or get into those things. they may seem like big mountains that you're just not trained to climb at all, but that is why you start with baby steps. start studying those who are into those things, the people who have mastered those things or done them, and learn from them. find inspiration. i think you can find inspiration in everything so start surrounding yourself with what it is you want to achieve, and it'll become more normal to you. take little steps to get there, something is better than nothing. sometimes you just have to start things and figure them out along the way. sometimes you need to do a bit of trial and error to learn before you find your flow. but that's okay, because you have the ability to do it. if you persist and never see failure as an option, you will achieve what it is you want to achieve. there is no true failure in my opinion, there is just trial and error. the only thing that could happen is you give up, but that's a choice. never failure, it's not real. for a long time my soul has silently suffered because i am not doing the things i want to be doing or expressing myself as who i am freely. it's not even that i want to be a master at them or that i don't know how i can do those things, but i still hold myself back. so don't do that to yourself because your soul deserves to shine. it doesn't matter if you end up doing it and you're average at it or not exactly doing it the traditional way, as long as you're happy then it's worth it. time is never a waste when you're doing the things you want to be doing. with manifestation we can cultivate a mindset that aligns with where we want to be in certain things and even manifest our success in those things. but again you're everything. there is already a version of you within who is a master at those thing. so remember, the true self can do everything and has already done everything. you are an unlimited being. and if you fear judgement? don't. find a way to be authentically you and not care about what others think. sure you might lose some people but that means those people were not meant to be around you. there are so many others on this planet who will love you for you. you should give your soul the freedom to express itself freely not try to be an altered version of you for anyone else, that's a prison and you are not a prisoner. you are an unlimited being and there are those out there who will love the true you. some people may never know the real you but if you do and you're allowing yourself the freedom to be that person, then you are already doing so much more for yourself. so remember, think with your possibilities not your circumstances.

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mixolya · 3 months ago

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ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : epilogue !

(can be read without reading this smau ; appreciated if you read it though <3)

wc: 7k

#001. the letter in the attic

you found the box on a quiet sunday. dust clung to the cardboard like it had been waiting for decades, tucked away behind forgotten photo albums and unused blankets. it wasn't labeled, not really, just a small handwritten note on top, yellowing at the edges.

"to the one i wait for."

you sat on the attic floor, sunlight streaming through the single round window, and called for sae.

he climbed the creaky stairs barefoot, glasses low on his nose from reading downstairs. when he saw you with the box in your lap, legs folded like a child, his brow lifted, curiosity soft in his expression.

"what is it?"

you shrugged, careful as you peeled the top open.

inside were dozens of letters, all carefully folded, some still tied with old ribbons. the paper had browned at the edges, but the words were still legible. the ink was smudged in places, perhaps tears, perhaps rain. you picked up the first one.

May 4th, 1942

My beloved,

The moon hangs low tonight. I wish you could see it. It looks like it has been carved by longing itself, suspended just barely above the trees. There's a stillness in the air that reminds me of the mornings we spent on the porch, your head on my shoulder, the world soft and slow around us.

I write to you from a place where nothing grows. The land here feels old, exhausted by the weight of war. The birds don't sing like they used to back home. I miss the way you had hum to yourself while folding laundry, or how you had always forget where you left your book and blame me. Even your bad habits have become sacred to me.

My hands are shaking as I write. Not from fear - I am used to that now - but from this ache that settles in my chest each time I think of you. I have learned that longing is not just a feeling. It is a place, a house built inside the ribs where your name is carved into every wall. You are everywhere inside me.

I do not know when I will return, or if I will be allowed to return at all. But if time forgets me, promise you will not. Carry me in your laughter, in the way you butter your toast, in the music you play when it rains. Carry me in the way you stare out the window when you think no one is watching.

You were never just my home. You were the road, the stars, the whole damn map.

If this letter finds you, know that I loved you in every way a man can. In this life and the next. In every breath I take here and every silence that follows.

Yours until the stars fall,

you didn't speak for a long time. neither did sae.

there was something sacred about it. like you'd been entrusted with a secret. each letter in the box told a story, of longing, separation, and heartbreak. some were part of full conversations, written across decades. others were never sent. one letter even had a pressed wildflower between its pages.

you and sae read them on the rooftop that night, wrapped in a blanket, wine glasses untouched beside you. the sky war clear. endless. and for some reason, it felt like the universe was trying to say something, about how love finds a way to linger, even when the world changes shape a thousand times over.

you looked over at him, his profile against the moonlight, the man you had loved in a million different ways. and he was already watching you, one hand drifting toward yours without needing to ask.

"would you write me letters like that?" you asked, voice quiet.

he didn't even hesitate.

"i already do."

#002. letter, never sent

it had rained earlier that day.

not the kind of storm that ruins things, but the soft kind, warm and light, the air thick with petrichor and the scent of wet earth. the two of you had wandered into the small balinese town with no real purpose, just hand in hand, sleeves rolled up and hair damp from the drizzle. you'd stopped for fruit on the side of the road, laughed at how sae tried, and failed, to bargain in bahasa indonesia and ducked into a nearby café where the tea tasted like flowers and nostalgia.

the museum hadn't been planned. it was barely more than an old house, its walls sun-faded and cracked, a weather-worn sign hanging above the door with letters half-chipped away. sejarah kota kita - our town's history.

inside, it was quiet, dust hung in sunbeams. the rooms smelled like old wood, cloves and memory.

sae let go of your hand for a moment to study a black-and-white photograph of a rice harvest. you drifted toward the back, eyes skimming old textiles, faded postcards, a broken typewriter displayed like it had changed the world. and then, tucked between forgotten war relics and family photos, there was a letter.

just one.

tucked behind warped glass, sealed in a faded, unmarked envelope. you almost didn't notice it. but something about it pulled you in. like it was humming beneath the surface.

October 19th, 1956

To the one who will never read this,

I dreamed of you last night. Again.

You were standing at the edge of the sea, waves curling around your ankles, the wind tangling your hair just like it always used to. I called your name, and you turned, but only just. You didn’t smile. You never do in these dreams.

I woke up with your name on my lips and salt in my throat. It has been eight years since you left, and I still set an extra cup at the table out of habit. You used to complain that tea never tasted as sweet unless I stirred in the sugar for you. Funny, I still do it the same way.

Do you remember the rain that summer in Venice? The whole city smelled like stone and sky. You said it was romantic, the way the world seemed to cry just for us. I wanted to tell you that I had never loved anyone the way I loved you then. I wish I had. I wish I had said a lot of things.

I carry your scarf in my coat pocket. The blue one you knitted poorly, one thread looser than the rest. It is falling apart now, just like the memory of your voice. Sometimes I speak to the scarf, pretending it hears me. Pretending you do.

I have learned that grief is not a wave. It is not something that crashes and fades. It is a slow burn, like the quiet glow of a candle you do not know how to blow out. I live in the flickering.

If there is another life after this one, meet me at the train station. Wear that ridiculous yellow coat. You said it made you look like a duck. I said it made you look like sunshine.

Until then, I will keep writing these letters. I will keep pretending the words might find you.

Yours, always,

"that's love," he murmured. "isn't it?"

you nodded. "yeah."

and then he turned to you with that quiet intensity he always carried but rarely showed. "promise me," he said, "if you ever have words you're too afraid to say... you'll write them. even if you never send them. write them anyway."

your chest ached.

"i will," you whispered. "only if you promise me too."

#003. to love you in the quiet.

the sun was just beginning to dip when he spoke.

golden light filtered through the trees like melted honey, spilling across your dress, catching in your lashes, setting fire to the warmth in your cheeks. sae stood in front of you, hair still tousled from where your fingers had been earlier. you'd picked a cliffside chapel with no walls, just wind and sky and the ocean breathing far below.

he hadn't cried all day. not once.

but when he looked at you, his voice broke a little at the start.

"i don't know how to be poetic," he began, eyes never leaving yours, "but you deserve something better than poetry anyway."

his hands were steady but his breath wavered as he continued.

"i used to think i'd never belong to anything. not a place, not a dream, not even a person. the world always felt too loud. people always wanted too much from me. and then you came into my life like you didn't need to fix it. you just sat in the quiet with me and somehow... that made all the noise disappear."

the guests were silent. even the ocean hushed itself for him.

"i love you in ways i'll probably never be able to explain. but i promise i'll spend my whole life trying. i promise to meet you in the quiet when the world is too loud. i promise to hold you when the lights go out, when the days get heavy, when we forget how to be anything but tired. i promise to be yours, not just when it's easy, or when you're ethereal and the world is clapping for us, but when it's hard, when you're afraid, when you think you're too much or not enough."

his eyes glistened, but the tears didn't fall.

"i promise to love you even when i don't understand you. especially then. because i know what it feels like to be misunderstood and i never want you to feel that way when i'm standing beside you."

then he smiled. soft. the one he reserved only for you.

"i don't need forever," he said, "but i want it if you're in it."

and then, after a beat, he added more quietly: "i choose you. every time. in every life."

and the wind blew around you, like it was trying to carry the words up to the sky.

#004. until i'm home again

author: sae itoshi written in a hotel in tokyo, folded neatly between clean shirts.

mi amor,

you'd laugh if you saw the room i'm in. too many lamps. strange pillows. not enough of your perfume in the air. i can't sleep, not really. i thought the sound of rain against the window might help, but even that reminds me of madrid, of you.

you know, i never cared much for travelling. i did it because i had to. because the world expected something of me. but ever since we moved to that quiet neighborhood near the harbor, i find myself missing home more and more. not because of the view. not even the food. it's because of you.

you in the mornings, humming songs you don't remember the words to. you in the kitchen, stealing bites of whatever i'm cooking before it's done. you in our bed, where your cold feet somehow always find mine.

and i know i'm not gone long. just a week, two at most. but even a night without your voice feels like too much. i can't call, i know you're sleeping by now, so i'm writing you a letter like i promised. i know you had that shoot today and you'll be exhausted, probably curled up in my clothes like you always are when i leave.

i wanted you to know that no matter how many stadiums i stand in, no matter how many fans chant my name, the only person i still look for in a crowd is you. always you.

you were the only thing in my life i ever chose freely. no coach, no manager, no pressure. just you.

do you remember our first night in the house? we slept on the floor because the movers were late. you kept apologizing, even though you had nothing to be sorry for and i told you "i could live with nothing as long as i had you".

that hasn't changed. it never will.

i'll be home soon. i'll bring you that silly mug you wanted from the airport shop. i'll make you tea and pretend not to judge how you drink everything in one go. i'll kiss your forehead and act like it doesn't still make me nervous after all these years. i'll fall asleep beside you and hope the bed never feels too big again.

i love you, y/n. more than i say. more than i even know how to say.

sincerely yours,

sae

#005. you never left me

author: y/n itoshi written on a paper, tucked between pages of his favorite book.

my beloved sae,

you always had a way with timing. i found your letter while you were asleep beside me, your hair still damp from the shower, your arm draped over my waist like it had always belonged there. it was early. the sky was barely blue. i should've gone back to sleep but i stayed up reading your words again and again until the sun kissed your face.

you always made it hard to believe you were real.

even after all this time.

do you remember the first time you left for a game after we moved here? i tried not to let it show but i cried after you closed the door. the house felt too big, the walls echoed. i lit a candle in every room just to feel less alone. that night, i slept in one of your old jerseys, clutching your pillow like a fool in love.

but maybe i was. maybe i still am.

there's a kind of peace in loving you now. it's quieter. maybe softer. like the tide pulling back. but it's still deep. still endless.

you've become a rhythm in my life, familiar and constant. like how i always wait for the kettle to click before pouring your tea. or how i leave your side of the bed cold until you come home to warm it again. even when you're gone, i know your love stays behind.

i think that's the thing about us. we never really leave each other.

you, with your quiet hands and steady presence. me, with my messy hair and louder heart.

some days i watch you from the balcony, your profile softened by golden light, your eyes somewhere far away. i wonder if you know how much i've loved watching you live. watching you try. watching you grow. i've been lucky enough to love you through every version of you, and i would choose you again in every version of me.

thank you for your letter.

thank you for your absence, too. but only because it makes your presence that much more beautiful.

come find this letter when you miss me again. i'm right here.

forever yours,

y/n <3

#006. the quiet after

author: y/n itoshi written late at night, left on sae's pillow under the soft lamp glow.

my beloved,

the house is finally quiet. the kids are asleep, our daughter tucked against her stuffed fox, our son somehow sideways across his bed with his foot still dangling off the edge (he's lowkey like you when he sleeps). there are crumbs on the counter from the cookies we made tonight and your jacket is still thrown over the kitchen chair. you told me you'd hang it up later. you didn't.

i'm writing this because i'm full. not of anything dramatic or poetic, really. just... full in the way you are after a warm meal and a long laugh. full in the way you feel when everything in your life has finally slowed down enough for you to look around and realize "this is it". this is the dream we didn't dare speak out loud when we were 21 and too in love and too scared and too young to think we'd get here.

and yet, here we are.

do you ever wake up and look around, wondering how we got so lucky? not just with the house or the garden or the sleepy mornings and movie nights, but with each other. because God, some days i look at you and still feel like i'm back in my early twenties, heart skipping, unsure whether to kiss you or cry from how much i want to hold your face in my hands.

you are the calm in this house, the steady, the anchor. the one who kneels to tie shoelaces and carries sleepy bodies upstairs and makes quiet breakfasts without ever needing thanks. you still don't talk too much. still raise your brow when i cry during disney movies. still steal bites of my food when you think i'm not watching (i am.).

and i know i'm loud sometimes. and perhaps messy. and sometimes i forget the laundry in the machine for too long. but i hope you know that no matter how much time passes, i will always be soft for you.

i will always kiss your hands when they're tired. i will always trace the lines near your eyes that laughter and love gave you. i will always watch you with the same wonder i did when i first realized you were mine.

we built this life together. from the bottom up. and even on the hard days, even when the baby cried and the dishes piled and our tempers snapped, especially on those days, i chose you. again and again.

there is no other version of this life i want to live. not without you. not even for a second.

come to bed soon. i'll keep your side warm.

love always,

y/n <3

#007. a promise across distance

author: sae itoshi written late one evening, found buried in the back pocket of his jeans where the day's exhaustion seemed to linger

mi amor,

i see your sneaky ways, hiding a letter in my underwear drawer, really? you thought you could get away with it but i'll have you know it took me quite a bit longer than expected to find it. guess i'm not as sharp as i used to be. but when i did find it, well... it hit me in a way i didn't expect. the truth is, there were a hundred things i could've done before coming to this, a thousand other moments that didn't need to be written, didn't need to be said aloud. but you still found a way to get through to me. you always do.

i was planning on responding right away but you know how i am. sometimes, i take my time to figure things out. i wanted to think about what you said. you have a way of making me feel everything all at once. i guess it's not just about what you've built for us. it's about everything that's come before it, too.

i've been thinking about the past a lot lately. you asked if i ever wake up and wonder how we got so lucky. and yeah, sometimes i do. but not for the reasons you think. you know that part of me, the part i never let anyone to see? it's always wondering whether i've done enough to deserve it. it thinks about the time we fought, a long time ago, over things that now seem so small.

that fight... it was stupid. i don't know what got into me. maybe it was the pressure of everything, having too many people's expectations on me, pushing me towards something that didn't feel right. i was so caught up in being the good son, the one who did everything he was supposed to. i'd tried to make everyone happy, except myself. and that led to mistakes. big ones. things i can't take back. and i should've told you about it from the start. long before they almost ruined everything God gave us both. but you forgave me. and i can't even begin to tell you how much that means to me.

there's something about how you always stay so grounded, always so sure, even when things feel like they might crumble. you're the constant in this life of mine that seems to spin so quickly. even with all the uncertainty, even with the ghosts of the past trying to creep back in, you were the one who pulled me back. and i'll never be able to repay you for that.

but i think you already know that.

i don't talk about it much but i've been thinking about rin a lot lately. i don't think i ever properly told you this. i don't know if i made the right choice when i left him when he was just a teenager. he was everything to me. we wanted to be the best strikers, us both, next to each other. but i destroyed those dreams. do you know why? it's because i wanted him to be the best striker of the world with me being the best midfielder. it seems like my dream came true. but does it really matter if i achieved mine by destroying someone else's dream? at the end of the day, he still achieved his dream, just without me. i understand why he still resents me. but i have to live with it. at least his wife is your friend.

so yes, mi amor, i wake up some mornings still unsure, still wondering how we ended up here. but then i remember, we chose each other, again and again. we've been through things that others would have never survived. but here we are, with our family, with our future. with you beside me, still the same, still as radiant as ever.

and in the end, maybe that's all that matters.

you say you keep my side warm while i'm away. just so you know, my side isn't quite as warm without you.

come back to me soon. i'll be waiting, as always.

with all my love,

sae.

#008. the letter never sent

author: y/n itoshi written late at night, tucked away in a small box, never meant to be read.

my beloved sae,

i don’t know why i’m writing this now. but tonight, as i sit here, i’m thinking about everything. about the life we’ve built, the way things have unfolded, the quiet moments where everything felt perfectly, beautifully aligned. there’s something about this age, about these years, that make me feel like i'm finally seeing things clearly. it’s almost as if i’ve lived enough to understand the beauty in the small things: the way our son still tries to sneak cookies before dinner, how our daughter insists on sitting next to me when we watch movies, or the way you always know exactly when i need to be pulled out of my head and just… live in the moment.

i’m so full, sae. full of memories. full of gratitude. full of love for you.

i don’t think i've ever told you enough how thankful i am. i used to tell myself that if i said it too often, it would lose meaning. but i don’t think that’s true. i think i just didn’t know how to say it in the right way. i guess this is me trying to get it right.

the truth is, i’m still the same girl who fell in love with you when i was too young to understand how much love i could have for someone. but i understand it now. i understand how much it hurts to love someone and how much it heals, how much it changes you. i understand that love doesn’t mean perfection. it means making mistakes and learning, it means patience and growth, and above all, it means choice. i’ve chosen you every day, sae, and i’ll keep choosing you for as long as i live.

sometimes, i look at you, just like I did back then, and i still feel the same flutter in my heart. i still feel like i’m falling in love with you all over again, even after all these years, even with everything we’ve been through. and i wonder, do you ever feel the same way? do you ever look at me and think about all the moments we’ve shared, the love we’ve fought for?

but the truth is, i’ve been thinking about the fights we’ve had too. we’re not perfect, and there have been times when our hearts were heavy, when words were spoken that shouldn’t have been. the time we argued because of the tension between us, the misunderstandings that nearly pulled us apart… i regret those moments. i regret the hurt, the silence that followed. i wish i could take back the things i said during those fights. but even then, in the hardest moments, i still chose you. i still knew that our love was bigger than those arguments.

do you ever think back to those days? the day we fought over things we should’ve just said out loud? the way i let my anger get in the way of my love for you? i hope you know that i never meant to hurt you. i just couldn’t see past my own fear, my own insecurities.

but now, looking back, i realize that even in those moments of doubt, we were still writing our story. every argument, every moment of hurt, every moment of joy, it all brought us to where we are now. and that’s a life i'm so proud of. i never imagined we’d have this, my love. i never imagined our little family, our home, this life that we’ve created together.

i think about rio, and how he’s growing into such a kind, thoughtful man. and rei, who has this fierce love for the world, so much like you, it almost makes my heart ache. i know they’ll carry what we’ve given them, the lessons we’ve taught them, even when we’re no longer here to remind them. i can see them growing into people who will make the world a better place.

but tonight, my love, as i sit here, i wish i could slow time. i wish i could hold on to this moment, this peaceful, contented moment, forever. i know time moves so fast, sometimes too fast. and in the quiet of the night, with the weight of everything on my heart, i wonder if we ever really get enough of it.

maybe that’s why I’m writing this, even though i don’t know how to put it all together. i just want you to know, sae, that i love you. i love you more than i can express. i've loved you in ways i never thought possible. and no matter how much time passes, no matter how much changes, that will never change.

and if there ever comes a time when i’m no longer here, i want you to know: i’ve never regretted a moment of this life we’ve built. i've never regretted loving you, even through all the highs and the lows.

i will always love you, sae. always.

forever yours,

y/n <3

#009. the silence that echoes

author: sae itoshi written on a quiet evening with only the hum of the clock for company.

mi amor,

i can’t say i was prepared for this quiet. the kind of silence that stretches out so long it becomes a presence of its own. it’s not the peace i thought i'd welcome. not the stillness that comes with calm. instead, it’s the kind of quiet that fills every corner of the house and reminds me of the noise i miss.

i’ve always said that i'd cherish the moments of solitude, the breaks, the time when things slow down. but now that it’s here, i realize that everything i've ever wanted, the success, the peace, the quiet nights, isn’t enough without you beside me.

i found myself standing in the kitchen today, just… standing. staring at the counter. i didn’t even notice how much time had passed, how the world outside moved on, how everything continued without us. it was strange, in a way, to be in this house without the usual hum of life around us. our grandchildren are growing fast. aiko's voice is already changing, and akira's practically outgrowing the house.

it’s funny, isn’t it? how we don’t realize how much we take for granted until it’s quiet. until the house feels empty. i always thought i’d be ready to handle this, to see the kids growing up, to move into a new phase of our lives. but i wasn’t ready for this.

i found your jacket today, thrown over the chair, the way you always leave it. it’s funny how such little things, things you never even think twice about, are the ones that remind me you’re still here. even when the kids are gone, even when the noise has died down, i feel you in those small details. i see you in the way the couch cushions are still shaped like they always are when you get up in the middle of the night for water.

i know i’ve spent too many years running after everything, making sure things are in their place, trying to keep the pace. i guess it’s true what they say, you don’t realize how fast time flies until it’s almost gone. and, honestly, sometimes i wish i’d taken more time to appreciate the simple things. to hold on to those quiet mornings when we’d share a cup of tea and just exist in the same space without saying a word. to remember how i felt when i first realized you were mine. how could i have missed that? how did we let it slip by?

but now, here i am, sitting in the quiet of this house, trying to figure out what comes next. i guess i never thought i’d need more than what we built, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid of what comes after this. i know things can’t stay the same. time moves forward, and we have to change with it. but I’m not ready to let go. not yet.

i still think about the fights, the ones we had, when we were younger, when everything felt like it was falling apart. those days when it seemed like we were so different, too many things between us. but even in those moments, when we were at our worst, i knew deep down that we were meant for something more. and look at us now. together. here. after everything. it’s a miracle, really.

maybe that’s what i'm trying to say. you’re my miracle, amor. the one thing i never thought i could have. and even though things are quieter now, even though i’m sitting here alone more than i care to admit, i’m not afraid. not of the future. not of the change. because i know i’ll never have to face it without you. and for that, i’ll always be grateful.

so, i’ll wait. i’ll wait for the noise to return, for the kids to come home, for the world to keep spinning. but more than that, i’ll wait for you. because, no matter how many quiet nights there are, no matter how much time passes, i’ll always be here. always waiting. always loving you.

you’ll find this letter where you always find them, tucked between the pages of our life, hidden in a place you wouldn’t think to look. but i know you’ll find it, because i’ll always leave something for you to hold on to.

until then,

sae.

#010. the time that passed

author: sae itoshi written in the dim light of the setting sun, the paper creased with age, ink blotting at the edges.

mi amor,

the years, i find, stretch on like the slow sinking of the sun beneath the horizon, reluctant, heavy with the weight of time, yet inevitable in its descent. i feel as though i am growing more like the evening sky, each day tinged with the colors of the past, the moments we shared, the dreams we once spoke of in hushed tones. but no matter how many years fall away, no matter how deep the shadows grow, it all circles back to you. always to you.

you know, y/n, there are mornings when i wake up and feel the soft press of your presence against me as though you were still here, as though i can hear your laugh echo through the house, the sound of your footsteps echoing on the stairs. i close my eyes, and there you are, standing in the kitchen, your back to me, humming a song, your hands moving as though you were never really gone. but when i open my eyes, i find only the silence. the space where you used to be.

and yet, i find solace in that silence. i hold on to it the way one clings to a memory that refuses to fade. it is not enough to fill the emptiness, but it is all i have left.

i never thought it would hurt this much to live without you. they warned me, in the years leading up to this, that death is a part of life. but no one ever told me how to live without you, how to breathe without the rhythm of your laughter, without the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the way you held my hand as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

do you remember how we used to talk about what we would do when we got older? how we imagined sitting in rocking chairs, laughing at the things we used to argue about, telling our grandkids stories about the “good old days”? i always thought we would have more time, more time to hold each other close, more time to finish our plans, more time to be in the small, quiet moments where everything made sense.

but that time, as it always does, slipped through our fingers. the days turned into years, and the years turned into memories. and now… i find myself alone, counting the moments as they pass, wishing for one more second, one more hour with you.

God, how i wish i could have given you more. more love. more time. more of me. i wish i had slowed down, been present, been with you in every moment. i wish i had held your hand a little longer when we sat together at the kitchen table, wished i had kissed you a little deeper when we said goodbye in the mornings.

but the past is a cruel thing, amor. it leaves me with nothing but this ache in my chest and the regret of things unsaid, things undone. you were my heaven on earth. when you walked into a room, the light seemed to follow you. i could not wait to get home, to hear your voice, to feel your warmth. you were the peace i never thought i could have. the love i never thought i deserved. and now, without you, i find myself lost.

i want to believe that you are out there somewhere, watching over me. maybe you’re sitting on a cloud, laughing at how i still can’t seem to get anything right without you by my side. but more than that, i want to believe that i will see you again. that, one day, we will be reunited in a place far beyond the stars, where time will no longer tear us apart.

and so i wait, mi amor. i wait for the day when my time has come. when i can leave this world behind and find my way to you. because if i’m being honest, i've had enough of this quiet life, this world without your laughter, your warmth, your presence. i am ready to return to you, to find you once again. i am ready for the end of this long, aching wait.

please know that, though i am not yet with you, my heart still beats only for you. it always will. even in the fading of my days, even when my body is no longer strong enough to keep going, i carry you with me. you are the reason i breathe. you are the reason i live. and when my time comes, i will not hesitate. i will find you. i will hold you again.

until then, i will keep writing these letters. i will keep living in the memories we created, because they are all i have left. and when i close my eyes, i will pretend, just for a moment, that you are still here, that you are still beside me.

te amo. para siempre. incluso más allá de los límites del tiempo. (i love you. forever. even beyond the bounds of time.)

always,

sae.

the evening was still, with the hum of the world outside muted by the thick glass of the living room windows. aiko sat on the couch, the old letters spread out before her, each yellowed page a fragment of the past, fragments of a love story that, despite the passing years, had never stopped breathing. her husband, victor, sat beside her, his hand resting on hers, their children sprawled at their feet, their heads tucked into pillows as they listened intently. aiko’s voice was soft but steady as she began to read aloud, her gaze drifting over the faded ink, each word a memory that had been passed down through generations.

“once upon a time,” she started, her eyes lifting to victor's for a moment, and he gave her that familiar, tender smile, the one that always made her heart flutter, just like her grandmother’s smile had done for her grandfather all those years ago.

“…there was a love that transcended time, a love that lived through the chaos, through the tears, through the quiet moments of everyday life. it was a love so deep, so unwavering, that even in death, it found its way back.”

the children, now wide-eyed, looked up at her. aiko could see the curiosity in their gazes, the unspoken questions filling the air like a palpable force. but aiko’s voice remained calm, steady, her heart wrapped in the warmth of the story that had shaped her own life.

“this letter,” she continued, “was written by my grandmother on a quiet evening just like this one, though… i never knew how it would feel to read it, not until now.”

she paused for a moment, taking in the memory of her grandmother’s handwriting, the delicate script that, despite its frailty, carried the strength of a love that had weathered every storm. she glanced at victor again, her heart squeezing just slightly. his eyes, those eyes that always understood her in a way no one else did, never left her face.

“her words,” aiko whispered softly, her voice dipping lower now, as though she were sharing a secret with the world, “are more than just love letters. they are promises, echoes of a love that never fades. even after all these years, their love lives on in us, in every moment we share. just like this.”

victor smiled, squeezing her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. their children sat quietly, listening to their mother’s words, captivated not just by the story, but by the way the story seemed to wrap itself around their own hearts, linking them to something larger, something eternal.

“grandma and grandpa,” their daughter, yumi, spoke up with a soft curiosity, “they loved each other so much? even when they got old, they never stopped loving?”

aiko chuckled softly, the tears in her eyes sparkling as she nodded. “yes, my dear. even when they were old, even when time seemed to slip away from them, their love never faded. they didn’t need grand gestures. they showed their love in every small thing. in the way they took care of each other, in the way they made each other laugh. in the way they held on to each other, even when life wasn’t perfect.”

victor leaned in, placing a kiss on her forehead, his voice low as he whispered, “just like us, huh?”

aiko smiled softly, feeling the weight of the years fall away, replaced by the gentle presence of love, the kind that transcends every boundary. she had lived this love, this unshakable, unwavering love. and now, she passed it down.

“yes,” aiko replied, her voice thick with emotion. “just like us.”

as she finished reading the last letter, the room seemed to hold its breath for a moment. the world outside was still, the only sound the soft rustle of the papers in her hands. she closed her eyes for a brief second, imagining her grandparents together again, wherever they were, side by side, in some quiet, peaceful place, forever entwined in the love they had built.

she opened her eyes to find her children looking at her with wide, expectant eyes. “now,” aiko said, her voice filled with warmth, “this love doesn’t end here. it lives in you, in me, in all of us.”

her son, luis, who had been quiet throughout the reading, suddenly looked up, his voice soft. “mom, do you think when we’re old, we’ll still love each other like grandma and grandpa did?”

aiko’s heart swelled at the question, and she met victor's gaze once more, feeling the silent answer pass between them.

“yes,” she said, her voice steady with certainty. “yes, i think we will.”

the evening passed quietly, with the sun finally dipping below the horizon, casting the room in a soft golden hue. the letters, tucked away once more in their box, were safe, just like the love they carried. in their hearts, the love of their grandparents would live on forever. and, in time, their own children, and their children’s children, would tell their stories too.

after all, love never truly dies. it just finds new ways to be remembered.

"by the way, did you know my grandpa was the best footballer in the world?"

"of course i know."

chapter 044 > here > ...

taglist is closed ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

note: thank you so much for being on this long long journey with me. i can't believe i finished this smau !! i couldn't decide if i should talk shit about lanlan and rensuke in this cute epilogue so i decided not to. but maybe in the bonus chapters!! (if u want) the ending was maybe a bit rushed and i'm sorry for that. but here's a gift for you!! this took me so long LMAO also, thank you so so much for 500 followers. i have so much love for every single one of you and i hope you enjoyed this series!! let me know if you have any wishes regarding bonus chapter(s) <3 thank you so much. - lya

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areyouwell · 11 months ago

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Sciophobia

Noun: An extreme fear of shadows. An adult or child with Sciophobia may experience extreme stress and anxiety in everyday life due to the nature of light and shadow.

Ch.2

Ch.1 <---

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: the most DISGUSTING, tooth-achingly sweet fluff, like candyfloss-style shit. i vomited twice writing it and once again proofreading it. they make pasta together for TWO THOUSAND WORDS so if that ain't yer thing im sorry the good stuff will start soon. and by that i mean body horror. i threw up writing that for a completely different reason...

Word count: 11k (strap in and strap on folks)

A/N: as mentioned in the warnings, this is almost pure fluff. sure there's MC rage so strong my timbers were shivered but other than that it's mostly fluff. i want you guys to know, i am setting us all up for failure, because this WILL get sad. but it'll get hot first, then downright filthy, the a little disgusting before it gets sad, we got a while to go so booties ch.2 LFG

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit

“Maybe just try… concentrating harder?”

It took all of your willpower not to cross the few steps it would take to punch Scott’s lights out. Why the Professor assigned him to help with your training, you’d never know. Sure, it wasn’t like you were constantly at each other’s throats like he and Logan seemed to be, but you never exactly saw eye to eye either. Scott was too… neat, for you. He liked rules too much, always following what his head told him he should do, rather than following his heart or gut. It was infuriating on missions, and you’d had plenty of arguments about the correct course of action before he became the de facto leader whether you liked it or not.

That was shortly before you went away, so you didn’t really have much time to experience the dictatorship of Scott Summers, and now you were back, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to.

“Ya know what Scott? I’d never thought of doing that, thanks!” you bit sarcastically, sweat beading along your brow. You’d been at this for well over an hour now, hour two fast approaching with no progress. You’d successfully shadow-walked, though Cyclops noted your hesitation to do so. But could he blame you? The idea of shadow-walking and then suddenly not having the strength to pull yourself back together, or whatever it was you did, was quite frankly, terrifying.

Scott sighed, placing a hand on his hip and running the other through his hair. “Alright, take ten, I’ll talk to the Professor.” He said, already making his way towards the iron doors. You let loose a frustrated breath, bracing your hands across the back of your neck. This was hopeless. Utterly hopeless. What’s worse, is that there was no proof you could actually do those things. No proof that was the Professor was saying was fucking true.

You were glad the back wall was cast in shadow as you stormed across the floor, sending your fist careening into the metalwork, instantly regretting your outburst when the crack of your split knuckles rang out louder than the punch itself. Clamping your lips between your teeth to stop yourself from crying out, you let yourself breathe through the pain, savouring it just slightly. It was good. Pain was good. It reminded you how you weren’t just a pile of shadows wandering aimlessly through the air yet. You doubted you could feel a broken hand if you didn’t have a hand to feel with.

Turning your back to the wall, you slid down to the floor, head buried between your knees with your arms casing you in, throbbing hand gripping your opposite shoulder tightly. You wouldn’t cry. You would. Not. Cry. That wasn’t you. You don’t cry. Since when did you cry?

This was how Logan found you. He’d been stuck in a meeting with Xavier and Storm all morning, going over the blueprints of the latest rescue mission the team would embark on. Though in all honesty, he was barely listening, his thoughts disobediently drifting back to you. The memory of your smile, the teasing lilt in your voice, the way your arms felt wrapped around his neck, the scent of your hair invading his heightened nose. He wondered how you were getting on with Scott, and he pitied the fact you were having to do this with Scott. That was until the man of the hour walked through the doors, disrupting the meeting and finally releasing him back into the world.

It’s no wonder his feet led him straight to you, you’d been on his mind that much. So to see you like this, curled up against the opposite wall, your hand an angry red, it tugged at his heart.

You didn’t seem to notice him as he crossed the room, only looking up when he kicked the gym mat with his foot. There was that smile again. The one that didn’t reach your eyes and only serve to fool people who were fucking idiots into thinking you were okay.

The last person you expected to see walk through those doors was Logan. Last you’d heard, he was stuck in a meeting with Charles and Ororo. Scott was initially furious he’d been asked to help develop your mutation instead of intent ‘crucial strategy meetings’ so he called them, but he soon lightened up when you not-so-subtly reminded him it’s because Charles thought he was the best option to help you.

You sighed heavily, bracing your good hand on your knee as you rose to your feet. For Logan to see you in such a sorry state wasn’t high on your list of priorities. You were pretty sure it wasn’t on that list at all.

“Not goin’ well?” he asked softly, and you had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from tearing up. You watched his eyes flicker from your face to your hand, thick brows pinching in concern. You followed his line of sight, not that you needed to, you could fucking feel your knuckles pulsing fire up your arm.

“Uh, no, not really. I’d love to say I did this punching Scott, but he left before I could, so I took it out on the wall instead.” You half smiled, and Logan found himself blowing out a huff of laughter. Even in this state, in this mindset, you could still find humour.

Sinking your hand into the shadows across the wall behind you, you felt the familiar tingle of, what you now know was your body breaking apart, before the slight itch of pulling it back together as you dragged it back out, good as new.

Logan thought for a moment, hazel eyes flicking from you to the shadows behind you. “Have you tried–”

“If you’re about to say ‘concentrating harder’ I might have to hurt you.” You interrupted, much to his amusement.

“I’m assumin’ that’s what Scott said?”

“Word for fucking word,” you said with a slight lopsided smile. Now that one reached your eyes.

Logan took a few steps forward, now borderline pinning you against the wall. If it wasn’t for his hearing, he would have missed the way your breath hitched slightly, the slight shudder in your exhale. He chalked it down to your apprehension toward your situation. He had to. Giving himself hope like that just led to a shit load of hurt.

“What I was goin’ to say, was have ya tried from in there?” he raised a brow, his eyes looking past you and at the wall behind, and you had to take a minute to remember what you were talking about, his proximity all but throwing all and any thought out the window. It was achingly familiar to yesterday in the kitchen.

“You might be onto something…” you breathed when you remembered how to form words. Now you were thinking about it, he could be right. Why on earth were you trying to call the shadows to you, when you could drag them out with you? However, the idea of once again disappearing into shadow didn’t fill you with the same sense of freedom it once did.

And Logan could see it. The hesitation, apprehension. You’d told him you were scared last night, but this was the first time he’d seen it. “I’ll be right here, yeah?” Fuck the way you looked at him shattered his heart. You wanted to be brave, you wanted to have the same sense of wonder you always did when it came to your mutation. He looked at the clench of your jaw, the flare of your nostrils as you nodded.

“Alright… don’t go anywhere.” you half-joked, sliding your hands down the cool wall behind you, feeling your skin tingle at the mere idea of disappearing into the darkness.

“Where would I go? You’re right here.” Logan responded, placing his index finger on the centre of your forehead and pushing ever so slightly. It gave you enough courage to fall back into the darkness, feeling the release of those threads holding your corporeal body together.

Logan wasn’t really sure why he said that and he hoped to fuck you were too nervous about this whole thing to actually register what he’d said. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he watched you fold into the shadow, taking a few steps back and looking at his watch. Any longer than three minutes and he’ll start to think this was a really bad idea. Though, he probably should have told you that before you disappeared.

Fuck.

It was always a strange sensation. Your consciousness was still intact, but the rest of your body had disappeared, scattered into a million different pieces. Probably billions. You couldn’t see, but you didn’t need to. You could sense. Sense the layout of the room. Sense where the shadows begin and where they end. Everything became nothing, and it was freedom. Quieting your thoughts, you concentrated. Concentrated on pulling. It was the same itching sensation you felt when leaving the shadows, except you tried to ground yourself.

Ground yourself in a place that had literally no ground.

This was fucking impossible.

You felt yourself slipping, the shadows around you not knowing what it was you were asking. Did the shadows have consciousness too? You didn’t know. Who fucking knew? And you didn’t fucking care. You tried to concentrate again, pulling against those threads you used to bring yourself from one place to the other toward you.

And only succeeding in moving again. Walking. This was no fucking different to what you’ve always done. Just moving from one point to the next. You’d already fucking mastered that.

But at least one good thing had come from this. You weren’t afraid anymore.

You were fucking angry.

Your consciousness writhed like a ball of angry vipers, pulling at all and any threads you could sense around you, flicking from one place to another with no rhyme or reason, no direction.

If you could scream, you would have done. If you could lash out, you would have done. Rage rippled through your senses, those threads around you thrashing and flailing. Useless. Fucking useless. Maybe this was the fate you deserved. Disappearing into nothing, being nothing. Maybe you did deserve it.

But you wouldn’t fucking accept it. Not yet.

This is “–fucking POINTLESS!” you roared, stepping from the shadow, your body itching all over, buzzing with adrenaline, your back almost burning. Your eyes took time to adjust to the light again, but you were too furious to register anything. “What’s the fucking point? Nothing works! I can’t pull them toward me, I can’t pull them with me, this is fucking stupid!” you continued your tirade, almost feeling the physical weight of your failure heavy upon your shoulders. “I can’t fucking do it, so why bother trying? It’s been a day and I’m already sick of this shit!” you heaved, breath searing your newly formed lungs, sending shockwaves of fire through your shoulder blades. You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been this angry. “If this stupid fucking mutation doesn’t kill me I’ll do it myself I swear to fucking god and what the FUCK are you smiling at Logan?!” You bellowed, your eyes finally registering what they were seeing.

Logan had probably the world’s most gorgeous smile, and you wished you weren’t too pissed off to appreciate it. But before he had time to answer, Scott and Charles entered the room, Scott dropped a mug of what looked like freshly brewed coffee straight onto the floor, the shattering of the ceramic lingering in the air as the room fell deadly silent.

“What?” you asked, now slightly fearful as the three men peered at you, each with a different expression. Scott seemed utterly horrified, his jaw slack and agape. Charles looked almost smug, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. And Logan?

Logan just grinned at you, arms folded across his chest. “You did it,” he whispered, nodding to what you thought was the wall behind you. Your eyes lingered on his as you turned your head, finally looking at what everyone else in the room seemed to be seeing.

Honestly, you were fucking shocked you didn’t notice. At least now the burning in your shoulder blades had an explanation.

Two broad, rippling wings of pure shadow spread wide from your back, the darkness almost pulsing along with your rapid heartbeat. It felt good, and you noted the lack of pressure about your body. Those threads that seemed constantly under strain had loosened, seemingly constantly fed by the shadows at your back.

You slowly pulled at the strings, watching the wings move and shift with your intentions. Your fury dissolved as you watched in complete awe, along with the three others in the room. They folded close to your back and you felt the buzzing of energy against your leg, before you extended them again to their full size, tips grazing either side of the room.

“Wh… H-how?” Scott managed to stutter, taking a cautious step forward. You looked from your shadows to Cyclops.

“It, uh, it was Logan’s idea. Pull them out with me rather than trying to pull them towards me…” you were still reeling, slowly extending your fingers before trying to move the rest of your body. You didn’t know how much concentration it was taking to keep them intact, and you were a little afraid of letting them slip. Your breath came heavy as if you’d run around the estate at least four times.

Logan looked back at Scott, unable to help his ‘fuck you’ brow raise. And to his satisfaction, Scott clicked his tongue in irritation. He turned back to you when he heard your slight laugh, clearly having noticed the silent exchange between them.

“How did you even know about this?” Scott asked accusingly.

“She told me.” Logan retorted as if it was the most obvious response on the planet. Scott just stood there in shock.

“She… she told you? She told you. As in, the one over there?” Cyclops pointed at you and you flipped him off in return.

“Yeah? Who else would we be talkin’ ‘bout?”

“It’s just, she doesn’t tend to… do that,”

“She is right fucking here!” you held your arms up, gesturing to yourself in a way that thankfully returned the boys’ attention back to the situation at hand.

“Yeah well, this is all well and good,” Scott continued, crouching now to pick up the larger pieces of the shattered mug, “but how do you release them?” he finished.

He had a point. You couldn’t wander around the school with two giant wings stuck to your back, as much as you wanted to. How would you get through the doorways? Xavier wheeled forward until he was next to Logan, his face now much more serious.

“Carefully. Release it too quickly and the threads could go with them,”

“Wouldn’t that just mean she would be back in the shadow?” Logan asked, slight concern lacing his baritone voice. There was a catch here, and every single one of you knew it.

“Ordinarily yes, however, she cannot disappear into her own shadow. If she releases those threads anywhere other than back to its original form, there’s a risk of her disappearing with it and getting stuck,” He explained, to nobody’s understanding. You knew you couldn’t disappear into your own shadow, you’d tried before and your body simply wouldn’t let you.

“So wait… I can pull the shadow with me but have to return it to where it was, essentially?” you asked, slowly so that your question could be understood, even by yourself. Charles nodded, and you took a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself.

Logan couldn’t help but feel partly to blame for this. He’d encouraged you to take this step, to try alternate methods of developing your mutation, and now he had, you were stuck like this until you felt sure you could release it carefully. Shit.

‘She made it this far because of you. We have a chance at changing her fate because of you, Logan. You cannot regret that.’ It was always jarring when the Professor found his way into his head, and it wasn’t the least bit soothing. What did ease him a little, however, was your slight reassuring smile, renewed with confidence.

You could see he was battling with guilt, terrified that he may have endangered you. But you could do this. You’d already managed to achieve something you never thought you could today, what’s one more miracle?

“Hooookay, let’s try this… carefully, right?” it was a rhetorical question because honestly? You were a little scared, and stalling seemed to give you time to collect your thoughts and calm your slightly stuttering heart.

“Carefully,” Charles instructed, and you nodded once before taking another deep breath. Holding it for a few moments, you tightened the threads you hoped to fuck were holding you together, keeping them in place before blowing out the breath, releasing your connection to the wings behind your back. You felt them bleed down your shoulders, shivering slightly as the shadows snaked down your legs and back against the wall behind you, returning to their original state.

You’d closed your eyes at some point, honestly, you couldn’t remember when. You were scared to open them, scared to see if you’d fucked anything up, if parts of your body were just completely shadow, or whether you had accidentally grown multiple limbs or something. You knew your mind was running away from you, but you couldn’t help it, as ridiculous as it felt.

Logan smiled slightly to himself as he watched the shadows wash away and return to the wall, and that inward smile broadened when he noticed you weren’t moving, eyes clenched shut, your hands balled into fists, your shoulders tensed and hunched. He stepped forward and up to you, gently bracing his hands on either side of your neck, thumbs angling your jaw up a little. Your soft gasp didn’t escape his ears.

“Y’alright?” He asked, eyes searching your face before finding your own gaze, your lids having fluttered open. You visibly relaxed, one hand that was previously balled into a tight fist now gently sliding up his wrist, resting atop his forearm. Your touch was electric, fingertips sending shivers down his spine.

“Fine, I think,” you responded, gliding your nails through the hair on his arm. It was an absent response to his touch. You wanted to be closer to him, to bury your head in the crook of his neck and breathe in his pinewood scent. His breath was a mix of mint and tobacco, and you wondered if his lips had a permanent hint of whiskey if you were to taste them, having been told by a grumbling Jean that was who the hidden, half-empty bottle in the cupboard belonged to.

You instantly mourned the loss of his touch when he stepped back, though you were grateful he did. You’d been dangerously close to kissing him, and whilst you still wanted to, perhaps not without an audience of Charles and Scott.

“How are you feeling?” You blinked when the Professor addressed you directly, having forgotten what living in reality was like for a few moments. Nodding along with an answer you hadn’t voiced yet, you grinned along with a deep, contorting rumble of your stomach.

“Apparently, starving.” A chuckle escaped your lips and you braced a hand against your stomach in an attempt to soothe away the uncomfortable feeling of hunger.

“I think that’s enough for today. Logan, could you take this one to the kitchen? Make sure she’s fed.” There was a knowing look in Professor Xavier’s eye that Logan wasn’t sure he liked. Sure, he may have just lovingly held your face whilst bringing you back from the brink of terror, but that didn’t mean there was anything going on between the two of you. You met yesterday!

“Sure.” he shrugged, trying his damnest to sound nonchalant about it. You stretched your arms up above your head, popping your elbows slightly as you followed Logan from the room, feeling a thousand times lighter than you did when you entered two hours ago. Honestly, you couldn’t believe you’d succeeded.

The doors closed behind you with a soft swish, and you paused to appreciate the man walking ahead of you. You’d known each other for less than twenty-four hours, and yet you’d tear the fabric of the universe apart to ensure his safety. You knew almost nothing about him, and yet you felt the strangest pull towards him, a yearning to be around him, to be near him. It was infuriating, but so fucking exciting at the same time. Could this maybe be something? Did he feel this weird connection too? Or was it just your delusions working overtime? Honestly, hard to say.

“Take a picture, it’d last longer.”

You snapped from your daze to notice he’d turned back to you, realising you weren’t following him. Flashing him a broad smile, refusing to feel any kind of embarrassment that he’d caught you practically staring at him, you jogged a little to catch up, effortlessly falling into step beside him.

“Wanted to thank you,” you looked up at him through the corner of your eye, catching his own gaze.

“What for?”

“Everything. Logan, I’ve known you for less than a full day and you’ve already helped me more than people I’ve known practically my whole life. The Professor excluded. So yeah, thanks.” You shrugged, hitting the button on the lift to take you both back up to the ground floor. The doors closed and you leaned against the back wall, crossing one ankle over the other.

“You need better friends if you’re thankin’ me for anythin’. Wouldn’t anyone else do the same?” he asked, mirroring your stance against the adjacent wall, folding his arms across his chest. You snorted a laugh, and he found himself smiling at you.

“Yeah, friends would, but like I said, we haven’t even known each other a full twenty-four hours yet.”

Logan cocked a brow, his smile morphing back to a small smirk. “Well pardon me, princess, I thought we were friends.”

You rolled your eyes, and Logan had a horrendous feeling he’d misread the entire situation between you. “I mean like, lifelong friends, asshole. People I’ve known ever since I can remember. Not people I met yesterday,” you finished, gently kicking his foot with your own. Logan straightened up as the lift slowed to reach the ground floor, softly flicking your forehead in response to your kick, causing you to bat his hand away.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? You made an impact,” he shrugged, and you grinned.

“Oh yeah?”

“Don’t let it get to your head, bub. I’m just sayin’ you show up after not existin’ and immediately cause trouble.” he watched your expression shift from mischievous to a sheepish pout, unable to beat the trouble-maker allegations. He sighed slightly. “But hey, maybe I like trouble.” The doors opened for the both of you to leave, Logan being the first to make his exit. Though, you stayed behind for a beat.

“Or maybe trouble just likes you,” you retorted with that same lopsided smile he’d come to admire so much, before pushing back against the wall to join him.

“Yeah well, ‘m’not mad about it either way,” he mumbled, and you thought better about teasing him for it. You imagined this was about as close as he was gonna get to voicing genuine care for you, so you let it drop, simply humming a thoughtful smile in response.

You don’t know why you were expecting the kitchen to have a few people in it, since classes were currently going on. Maybe it was due to the fact you hadn’t exactly settled back into the life of a teacher yet. Not that you were a teacher anymore, the man currently rifling through the snacks cupboard had seen to that. You found, with no small degree of surprise, that you missed it. You missed teaching combat and strategy, you missed taking the kids through training drills and exercise routines. You missed helping them hone their mutations, with Jean’s help, or Ororo’s help. Sure, the worry of them getting hurt always used to play on your mind, but now you were back, you realised that the worry was worth the fulfilment.

Taking a seat at the table, you propped your chin up on the heel of your palm, watching as Logan crouched to one of the cupboards below the counter. You didn’t pretend like you weren’t enjoying the view. He really did look fantastic for one hundred and thirty. In peak physical condition.

“I’d say take a picture again but I’d really rather you didn’t,” you were too focused shamelessly staring at his ass you hadn’t noticed he was peering at you over his shoulder with a not-so-subtle smirk. You flashed one right back.

You were coming to like that phrase. “I wouldn’t be opposed,” you retorted, wiggling your brows up and down. Logan snorted a laugh.

“You flirt with everyone like this?”

You shook your head, moving to rest your chin on top of your now interlaced fingers. “Nah, only with the ones over ninety. I have a thing for older men,” you winked and he rolled his eyes.

“Stop,” but judging from his expression, Logan was finding this just as amusing as you were. But as much as you wanted to continue, your curiosity got the better of you.

“What’re you looking for?” you asked, standing from your seat at the table and skirting around the wood to sit on the edge closer to him, peering down over his shoulder.

“There used to be a packet of insta-noodles in here somewhere but I think one of the kids got to it first,” he explained, and you gasped dramatically, to the point where he actually looked a little concerned over his shoulder. “What?”

“Insta-noodles? My brother in Christ, please tell me you were not about to give me instant fucking noodles?” you felt something in you die at the thought, and something else died at his affirming nod.

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?” he asked, genuinely perplexed by your reaction. It was just noodles for fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like he’d just offered to kick a baby. He blinked at your barked laugh of disbelief, watching as you hopped off the table and shooed him aside.

“Step back fossil–”

“Hey!”

“and let me do this. We’re going to actually have food. Like, real food. Take a seat or watch and learn.” You shot him a look over your shoulder, before gathering whatever ingredients you needed. Logan dragged one of the chairs back from the table, taking a seat to watch whatever it was you were about to make.

You started by dicing an onion, a pan with oil already heating up on the gas stove, and it took all of three minutes for Logan to be impressed by your knife skills. You almost wielded the thing like a dagger, flipping it this way and that, before scooping half the pile of onion and dropping it into a plastic bowl. The other half you scraped into the pan, and Logan couldn’t help but savour the sound of the sizzle and the smell of food. Suddenly, he too was starving.

You crossed to the fridge, rummaging around the bottom shelf before pulling out a tub of minced beef, and a packet of mushrooms. Closing the door with your hip, you lay the ingredients out on the counter, pulling open the cupboard above your head to retrieve a box of breadcrumbs and a carton of eggs. Though he saw you pause briefly, turning your head back to him.

“You’re not vegetarian or vegan, right? Probably should have asked yesterday,” your question made him laugh, and you tilted your head to the side. “What?”

“Do I look vegan to you?”

You stuck your tongue in your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. No, no he didn’t. But at the same time, you’d made a similar mistake in the past. And it still haunts you to this day.

“Just answer the question, Lo’” you grit, placing a hand on your hip. Logan blinked, trying his best to get past the nickname you’d just given him. Usually, nicknames were his thing, having about a million different ones for a million different circumstances. He barely managed to shake his head, earning himself a smile of gratitude from you, before you turned back to your task at hand and he could settle himself with his brow pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

You crouched again, rifling through the cupboard with cans. Pushing a stack of soup to the side, you froze solid, your eyes blowing wide as your hand shook at what you saw. Another mug, though someone had gone to great lengths to hide this one. Your fingertips grazed the faded image, a photograph of a younger-looking you and a girl with fair features, her braids tied back at the top of her head. Her smile was brilliant. Dazzling. It took you a moment to will your blurring vision away, before inhaling deeply and bringing out the chopped tomatoes you’d been looking for, setting it to the side. Taking a moment to push her from your mind whilst stirring the slowly browning onions, you then cross to fill the kettle, flicking the switch to start boiling. Logan blew out a breath, having recovered from his heart stuttering and finally went back to watching you cook.

It was calming, almost hypnotic, the way you moved about the kitchen. Folding the onions in with the beef mince, breadcrumbs and two eggs. Only, it just occurred to him he had no fucking clue what you were making. Standing from his seat, he moved over to lean his shoulder against the fridge door, now having a clear line of sight to watch what you were doing.

“What’re you making?” he asked, smiling slightly as you startled. He didn’t mean to scare you, he just honestly didn’t realise how deep into the process you were.

“Meatball Marinara,” you answered, your fingers incorporating the ingredients in the bowl until you were left with a sticky, meaty lump you could form balls out of.

“From scratch?” he asked, eyes slightly wide. You’d spoken at length about your cooking last night, and how you’d learned, and it wasn’t that he didn’t believe you, it was more that he didn’t quite realise how impressive it was until he was here, watching you.

He swore, your smile could start and end wars.

“It’s pretty quick and easy, to be honest,” you explained, eyes never leaving your task despite feeling his own trained on you. You grabbed the salt from the spice rack, twisting the grinder a few times until you felt it was right. That was what a lot of cooking was for you. Just feeling. When you felt something was done, you’d take it from the oven. When you felt something needed a little more seasoning, you’d sprinkle some paprika in for an extra kick. Nothing was ever done by the book.

It’s mainly why you didn’t exactly get on with Scott.

“Huh…” Logan responded, watching how you’d started to take small portions of the beef and roll it into little balls, placing them onto a separate plate.

“Could you give the onions a quick stir? ‘ve got meat hands,” you wiggled your slightly shining fingers in his face, and he jerked back, much to your amusement. Logan fought the urge to flick your forehead again, settling on ignoring your evil little laugh and instead focussing on his critical mission of stirring onions.

“D’ya cook like this when you were away?” he asked, finding an insane amount of domestic comfort in cooking with you. He saw you shake your head out of his peripheral vision.

“Nah, didn’t have time, plus I was moving around a lot. Usually, it was quicker and easier things than this,”

“Like insta-noodles?”

You could fucking hear his smirk, and you managed to stop yourself from cracking an egg over his head. “No. Never insta-noodles. Ever.”

You’d finished making little meatballs and had started splitting apart a bulb of garlic, crushing the cloves beneath your knife before peeling off the skin and dicing them before dropping them into the pan he was still stirring. His eyes closed involuntarily as you leaned across him, once again your scent hitting him like a freight train, only this time your shampoo had blended with the sweet, slightly musky smell of your sweat. It was enough to drive him fucking feral.

“Keep stirring that, or it’ll stick to the bottom and burn,” you instructed absently, halfway through chopping up a few mushrooms before leaning across him again to drop them into the pan as well. Logan held the spoon like it was his lifeline, knuckles draining white as you moved around him to retrieve another pan.

“Yes ma’am,” he responded, and you snorted another laugh. He really had to pull himself together.

You poured the boiled water from the kettle into the new pan, lighting the burner and setting it on a high heat, bringing the water roiling before grinding salt for what Logan felt was far too long. He wondered vaguely if you had high sodium levels, or how your blood pressure was. You waited again for the water to come back to a boil, before placing a sizeable amount of spaghetti into the pan, putting slight pressure on the tips so the ends would soften and bend faster in the water.

Placing the lid over the pan, you went to check your watch. Your watch that you weren’t wearing. Fucking goddamnit. You looked around for a clock, before noticing Logan’s wrist.

Logan’s soul nearly left his body at the way you grabbed his hand, twisting his wrist to make a note of the time. You weren’t exactly rough, but it was assertive enough for him to think twice about the kinds of things he was into…

Wait, what the fuck was he talking about?

“You could’ve just asked the time,” he muttered, tugging his wrist back almost possesively.

“Hm?” you blinked. In truth, you’d been utterly lost in how good this felt. How right it felt to just do average, mundane tasks with him. “Oh, right, yeah, sorry. Could you tell me when ten minutes have passed?” you asked, almost instantly busying yourself again by carefully dropping the meatballs into the pan he was stirring. “Gotta brown off the meat first…” you instructed softly, almost absently. But he listened, slowing his movements. Your resulting smile was radiant. “Hey, you’re a natural!”

Logan raised a brow. “I’m stirring a pan, bub. Not exactly gourmet style.” You laughed, gently hitting his bicep with the back of your hand, only to stop in your tracks, shaking your knuckles out.

“Ow! I thought you said your bones were made of adamantium,” you exclaimed, rubbing over the back of your hand with your other palm. In truth, it didn’t really hurt, but you just wanted to make a point because nobody has the right to be this built. It was insane.

Logan bit his tongue to stop from smiling, his eyes sliding from that pan to you. “Just the result of a good workout regime,” he shrugged as if it were nothing special. In reality, he knew he looked good. He put a lot of work into his physique, and whilst his mutation did help with that, it was still nice to be complimented on it once in a while.

“Huh… you don’t say,” you responded, cracking open the can of tomatoes once the meatballs had browned to your satisfaction. The metal sizzled slightly as you poured in the sauce, setting the can to the side and retrieving a few basil leaves from the window box on the opposite side of the room. Logan hadn’t noticed it before, remarkably, and though having no experience with plants in recent history, something told him he wouldn’t have too much trouble identifying what they were.

It was a weird feeling. Remembering something he didn’t actually remember. Though it had been the story of his life for the last few years.

You dropped the leaves into the sauce, leaving him to stir the pot whilst you brought out two sets of plates and cutlery and set them on the counter, angling your head so you could catch sight of the time from the watch on his wrist. He would have just told you if he didn’t think you were deriving some kind of joy from attempting to read his watch sideways.

Removing the lid from the pan, you scooped up a single piece of spaghetti, blowing away the steam before dropping it into your hand when you thought it was cool enough. You shot him a quick look Logan could only describe as pure mischief, before throwing the spaghetti against the backsplash of the stove. He watched as the pasta hit the wall with a sick squelch, before sliding down the tiles.

He looked back at you, and you almost instantly burst into fits of laughter. “The fuck was that for?” he asked, his brows furrowed in perplexion.

You managed to recover from laughing, though hiccuped through a few giggles. “You can tell whether spaghetti’s done by throwing it at the wall. If it sticks, it’s raw, if it slides, it’s done,” you exclaimed, tilting your head to get another look at the time, noting that those ten minutes were up.

“Really?”

“Nah, that’s an old wive’s tale. Honestly, it’s just kinda fun to pelt spaghetti at a wall and call it ‘cooking’.” You sent him a wink, and Logan shook his head in fond disbelief. He felt like he’d seen so many sides to you in the last twenty-four hours alone. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he wanted to see more. He wanted to see how many sides to you there were, and whether he would like them all as much as he liked the ones he’s already seen. Your fury included.

“Your ten minutes it up, by the way,” he reminded you, and though he had a feeling you already knew, you nodded in thanks anyway, removing the boiling pan from the stove and flicking off the burner, the blue gas flames retreated to nothing. Skirting around him to the sink, you tipped out the water, using the lid of the pan to stop the rest of the spaghetti from falling with it. You shook the pan slightly, shaking out any pieces that had stuck together, before setting about separating the contents into two portions, one slightly bigger than the other.

“How’s it looking?” you asked, leaning back to take a look at the sauce. If Logan had to grit his teeth after smelling your scent one more time his jaw would fucking snap. You really weren’t making this easy on him, were you? Part of him wondered if you were doing it deliberately, but there was no way of you knowing about his heightened senses. Unless you’d asked around, which, with everything you’ve had going on since you got back, he sincerely doubted.

“Looks good to me, but I’m not the expert here,” he handed you the spoon, stepping to the side for you to take over. Your fingers brushed his as you took it, and he tried his fucking best to ignore the slight buzz you’d left.

Lifting the spoon to your lips, you sampled what you’d been slaving over for the last twenty minutes, smiling slightly as the sweet, tarty flavours burst on your tongue. It was a new sensation for Logan to wish he was a spoon, but here he was.

“Perfect!” you beamed, dipping the spoon back in the sauce and turning to him, your palm cupped beneath the wood to prevent anything from spilling onto the floor. “Wanna try it?”

Logan shrugged, stepping forward and allowing you to bring the spoon to his lips. Your eyes never left his, the tips of your fingers grazing the coarse stubble beneath his chin, but you didn’t move away. He struggled to focus on anything other than how close you were to him, the feeling of your fingers on his jaw, your breath fanning the lower half of his face. Your hopeful eyes waiting eagerly for his verdict, searching his expression for any kind of clue. And he was suddenly afraid of what you’d find there.

Stepping back, he pretended like he was savouring what you’d fed him, and whilst it was fucking delicious, it didn’t compare to how he imagined your lips tasting. Or anything else, for that matter.

“‘S’really good,” he managed, and you immediately looked as if you weren’t waiting with bated breath for his approval.

“Isn’t it? Fuck I’m good,” your laugh was more akin to an evil mastermind than someone who’d just made meatballs, but Logan would be hard-pressed to find another time in his life when he felt this at peace with the world. At least, not in the life he could remember. “Sit, I’ll bring it over,” you instructed, removing a larger, metal spoon from the drawer, which he took off you the moment he could.

“Pretty sure it’s supposed to be the other way ‘round, bub. You cooked,” he glanced pointedly to the seat you’d just gestured to. But clearly, you were, amongst many other things, incredibly stubborn.

“Not sure how you worked that one out, you cooked too,” you folded your arms across your chest, setting your jaw.

“Yeah, barely. Sit your ass down,” he pointed to the chair with the spoon in his hand, but you still refused, now leaning against the counter as if you could get any further away from the table. Logan sighed heavily, placing the spoon down again. “Didn’t wanna have to do this…” he muttered, and you didn’t have the chance to ask what he meant by this before his arms were around your waist and you were lifted effortlessly off the ground.

All breath fled from your lungs. Your hands instantly fell to his shoulders, nails clinging on for dear life as he carried you to that godforsaken chair. His grip around your body tightened as you attempted to wriggle free from his arms, laughing breathlessly, exhilaration coursing through your body. Only, the moment he tried to set you down, you did a complete 180 and wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

“Let go,” his words were muffled against your neck as he bent almost double, and you leaned back until you were practically hovering above the chair.

“Seemed like a good idea a minute ago, huh?” You arched a cocky brow and were met with an expression mirroring your own.

“So you gonna cling to me forever? That your genius plan?”

“If that's what it takes,”

“Let go,” the way he said your name almost had you falling to the floor, your muscles suddenly growing weak. But you stayed strong, out of nothing but principal at this point. He wasn’t even holding you anymore, you were clinging on through sheer willpower alone. For the sake of being stubborn.

“You made this bed, now lie in it,” you responded haughtily, refusing to look into his irritated façade.

“That doesn’t make any goddamn sense,” he growled, and you fucking melted. That wasn’t fucking fair, and judging by the steadily growing smirk, he knew it. His hands gripped both your calves, successfully peeling you from his waist whilst you were distracted. You had no choice but to let your legs fall to the floor, catching yourself on the chair behind you, much to his triumphant grin.

“You cheated!” you gaped, sitting cross-legged on the seat. Logan barely looked over his shoulder as he started spooning the sauce onto the two piles of pasta. All that over fucking spaghetti. And you didn’t even regret it a little.

“How’d I cheat?” he asked, though you were aware he knew full well how. And you were right. He did know. Of course he knew. He’d used that specific voice countless times before. Usually under very different circumstances. He just wanted to hear you say it. Hear you say how it affected you.

But, true to form, you were stubborn.

“You’re stronger than I am,” you sighed, glaring heated daggers into the back of his head. You wanted to be petty, to stand up and take the spoon from him again, but in all honesty, you don’t think you’d survive another round of ‘sit on the fucking chair’.

Logan looked at you over his shoulder, his eyes swirling with knowing, and you stuck your tongue in your cheek and looked away, not giving him any satisfaction of confirming what he was thinking. You’d been so caught up in avoiding eye contact, that you almost jumped when he set the plate down in front of you, setting his own at the opposite place. At least he’d had the sense to realise the large portion was for him. Credit where credit was due, you guessed.

A comfortable silence blanketed the kitchen as he took a seat, two glasses of water in his hands, and you smiled a thank you. If you had your brother to thank for anything, it was teaching you how to cook. Well, it was many more things than that, but at this moment, it was cooking lessons. He didn’t want you going into the world with the culinary skills of a carrot. His words, not yours.

You had a feeling Logan was a hard man to impress, so listening to his small grunt of appreciation was music to your ears. “Told ya I was a good chef,” you beamed after swallowing a mouthful and taking a large sip of water.

Logan nodded in agreement. It wasn’t like he could disagree, the proof was right there, in front of him, in his fucking mouth for fuck’s sake. And the peace pesto from last night. Though he was glad his metabolism was fast. Pasta two days in a row can’t be good for anyone. “Never said you weren’t,” your expression fell from pride to scowling in seconds, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “You’re a fantastic chef.”

Your eyes narrowed as you searched for any hint of dishonesty, but you came up short. Though he said it as if to placate you, something told you he really meant it. You were just playing around, in all honesty, teasing in order to forget what just happened between you, and you’d gotten so much more than you bargained for.

Much like the other night, you both fell into comfortable, mundane conversation, finding refuge in how fucking normal everything felt right now. You laughed and smiled as if the threat of disappearing into nothing didn’t constantly hang above your head, and he teased and joked as if the weight of his forgotten life didn’t constantly burden his shoulders. You could get used to this. Dangerously used to this.

Logan was completely enamoured by you, once again finding himself encapsulated by the way you talk, from moments where you get really into whatever story you’re telling, to quieter moments when you let the conversation settle. If he was to die tomorrow, unlikely but worth entertaining from time to time, it was moments like these he was sure would flash through his mind.

“What about you? I’ve talked your ear off about my life but you never talk about yours. Though, I guess there’s a lot to talk about,” you mused thoughtfully, twisting your fork through your spaghetti, or whatever was left of it. Logan grunted, shifting in his seat to lean against the back of the chair.

“It’s not a happy story,” he admitted quietly, buying himself some time by taking a long glass of water. Your gentle eyes found his, a soft smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“I’m not looking for a fairytale. Just who you are,” you fought the urge to reach across the table and slip your hand into his. Though you didn’t want to push him to divulge anything, you just didn’t wanna feel like the whole conversation was one-sided. Sure, he would chime in with a few anecdotes but mainly it was just asking you questions.

If he was being honest with himself, Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to tell you anything about his past. He knew you wouldn’t judge, clearly having seen a fair amount of bullshit yourself, and the fact that it simply wasn’t who you were. No, his problem lay with the fact that he didn’t want to dampen your spirit with his sob story of a past. How he only remembers through thrashing nightmares, waking up soaked in sweat, heart racing. You didn’t need to know any of that.

“Alright… I–” he began before quite literally being saved by the bell. Logan looked at his watch, brows raising at how easily time had once again run away with the two of you. You blinked, looking around as if you could find the bell and ask it personally why it was going off so early before the echoing of ongoing conversation shattered the domestic delusion you’d both managed to trick yourselves into feeling.

“Another time,” you stood from the table, leaning over to grab his plate, but he swatted your hand away and instead took your own.

“Never learn, do ya?” he asked with a slight smile, and you rolled your eyes. With a heavy, defeated sigh, you conceded, simply allowing him to take your plate to the sink. Stretching your arms high above your head, you popped your stiff shoulders, turning your head as two students you knew well entered the kitchen.

“You made meatballs?! No fair, I wanted some!” Jubilee whined, her books still clasped against her chest. Artie stuck out his forked tongue, much like a snake would taste the air around it before his curious face morphed into a frown. It seemed he too wouldn’t have minded meatballs.

Logan looked over his shoulder at the two newcomers, his eyes darting between you and them, your guilt written all over your face.

“I’ll make them for you again sometime soon. We could have one of those big dinners we used to do, remember those?” you asked, your eyes alight with hope. Logan had heard of those. Apparently, you used to cook for the whole mansion, and the students would drag tables and chairs from all different rooms and have a huge feast together. Of course, he didn’t believe a word anybody said about it, since he was convinced you were a figment of everyone’s collective imagination, but now he knew you very much did exist, he could envision you dancing around the kitchen for hours on end, preparing dish after dish.

Jubilee’s face lit up at the suggestion, her hand hitting Artie’s arm excitedly. “Seriously? You mean that? We’ve missed doing that so much. Nobody cooks the way you do!” She bounced on her toes, before whirling and darting from the room, most likely to tell the rest of her friends. Artie lingered for a few seconds, clearly not knowing whether he wanted to stay or to race after Jubilee, before he too turned on his heel and ran after her. You chuckled softly, running a hand through your hair.

“What’ve I gotten myself into…?” you muttered, startling slightly as a hand rested on your shoulder. You looked up at Logan, unable to accurately decipher his expression. All you knew was that it was soft. Softer than you’d seen in the last day or so.

“Were y’always this good with em? The kids?” he asked, and you huffed a laugh. You wished you could say yes, absolutely, you’d always been naturally gifted at looking after children. But that wasn’t the truth.

“Fuck no. Used to hate kids, to be honest with you. Thought they were annoying as fuck when I first started,” you admitted slightly sheepishly. “But, they grew on me. Still not a fan of like, other kids, but any who come to this school? Love ‘em.”

“Makes me wonder why they sent you ‘round America and not someone more suited.” his eyes glinted with mischief and you lightly elbowed his ribs.

“I can be incredibly persuasive.”

“That so?”

“Mmmhm,” you nodded emphatically, stepping out of his range and immediately missing the warmth of his palm on your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed he’d left it there until you moved away and hopped onto the table, your feet dangling slightly. He didn’t take his eyes off you, scanning your face as though he was considering you. You cocked a brow. “What?”

“Teach with me.”

You blinked. Well, you weren’t expecting that. “Come again?”

“Teach with me,” he repeated as confidently as he’d said it the first time. You scoffed a laugh.

“What? Why?”

Logan shrugged. “You’re better with the kids than I am, and it would give you a good opportunity to develop your mutation in a combat setting.” And I get to spend more time with you.

You hesitated. “I– I don’t know, Logan. It’s… I don’t think it’s a good idea,” While you wanted nothing more than yet another excuse to be around him, you didn’t know if getting back into teaching was the right thing for you at the moment. Yeah, you missed it. Fuck, you missed it more than you thought you would, but you really meant it when you said you weren’t cut out for it. If only you weren’t the only person who thought so.

“One class.” he bargained. “Help me with one class tomorrow and decide from there.”

You pursed your lips, and Logan could almost hear your internal debate. “You’re not gonna let it go til I do it, are you?”

“Probably not,” he smirked, knowing he’d just got you to agree. Your resulting sigh confirmed it.

“Fine. One class. No more than that.” In all honesty, you would have agreed just to see his resulting smile.

“We’ll see about that bub, class starts at one tomorrow.”

You nodded once, nerves suddenly bubbling in your gut. You were going to teach again, after being out the game for the last two years. Fucking hell you wanted to throw up. But you took a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. Maybe this was a good thing. A blessing in disguise. Sure, it had been a while, but maybe Logan was right. Maybe your mutation would only develop under times of stress. You were incredibly stressed today, and look what happened.

“Alright, I’ll talk to Charles and Scott, see what they say,”

Logan huffed, clearly irate with the idea. “Don’t give a shit what Scott says. He couldn’t help you after almost two hours. I was there for two minutes and you made progress,” he huffed, and you couldn’t help but laugh slightly. Was he… was he jealous? No, that wasn’t possible. What would he have to be jealous about?

“Alright tough guy, rein it in. The way you helped out earlier, it wouldn’t surprise me if Charles is telling him you should be taking over my training,” you hadn’t even thought about it before you said it, but now it was out your mouth, you realised it was entirely plausible. Especially since anyone with eyes or ears could see how much better you got on with Logan than you did Scott. Logan suggested one approach and it worked like a charm.

“Ya think so?” Fuck was the hope in his voice as obvious to you as it was to him? The idea of helping you with your mutation, whilst slightly terrifying, excited him. He couldn’t help but think that would be a learning experience for both of you.

“Yeah, why not? Like you said, Scott couldn’t help after two hours,” you shrugged, hopping off the table. “Anyway, I’m in dire need of a shower and comfier clothing, so I’ll see you in a bit.” Logan almost cried at the thought of you no longer smelling like you do now, and he had half the mind to tell you to forget the shower, you smelt that fucking good. But he also didn’t want the reputation of the weird-smell guy, so instead of trapping you in his arms and begging you not to, he simply nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, see you later.” He grumbled, trying not to be obviously annoyed by the fact the time you’d spent together was coming to an end. You shot him a confused look, before disappearing out the door and up the stairs to your room. Logan stayed for a few more minutes, his eyes closed as he finally let himself get lost in your scent. He wanted you. Fuck he’d only known you for a day and he wanted you. How the hell was he supposed to just behave normally now you were back living here? It simply wasn’t possible.

He groaned, running a hand down the side of his face. On the one hand, he really wanted to spend more time with you. He was actively looking forward to spending time with you. But on the other, he didn’t know how much longer he could behave himself. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep up this ‘friendly’ banter with you without it crossing the line. Had it already crossed the line?

Jesus Christ, he didn’t even know. He couldn’t help thinking this was likely about to get extremely messy if he didn’t get his shit together. But, at the same time…

He always liked a little mess.

Freshly showered, moisturised and pampered, you lay face up on your bed, your room feeling more like a forest than anything else. The steam from your shower still rolling out from your bathroom, and the more tropical plants you kept seemed to be absolutely thriving. You were thrilled, you really were, but you couldn’t take your mind off the day you’d just had. Not that it was over, it was only five in the afternoon, but so much had happened in the last day it was hard to wrap your head around.

You’d been replaced as a professor, your bedroom stolen, and you’d been informed that the mutation you thought you knew so well wasn’t actually what you thought it was at all, and that it could very well end you in seconds. You’d thrown a fit, broken your hand, dragged shadows toward you and constructed them into a pair of fucking awesome wings, and cooked with a man you’d known all of two minutes.

And the strangest fucking part was that you couldn’t get him off your mind. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. It was honestly getting a little irritating, seeing his face every time you close your eyes, hearing his laugh when your room got a little too silent. Feeling the ghostly touches of his arms around your waist, his hands on your neck. His breath against your ear.

You flapped your arms down on your bed in defiance. You would not lie in bed thinking about him all evening. You refused. And luckily, due to an unexpected visit, you didn’t have to.

“He likes you, ya know,”

You screamed, whipping your head back to your door where you saw Kitty strolling in, completely unphased by your reaction. Grabbing one of your pillows, you threw it at her approaching form, watching as it soared straight through her body. Your jaw flapped, completely speechless. “I– Wh– Kitty! You can’t just waltz in here unannounced! Scared me shitless!” you exclaimed, running a stressed hand through your hair.

“Why? I always used to. Been gone that long, huh?” she asked, plopping down on the end of your bed and crossing her legs.

“Yeah… guess I have,” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your accommodation to be broken into. The moment rumour got out there was a mutant staying a few streets over the road, you had to move. Sometimes you hadn’t been quick enough and had spent the rest of the evening frantically scrubbing blood from beneath your fingernails, before making a quick exit.

Those were the times on your travels nobody needed to know about. Those were the times you’d keep to yourself.

You jumped again as your door burst open, a frantic Logan looking you up and down before his eyes darted around the room. “You alright? I heard screaming,” he panted, slightly breathless from clearly having sprinted up the stairs.

Your heart grew five sizes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Kitty scared the shit out of me, ‘s’all,” you shrugged, too focused on him to notice the woman of the hour beaming wildly, looking between the two of you.

His shoulders sagged, the man visibly relaxing, his eyes lingering on yours. “Okay…”

“Okay…” you repeated, unable to tame your disobedient smile as he almost awkwardly nodded his head.

“Right. I’ll uh, yeah. Leave ya to it,” he clicked his tongue, sending you one last glance to make sure you were really okay, before closing the door.

You sighed, shaking your head fondly, chuckling quietly to yourself.

“Oh. My. God. You like him too!”

Looking up with unnatural speed, you scoffed, waving your hand dismissively. “The fuck are you talking about?” you asked a little too defensively.

“I’m talking about you and Logan. He clearly likes you, and now I can see that you like him too! Oh, this is so fucking cute, just wait until I tell Marie, she’ll go fucking crazy!” Kitty clapped her hands excitedly, and you had to catch one of her wrists in order to stop her.

“What are you on about? Logan doesn’t like me, we’re just friends,” oh, was it supposed to hurt that much to say it? But, in all honesty, you don’t think you were ready to confront whatever it was you felt for this man. For now, you were pretty content to bask in not knowing, and being kind of excited about it.

“Mhm? Friends don’t eye fuck in the kitchen.”

You choked. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that if you weren’t actually looking at her, you wouldn’t have believed you were talking to Shadowcat herself, Kitty Pryde. “Kitty! Christ, what happened to you? And we weren’t eye fucking. I was hungry and refused to cook insta-noodles, so we actually made a meal.” You explained.

“For almost four hours? Meatballs take twenty minutes, twenty-five at a push,”

“We lost track of time!”

“I repeat, for four hours?” she asked again, folding her arms and raising one of her thin brows. You pursed your lips to stop yourself from saying anything else incriminating. “Though as much,”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t need to, it’s written over your lovestruck face.” She poked her finger toward your nose, and all you could think about was the way Logan flicked your forehead beforehand or the way Logan gave you that little push back in the training room. Or the way Logan–

Christ on a fucking boat when would it end?

“I’m not lovestruck,” you mumbled, dragging your knees up to your chest. You debated telling Kitty about your predicament with your mutation, for the sole reason of explaining why you and Logan were spending so much time together recently, but you didn’t think you could bear the look on her face. The only ones who knew, to your understanding, were Scott, as the leader of the team, Jean, as the leading scientist, Charles for obvious reasons, and Logan because you told him. You didn’t really want another person to know your problems, especially not Kitty.

You couldn’t bear to see her face when you told her you weren’t a phaser anymore. The mere thought broke your heart. You had matching mugs and everything. You couldn’t do that to her. Let alone sharing the idea that your mutation could simply not allow you to return back to the corporeal world one day, and you’d be stuck as nothing but wondering consciousness in the shadows for, effectively, all eternity. That was a little too morbid to talk about even with Logan.

“He’s just… helping me get back into the swing of things. I haven’t been a teacher for a long time, Kit, and since he took my position, he’s offered to help me–”

“Get back into teaching! Oh my god, he has, hasn’t he? That’s so exciting! I thought you didn’t want to get back into it?” She asked, untucking her legs and swinging them around so she was now lying comfortably on your bed, her head propped up on her elbow.

“Well, we’re not getting ahead of ourselves, but yeah, that’s the idea. Gonna help him with his class tomorrow…” you trailed off, your heart beginning to accelerate at the thought of teaching your first class in two years. “So yeah, that’s why we’ve been spending so much time together. It’s nothing serious, promise! Plus, since most of the new students are kids I found, he’s pretty much the only person I don’t know here.” You flopped back down onto your bed, angling your head so you could still see her.

There was a moment of comfortable silence, a moment to let the conversation settle and for your heart to slow a little, before Kitty spoke up again. “He was really excited to meet you,” she offered quietly, and your brows raised subconsciously. “Everytime someone started talking about you, he’d tune in. He was subtle, but Marie noticed it first, and she told me to look out for it. He was looking forward to meeting you for the best part of a year.”

You took a deep breath. That couldn’t possibly be true. “You’re good at seeing things that aren’t there, Kit. I love you for it, but sometimes things really aren’t that deep,” you explained softly, trying your hardest not to smile at the image of Logan only tuning into the conversation if it was about you. It was definitely a stretch of the imagination, but it was a pleasant one.

“Yeah yeah, you watch. I’ll be keeping an eye on your totally platonic relationship with Professor Howlett but mark my words, you’ll be together by the end of the month,” Kitty smacked your calf to emphasise her point, and you shook your leg threateningly, laughing at the notion.

“I cannot wait to see you eat your words. I’m sure they’ll taste of falsehoods and regret.” You flashed her a toothy grin, and she stuck her tongue out in retaliation. You’d missed moments like these. In all honesty, you hadn’t realised how lonely the last two years had been. Hadn’t realised how starved of friendship you’d been until you found yourself talking and laughing amongst friends again. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed this place until you came home again, to both the old friends, and the new.

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