#like filtering them I get lost rip

[squishneedsahero]

Mmm I might write for all you guys again. Not like any reader insert this time tho. I was thinking g a nice little hurt comfort friends to lovers Jayroy as a little treat cause like I’m picky about their characterization and have yet to find a fic that hits so I gotta do it myself

[cherub-berry]

Hear me out, imagine being childhood sweethearts with togame then moving away and meeting again after like a few years or so. I know it's cliche but I'm a sucker for these types of tropes. Also it's my first time requesting so I'm not really sure if I'm doing this right

Welcome home | Wind Breaker

Pairing: Togame Jo x gn! Reader

Content: fluff, reader coming back after a long time, mention of violence, light angst, this is right after the Bofurin vs Shishitoren fight.

Word count: 906

Note: you asked and you shall receive! I've been binge watching wbk and I legitimately want a bf like Togame.

You've been gone for a long time now or at least, feels that way. The days blur together quieter without you around. And even though he never says it out loud, Togame always wonders when you'll return. He misses you more than he's willing to admit.

There's something different about him, something heavier. He wonders how you'll react when you find out he's been more violent, quick to anger, slower to hold back. Your absence, combined with the way Choji has changed, has carved out something hollow that he doesn't know how to fill.

Just yesterday, he snapped. Beating up Saruwatari over a disappointing performance and ripping the Shishitoren jacket off his back like it meant nothing. That rage, the need to control—to lash out, it wasn't like him at all. But today, the tables turn.

Now, here he is, getting knocked around by a newcomer from Bofurin. Othello-kun, that's what he called him, the black and white haired boy. He wasn't fighting out of pride or anger. He was beating sense into him, trying to change Togame.

And, somehow…it worked.

He regretted it all—regretted following Choji down a path soaked in violence and pride. But more than that, he regretted being the one that led Choji into the rabbit hole in the first place, a hole they both nearly couldn't climb out of.

Now, he wants to change. Not just for himself, but for Choji… and for you.

The dinner that night was strange, almost surreal. Bofurin and Shishitoren, once enemies, now sat in a loose circle, bruised and bandaged, laughing the pain away like it meant nothing. The air was thick with unspoken tension and half-meant smiles.

He kept quiet most of the night, letting Umemiya talk the night away. He kept stealing glances at the people around him—the once who fought him, forgave him, or still didn't trust him. And in the quiet moments between laughter, he found himself wondering.

If you have been there…would you have forgiven him too?

The night came to an end. One by one, everyone filtered out, offering short goodbyes and half-hearted waves as they disappeared into the quiet streets. The laughter faded, lights dimmed, and soon, Togame was alone again.

He walked with his hand in his pocket, the chill of the evening brushing against his skin. The only sound that followed him were the clanks of his wooden sandals echoing against the concrete and the thoughts he couldn't outrun.

He turned a corner, eyes cast low, lost in thought—when suddenly, he collided with someone.

The impact jolted him, making him stumble backward. He nearly lost his footing, one sandal scraping awkwardly against the pavement as he struggled to regain his balance.

“Ah—sorry!” you blurted out instinctively, reaching out to steady him.

But the moment you grabbed his arm, your breath caught.

Togame.

His name hung unspoken between you as he looked at your face, just as startled. His eyes widen, recognition flashing through them like lightning.

“...Togame?” you whispered, disbelief and something softer—something aching .

He didn't say anything right away. Just stared, frozen in place. After all this year, you looked the same, just older. No longer the squeaky kid that he once knew that clung to him like a lifeline.

Before you could say another word, Togame stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you.

It wasn't graceful—his movements were hesitant, almost unsure. But the hug was real and desperate. His arms clung to you like he was afraid that you'd vanish if he let go. You felt his breath shudder against your shoulder, his chest rising and falling unevenly.

You stood there, stunned. Then, slowly, you returned his embrace.

That's when you noticed it.

The wince he tried to hide. The way his body tense under your touch. Your hand gently brushed over his back and felt it —swollen muscle, a fresh bruise. Another near his rib. Scrapes along his arms. His jacket barely concealing an aftermath of a fight.

“Togame…” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “You're hurt”

He gave a faint crooked smile. “Yeah. Got knocked around a bit,” he muttered, trying to sound nonchalant.

you looked at him, really looked at him. The bruise, the weariness in his eyes, the way he held onto you like he was scared this moment would slip away.

Without a word, you took his hand.

“Come on,” you say, smiling softly at him, tugging him with you.

He didn't resist. Just followed quietly, as you led him through the streets, your fingers wrapped around him like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

everything about this moment felt right.

Despite the bruises, the aching in his body, and the weight of everything that came before, Togame felt something he hadn’t in a long time—peace. As if, somehow, the pieces had finally fallen back into place, exactly where they were meant to be.

He looked at you, eyes soft, a faint pink brushing across his cheeks. Slowly, his rough, calloused fingers traced the back of your hand, the touch tender, almost reverent. Like he was making sure this was real. That you were real.

It felt oh so right.

“Welcome back,” he said, voice low and steady, carrying the quiet warmth you always remembered. The one that used to make you feel safe.

And in that moment, it was as if time had folded in on itself—bringing you both home.

[sparklestormandsoda]

Siren’s Stage – Chapter Five

Blurb: The stage is sacred. The fans, the fuel. The idols? Not human. HUNTRIX rules the idol world—famous, flawless, and secretly hunters of the supernatural. But something’s changing. The fallen sirens—Adagio!Reader, Aria, and Sonata—feel their lost power stir again through the Saja Boys’ music. They want back in. Caught between hunters and rising demons, the battle begins—where lyrics kill, and only one song makes it to the final chorus.

Full blurb here

Chapter 4

The streets of Seoul buzzed under neon skies, the energy thick with promise and pressure. Reader sat cross-legged on the floor of their rundown apartment that they may or may not have stolen, a small TV flickering faintly in the background. Huntrix’s latest performance reran on nearly every local station, the girls drenched in glitter and charisma, their voices soaked in something more.

Magic. Reader could feel it in the way her skin prickled.

“We need disguises,” she said flatly, not looking up. “If we’re going to move closer, we can’t look like fugitives from a cursed timeline.”

Sonata was sprawled across the couch, still drying her damp hair with a towel. “Ooh! Can I be blonde again? I miss being blonde.”

Aria rolled her eyes and tossed her a pair of stolen chopsticks. “You were always blonde, dummy. Just… not where it counts.”

Reader ignored the bickering. Her fingers tapped against the cheap floor tile. “We play the part. We show up where they show up. If they believe we’re rookies trying to break in, we become that. No more hiding in shadows. We get in close.”

“Why not just rip the magic from their throats and call it a day?” Aria muttered.

“Because we don’t know how they’re tethered to it,” Reader snapped. “We attack blindly, and it could backfire. We play it smart. Strategic.”

Sonata sat up. “So like… what, we become idols now?”

Reader gave her a slow, deliberate smirk. “We become whatever we need to be.”

The next day, the Dazzlings stood in line outside of a local entertainment agency under the same name they gave themselves back in Equestria —The Dazzlings. Their clothes were new but modest, enough to blend in with the dozens of other hopefuls crowding the lobby. Reader wore her hair pulled back and toned down her look just enough to come across like a trainee: composed, mysterious, not fully formed.

They kept their story tight: a rookie trio, recently relocated, interested in showcasing their “vocal blending and stage presence.”

None of it was a lie—just… repackaged.

As they waited to be called in for their "evaluation," Reader caught a glimpse of something across the room: a small digital board showcasing upcoming talent showcases.

And there they were.

Huntrix: Guest Judges – Talent Rising Showcase, July 23rd.

Reader’s lips parted slightly. “Found them.”

Sonata leaned in. “Do we try out?”

“No,” Reader said. “We audition; we get close. We observe.”

“Without blowing our cover this time,” Aria added with an edge.

Reader didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the photo of Rumi on the screen, her expression crisp and unreadable, her stance proud. She remembered the way Rumi had looked at her—not warm, not cold, but… attentive.

Focused.

Reader turned away.

Let them look. Let them watch. The game had just begun.

The lobby echoed with quiet murmurs and rustling papers. Trainees shifted in plastic chairs, some tapping their knees, others humming softly to themselves — warm-ups for nerves, not vocals. The Dazzlings, however, were still as stone.

They didn’t need to warm up. Not really.

Aria leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, glaring at the fluorescent lights above. “This is humiliating.”

“Shut up,” Reader said calmly. “We're not here to be discovered. We're here to discover them.”

Sonata was in the corner, holding up her phone, trying to snap a selfie without getting the large, red No Photos sign in the background. “Do you think if I put a filter on, I’ll look more idol-y?”

“You look like a raccoon with mascara problems,” Aria deadpanned.

“You guys are so mean when you’re stressed.” Sonata pouted, then glanced back at Reader. “Hey, uh, what if they recognize us again?”

“They won’t,” Reader said, firm. “We blend. We play small. Smile, be sweet, sing a little if we have to. They won’t even remember our faces.”

“And if they do?” Aria asked.

Reader’s mouth curled slightly. “Then we lie better.”

Before either of them could respond, a clipboard-holding woman called out, “The Dazzlings?”

The three of them stood in near-perfect unison. Reader led the way with a slight tilt to her chin — humble, confident, the balance of both. She rehearsed the story again in her head like armor. Aspiring idols. No magic. Just fans.

They were ushered into a large practice room: white floors, mirrored walls, and a long table at the front. Behind it sat four evaluators—staff, probably. Two men scribbled in notebooks. A younger woman tapped away at her tablet. The fourth seat was empty.

Until it wasn’t.

Rumi walked in seconds later, flanked by the Huntrix members Reader recognized vaguely from the show. The taller one with cool-toned pink hair—Mira, she remembered and Zoey.

Reader stood taller.

Rumi’s eyes scanned the girls calmly, without recognition. At least not obviously. Her expression was cool and measured, but her gaze flickered — once — over Reader longer than the others.

The clipboard woman gestured. “This is The Dazzlings. Three-member unit. New applicants.”

Rumi gave a small nod. “Go ahead.”

Reader gave a quick bow. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

Aria barely dipped her head. Sonata gave a full, cutesy ninety-degree bow, flashing an almost-too-practiced smile.

They positioned themselves at the center of the room. Reader whispered under her breath, “Just follow me.”

And they did.

She started soft — just a hum, slow and controlled, letting it ripple just enough to seem impressive without tipping into enchantment. Aria picked up a harmony, low and steady like a heartbeat. Sonata layered her voice on top, light and airy, the sweetness that rounded them out.

The room was still.

Even the evaluators paused their notes.

They weren’t trying to win, or to feed. Just enough to leave an impression. Be remembered but not questioned. Reader watched Rumi from the corner of her eye. She sat upright now, chin resting on her hand, brows slightly furrowed.

Judging. Analyzing.

Good.

When the last note died, there was a pause before the woman with the clipboard clapped politely. “Nice tone blending. A little rough on the intro, but charming.”

The man beside her nodded. “You three sisters?”

“No,” Reader answered quickly, voice even. “Just friends. Been singing together for what feels like centuries.”

Rumi finally spoke. “Where are you from?”

Reader hesitated. “Busan,” she lied.

Sonata chimed in. “But we just moved! We're hoping to perform at a real venue one day. Like this one!”

Mira smirked faintly, amused.

“You look different from last night.” Rumi says, sharp — but not cruel.

All three froze.

Reader didn’t blink. “Yes,” she said smoothly. “We weren’t even expecting to end up at the venue, let alone backstage.”

Sonata nodded so quickly it looked rehearsed. “We didn’t mean to, we swear! It was kind of scary.”

Aria said nothing, but her jaw ticked.

Mira narrowed her eyes a little but said nothing. Rumi just nodded slowly, her gaze lingering.

“Well,” Rumi said, pushing her chair back, “the shows already selected its performers. But we’re always looking for new faces to keep an eye on.”

A thin smile. Professional. Reader returned it with a practiced bow.

“Thank you,” she said. And meant it — but not for the compliment.

For the intel.

Back on the street, the air hit them heavy and humid. Aria shoved her hands in her pockets and hissed through her teeth. “That was way too close.”

“They bought it,” Reader said, stepping into the crosswalk.

“Barely. Pinky saw straight through us.”

“And she said nothing.” Reader smirked faintly. “Which means she doesn’t want to deal with us. That’s good.”

Sonata skipped ahead. “I think they liked us! I mean… we didn’t die.”

“No, but they’ve seen our faces – recognized us. We’re going to need to move faster,” Reader muttered, glancing over her shoulder. “They’re not stupid.”

“Neither are we,” Aria said.

For a moment, the three walked in silence. They had no real leads yet — just the closeness. The tension. And that look in Rumi’s eyes. Not one of familiarity… but something bordering on curiosity.

Reader shook the thought from her mind. She couldn’t afford distractions. Especially not ones with perfect pitch and jawlines.

“Time to dig deeper,” she said under her breath.

They eventually ducked into a convenience store three blocks from the venue, slipping past shelves of instant noodles and sugary drinks. Reader led them to the far back near the coolers and stood with her arms folded, thinking.

Aria paced behind her, biting at her nail. “So, what’s next? We got through the front door. They didn’t expose us. But we can’t keep showing up at every audition without getting flagged.”

Sonata was kneeling, rifling through the bottom shelf of onigiri. “This tuna one has little hearts on the packaging. That’s a good sign, right?”

“We’ll need more than cute packaging,” Reader muttered. “We need real information. Schedules. Rehearsals. Any patterns in their routine. We managed to catch a glimpse of their plans at the venue, but I wasn’t able to memorize it. Whatever their power source is, it’s linked to their bond. The way they move in sync? That’s not just training.”

“So, what, we’re stalking them now?” Aria raised a brow.

“We’re blending in,” Reader corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Sonata looked up. “How are we gonna do that without blowing our cover again?”

Reader exhaled, then pulled out the business card they'd been handed after their performance — a clean white rectangle stamped with the talent agency’s logo and a QR code.

“The company’s database is probably locked tight, but the intern systems? The assistants? That’s our way in. We enroll in their training program. Low-level. Just background noise. No one pays attention to the extras.”

Aria groaned. “You want us to actually go to idol boot camp?”

Sonata gasped dramatically. “Do we get matching uniforms?!”

Reader looked at them both with a deadpan stare. “We’re going to suffer. But we’re going to learn everything we can.”

Aria rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if I have to smile during cardio, I’m out.”

Three Days Later

The Dazzlings had officially become recruits.

The building was blindingly bright, buzzing with eager hopefuls. Everyone wore color-coded name tags indicating their level: pink for beginners, blue for second-year trainees, gold for performance-ready idols.

They were all pink, much to Aria’s horror.

Their days were now filled with mandatory choreography classes, basic harmony drills, nutrition lectures, and scripted fan-interaction rehearsals. Most of it was beneath them. But they played along.

Reader was careful. She kept her distance from Huntrix, who were rarely seen around the trainee floor anyway. When they did appear — during a guest coaching session or to record promotional videos — Reader’s stomach always knotted slightly.

Especially when Rumi walked in.

Today, Huntrix was scheduled to run a surprise performance workshop. The studio buzzed with excitement, and Reader could barely hear herself think over Sonata’s squeals.

“They’re so sparkly up close!”

“Contain yourself,” Aria snapped, but even she was standing up straighter.

Reader stood with her arms crossed, letting her eyes scan the mirrors instead of the stage. Reflection was safer than contact.

The moment Huntrix entered, the room shifted. There was an energy to them — not magical, not overt — but something magnetic. Reader didn’t miss the way the other trainees practically folded under it.

They ran through a demo performance first, their vocals flawless, their movements crisp and exact. Then they split the room into smaller groups to offer direct feedback. Reader’s group ended up with Zoey and Rumi.

She tried not to tense.

They were asked to perform a short snippet of a harmony and movement pattern, just a thirty-second routine. Easy. Reader took center, Sonata flanking her left, Aria her right.

They sang. They moved. Reader didn’t overdo it — just enough to pass. But she still felt the way Rumi’s gaze landed on her again. Sharp, watchful.

When they finished, Zoey offered a happy nod. “Stable! You all have really good posture for rookies. You’ve clearly practiced together.”

Rumi tilted her head. “Reader, right?”

Reader blinked. “Yes.”

“Where’d you learn to lead group harmonies like that?”

Reader paused. “We watched a lot of idol documentaries.”

Aria coughed — definitely a laugh, masked badly.

Rumi raised a brow, smiling faintly. “Well, you clearly picked up a thing or two. Keep it up.”

Reader bowed her head slightly, expression calm. “Thank you.”

But her mind was reeling. Why did she remember her name?

As they returned to the larger group, Aria leaned in. “She’s onto you.”

“She’s onto us,” Reader muttered.

“No,” Sonata whispered from the other side, grinning, “she likes you.”

Reader shot her a glare. “Drop it.”

Later that night, they collapsed onto their shared apartment floor. The living space was tight and dimly lit, but it was shelter. Reader sat against the wall, chewing a cold rice ball, eyes closed in thought.

Sonata was curled up in a blanket on the floor. Aria sat across from her, flipping through the orientation handbook, now crumpled at the corners.

“Do you think we’re getting anywhere?” Aria asked, not looking up.

Reader opened her eyes slowly. “They trust each other too much.”

“What, you want them to be worse friends?” Sonata yawned.

“I want to know what powers that bond. Where the magic actually lives. No one’s that synced without something holding them together.”

Aria tilted her head. “You think Rumi’s the anchor?”

Reader didn’t answer at first. Then: “Maybe. Or maybe she’s the mask.”

They sat in silence for a while longer.

Eventually Sonata mumbled, “If she is the mask… what’s she hiding?”

Reader stared at the ceiling.

She didn’t know.

But she was going to find out.

Later that evening, the city felt like it was on the edge of something.

The streets buzzed with energy, but not the usual kind. It was a different kind of current — sharper, like static. The kind that hummed in your bones before something shifted.

The Dazzlings followed the noise.

Not the shouting or honking or K-Pop blaring from storefronts — something under all of it. A vibration in the air that pulled them forward without a map.

They turned a corner into a wide-open plaza where a crowd had gathered. No stage. No announcements.

Just a speaker. A pulsing beat.

And five boys dancing in the middle of it all.

“What is this?” Aria muttered.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Reader said quietly.

The boys were magnetic. They didn’t need lights or backdrops or fans. The music rolled out in waves — gritty, smooth, hypnotizing. People stopped in their tracks. Phones lifted. A circle formed.

They moved like they’d done this a thousand times, even though there wasn’t a soul who knew who they were. No agency banners. No logos. Just them.

Reader narrowed her eyes. “They’re not from any label. I’d recognize them.”

“Are they rookies?” Sonata whispered. “Like, underground idols?”

“No,” Reader said, more to herself. “They’re something else.”

And then she saw him.

The one in the center.

Tall, calm, eyes sharp enough to split through fog. His presence wasn’t loud — it was still, like the eye of a storm. He didn’t command attention. He held it.

Their eyes locked — and for a second, the noise around her vanished.

Reader’s chest tightened, her body frozen in place. He didn’t smile. He didn’t wink. Just looked at her like he’d been looking.

Like he knew she would be there.

Then the beat shifted, and he broke the gaze, falling back into the routine.

“Who are they?” Aria asked, but no one had an answer.

The song — "Soda Pop" — ended on a low, thumping note, and the crowd erupted. People were already filming, cheering, trying to ask questions. But the boys offered no answers.

They simply bowed and yelled their name for the masses. The Saja Boys.

No explanation.

Just impact.

The Dazzlings stood still for a beat.

Sonata whispered, “That wasn’t normal, right?”

Reader didn’t respond.

She wasn’t sure what she’d just felt — but it rattled something in her. That boy — clearly the leader — he felt like a spark.

But not like Huntrix.

Not like them.

Something entirely different.

next chapter

expect another chapter tonight lol

ya girls broke so anything helps- Buy me a coffee <3

tag list is open

Taglist: @luv1ayala, @qxuanii, @milkcatfern, @weponxwrites, @satansdaughter123, @elegantdeerlady, @notheroverthinker

[good-luck-babe-535]

Dirtbagging - Chapter 5

paige x azzi (climber au)

masterlist

WC: 3.5k

Warning: Angst, alludes to possible triggering sexual content

A/N: Ok so I know I said I would be gone for a few days and I kinda mean it this time, literally about to go pick up my keys!! Hope you enjoyed the chapter, as always please leave comments/anons of what you think! They keep me going <3

—

The early morning sun began to filter through Azzi’s blinds, filling her room with a soft glow. Her head was pounding, and her heart was still beating quickly from the adrenaline that was coursing through her just an hour ago. An hour of sleep wasn’t enough after the night she had, but there was no way out of getting up today. 

Azzi felt as if the night before had been a dream that she had vividly felt but could not recall. She thought she remembered Paige behind her, her calloused hands wrapping around her and holding her until she fell asleep. But there was no proof of the blonde’s gentle touch when she woke. Azzi was alone, the other side of the bed too cold to conclude if Paige had been there. 

Azzi sat up slowly, trying to keep her head from splitting open from the nasty hangover she had caused. Not only did her body hate her, but her thoughts were ripping her apart. She was haunted by memories that were lost and the idea that something terrible had happened. Something flashed back to her as she walked into her bathroom, where she met a worn-out shirt that was double her size. Ryder’s shirt. Why were her clothes off her, and why did she have a sinking feeling that somewhere in the darkness something terrible had happened to her? She examined her skin and the way she felt inside, but could not find proof to be concerned. She still felt violated by the thought of just being in Ryder’s presence. It wasn’t right, and she knew that regardless of the extent of what happened between them. 

Azzi did her best to wash the shame she felt off of her. How was she supposed to face him for the entire weekend? The daunting climbs ahead of her paled in comparison to the fear she had of confronting Ryder. Before she could fall into her mental abyss, Paige lightly knocked on the bathroom door, sensing that Azzi had been in there longer than usual. Azzi composed herself as well as she could and opened the door to the blonde with a coffee in hand, who appeared to have gotten no sleep, but still gave Azzi the best smile she could force.

Tears began to fall from Azzi’s eyes violently as the overwhelming feeling of the unknown took over her when she saw Paige. The blonde launched into action, setting the mug down and wrapping Azzi in her arms. She didn’t say anything, just let Azzi get all of her pain out into the air. Paige held her so tightly that Azzi didn’t even have to hold herself up. It was relieving to feel Paige take the heaviness out of her body, letting the time pass without asking for Azzi to finish up. 

She kept hold of Azzi and whispered, “Let's get you some water and lay you down. It’s ok if you don’t feel ready to face the day”. It was all Azzi could ask for, someone to let her process but continue to keep her alive. Paige led her to the couch and softly helped her lie down. She took the blanket and draped it over Azzi, making sure to tuck her in gently. Paige quickly ran to the bathroom to retrieve Azzi’s coffee, setting it on the side table for her when she was ready.

Paige tried to continue her morning rituals, but Azzi caught her wrist before she could get far. “Could you just sit with me for a bit?” Azzi pleaded, not wanting to be alone in her head where she felt like she was being swallowed whole. 

Paige was quick to oblige, trying to retrieve a chair from the table to sit since Azzi took up the entire couch. Azzi still refused to let go, and she lifted her feet to allow Paige to climb under them. Paige agreed easily and slipped in under Azzi, leaving her hands on top of the blanket and Azzi’s legs, remaining respectful and not wanting to overwhelm Azzi.

Azzi spoke up first, “What time is it?” She murmured weakly, scared of how close or late it was to the call time.

“It’s ok Az. It’s handled, we have nowhere to be but here for now”, Paige replied. What had Paige done? Was she going to lose her job? Azzi knew how important this weekend was supposed to be for her. The blonde watching her expression closely always knew exactly what to say.

“I called in sick. And they can’t go without me. Nothing to do with you at all”, she whispered as her hand began to slide gently over the soft cloth on Azzi’s shin. Azzi felt warmth flow through her body, Paige's touch healing her from within. Not too much, and not crossing any line. Just care with no expectations.

Azzi used to go through all of the hard times alone, but this was the first time she had someone to lean on completely and without condition. 

Before she could think about all of the feelings surfacing in her consciousness, she needed something to distract her before things got too far. She pleaded to the blonde, “Paige? Can we watch Love Island?”

“Of course Az.”

—

It wasn’t long before the curly-haired girl was breathing peacefully on top of Paige. She had only lasted 5 minutes into the episode before her eyes shut and her legs became limp on top of Paige. The feeling of Azzi’s soft skin on Paige’s thighs was driving her crazy, the contact between the two of them growing more intense each time. 

Paige could not forget the younger girl's face when she entered the bedroom that morning. It was written clearly that Azzi was in shock, that she didn’t know what had happened. Paige could not stop beating herself up for what happened last night. She left and she would never forgive herself if something happened to Azzi. She knew it was selfish of her to come home alone last night and she should have fought for Azzi rather than letting her feelings get the best of her. This guilt was eating her alive. She was supposed to protect Azzi, regardless of how pissed she was when she saw Azzi with Ryder. It was childish. It was stupid. Paige was an adult, and she certainly failed at acting like one last night.

After Azzi settled into bed, Paige immediately sprang into action. It was unfair to expect Azzi to perform on the level she needed to today. So Paige inched out of bed as quietly as possible, trying to keep Azzi asleep for as long as possible. It was 5:30 AM, and a ridiculously late time to call off a trip, but Paige knew that the last thing anyone needed to do was risk their lives in the mountains with any emotional instability. And she knew that was not only the case for Azzi, but for her too. 

Her first step was to phone the person she detested the most, as they were supposed to be leading this together. She pulled her rarely used phone out and called him. 

The line connected quickly. Ryder was already up shuffling around his house preparing for the weekend out.

“Paige? Why are you calling? You should be down here soon, it's time to go” Ryder spoke sternly, clearly not in the mood this morning.

Paige knew it was wrong, but she pulled out her best lie to try to call the whole thing off. “You remember what we talked about last night? Me being ready? I think I need a bit more time. I just had a small flare-up this morning”. Paige knew it wasn’t the full truth, but it was worth putting herself out there to protect Azzi. Paige knew from experience that climbing with an unsteady head was never the right thing to do, and she couldn’t let Azzi make the same mistake she saw Sol make.

“Sure thing Paige. Certainly, Azzi and I could still go. She’s competent enough to go with just one of us” Ryder fired back, clearly not believing Paige’s excuse as much as she wished he would.

“You and I both know that won’t be happening. Ever.” Paige growled back, struggling to keep the image of Azzi in just his shirt returning to her bed this morning. Paige didn’t know what happened, but it didn’t matter. Just the thought of him touching her made her blood pressure rise.

“We will see about that”, Ryder spoke back sternly before ending the call. Paige felt like she was going to faint, not able to regulate her emotions after hearing the way Ryder spoke about Azzi. He thought he owned her and was owed her attention. Paige was never going to let that happen, and she had more than enough proof of her suspicion that Ryder was untrustworthy around Azzi.

Snapping out of her thoughts to focus on the softly snoring woman on top of her was all Paige needed to feel a sense of peace after an emotionally charged morning. The show playing in the background filled the air with noise, but Paige could not focus with Azzi in her presence. It was so comforting to be trusted by Azzi despite her shortcomings. Paige did not want to take whatever their relationship was for granted, so she continued to appreciate the small contact with Azzi and let it lull her back to sleep.

—

Azzi awoke in the same position she had fallen asleep in, and for the first time today, she woke up without immediate pain running through her. The blonde had stayed with her, sitting upright and still respectfully holding back from touching Azzi too intimately. Azzi appreciated the blonde respecting her enough not to push her in any way. But she still could not help the undying feeling of wanting to be closer to the blonde. She looked as ethereal as ever, leaned back into the cushion with her eyes closed. It did not take much for Azzi to sit up slightly and pull Paige’s arm into her, trying to signal her to lie down with her. Paige’s eyes softly opened, questioning Azzi’s actions.

“Paige? Can you lie with me? Just for a little bit”, Azzi begged, sugar-coated words and the confidence of her half-asleep state coaxing her request. The blonde had no more willpower left to resist Azzi.

“I would do anything you asked”, she murmured as she adjusted to match Azzi on the couch.

The couch was too small to hold two people without their space intertwining, forcing Paige and Azzi to be pressed chest to chest with each other. Azzi could not help but get lost in Paige’s bright blue eyes, which were so blown out you could barely see the color in them.

Paige brought her arm around the girl while Azzi shifted to throw her leg around Paige. They felt perfectly close, enough to seek comfort but not enough for them to question what they were doing yet. 

Paige took her hand and caressed the side of Azzi’s face, leaving a trail of heat with each stroke of her fingers. Every second Azzi was losing more of her composure, wanting to sink into the blonde’s skin even further. Her thoughts were clouded, wishing she could be completely surrounded by the woman. She had never felt so safe with someone before.

Azzi could see thoughts were going on behind Paige’s carefully held composure. She feared what could be running through her mind. Was she ok with this? Was this too much?

When Paige was about to speak, Azzi quickly interrupted her, in fear that Paige would try to engage her in a conversation about what was currently going on between the two of them. “What if we went out today and did some of the famous valley hikes? I haven’t been able to do any of them yet”, Azzi spilled her words out quick enough to cut the blonde off.

It was obvious that Paige was not expecting Azzi to speak up first, but she took the bait, probably sensing Azzi’s sudden uneasiness, “If you’re feeling up to it, I would be happy to take you on some” she responded awkwardly, clearly this was not what she was expecting Azzi to ask.

Azzi on the outer edge of the couch slowly pulled out of the Blonde’s embrace. Her more awake consciousness was panicking from what the blonde thought of her forcing them closer than ever before. Azzi launches into motion trying to shake off the embarrassment of revealing herself to Paige again.

Paige, still lounging on the couch now with her hands behind her head calls for Azzi’s attention. A smirk plastered on her face, the dopamine from Azzi’s touch still high on her mind. She catches Azzi’s eyes and teases her, “Ready to become a tourist for the day?”

—

Azzi had truly made Paige’s morning interesting. Regardless of the terrible night, she could not shake off the confidence she now had from Azzi pulling her down onto the couch with her. These small moments of weakness kept building, and Paige was enjoying being foolish and young again. It had felt like forever since she had any of these moments, so she was not going to take them for granted.

Azzi had been so embarrassed earlier once she realized what she had truly done. She and Paige had cuddled. In full consciousness. Which had her mesmerized by the weight of Azzi on her. She could not shake off the high she was feeling. 

While Azzi got ready, Page prepared all of the snacks and camelbacks for their hike. She loved these types of days, the trail providing the most intimate setting for talking and getting to know someone. There was nothing better than being on the trail with someone for 8 hours that you liked.

Azzi emerged in the most mouthwatering Nike set she had ever seen, just runners' shorts and a sports bra, but Azzi could truly pull off anything. “Is that all you’re wearing?” Paige toyed, clearly not thinking before the words tumbled out of her mouth.

“Are you complaining?” Azzi teased back, making Paige’s mouth run dry at the feeling of ease that had fallen between them. Was this really happening to her?

Azzi had the most beautiful hair, four braids at the top of her head, and the rest of her curls perfectly shaped and flowing down her back. Paige was in awe of her. Her staring problem was on full display as Azzi came toward her to retrieve the bag Paige had packed for her. 

“Let’s go P, and stop staring before your eyes fall out of your head”, Azzi giggled, obviously enjoying the attention Paige was giving her.

—

The drive up to Glacier Point was a long drive on a Saturday. Every tourist in California flocked to Yosemite on a sunny June day to soak in the sweeping valley views. Azzi could not help but lean her head against the window and take it all in. How was this her life? She’d come so far from Connecticut, and even just after a short time here, she didn’t know how she could live without the mountains near her. 

The car ride was silent, Paige surprisingly forgetting to switch on one of her playlists. “Can I turn a playlist on P?” Azzi requested sweetly, being met immediately with Paige’s phone placed in her hands. The phone fully unlocked, Azzi quickly navigated to Apple Music, not wanting Paige to think she was snooping in any way. The first playlist, “In My Feels”, on the screen. Created a few days ago? Azzi couldn’t help but blush, feeling like that playlist might as well have been inspired by her. Once she tapped the first song, “peter pan”, by Brent Faiyaz, she immediately saw the apples of Paige’s cheeks redden. 

“You weren’t supposed to find that,” She tried to explain too late.

“You’re not very good at hiding your feelings”, Azzi pushed back playfully, in disbelief that she was right about the playlist. 

Azzi exited out of the app, to find the wallpaper a photo of Paige and another woman, Paige flipped upside down on a rope spiderman style, laughing with the woman. Azzi’s stomach immediately sank. It was strange to see something so coupley on Paige’s phone. She didn’t dare to ruin this moment, but she couldn’t help but recall Riley telling her Paige was taken. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind since. It seemed impossible that would be true, but she had the unsettling feeling for the first time that maybe Paige had not told her the full truth.  

Azzi continued to sit in silence with Paige letting the playlist loop in the background. She wasn’t ready to ruin the day with a confrontation, so she just pushed it to the back of her mind for later. 

After the hour-long drive, they arrived at what felt like the top of the world. Which also happened to be infested with children and adults alike. Paige and Azzi exchanged glances, clearly not looking forward to what they were going to meet outside the car.

Paige exited to retrieve their bags and walk around to Azzi’s door to open it for her. Azzi could not help but forget her festering thoughts from earlier as Paige continued to prove her trustworthiness and loyalty.

“Fun little secret about this place: 90% of the people here won’t even step on a hiking trail. And of the people who do? Only like 5% will make it half a mile”, Paige joked to Azzi, calming her fears of the crowds they were about to experience. They quickly started the trail, trying to escape the hordes of people. Within ten minutes of silent hiking, they began noticing the birds and the breeze again. No longer were they overstimulated by crowds, just by their thoughts and feelings towards each other. 

The trail walked the most beautiful cliff rim, staring straight down into the famous Yosemite Valley. Azzi was kicking herself for forgetting her camera, the lighting in the late afternoon painting the canyon with a faint orange light. 

It was almost like Paige could read Azzi's mind when they stopped, going to reach into her bag, producing Azzi’s favorite digital camera.

“How did you know to bring this?”, Azzi questioned in complete shock that Paige even knew she had one.

“I saw all those pictures on your wall. I just knew they were more than a quick snap on your phone. They looked like art”, Paige’s words falling out exposing the truth of how intently she paid attention to Azzi’s life. 

—

Azzi having her camera made the hike excruciatingly slow, but Paige wasn’t complaining. The value of seeing the girl smile so soon after the wreckage of this morning made her heart swell. All she wanted was for Azzi to be ok. She could tell Azzi was losing herself in the perfect composition and lighting, in complete awe of how photogenic the valley was. 

“Let me take a picture of you”, Azzi begged sweetly, not allowing Paige to say no as she dragged her to the perfect spot. 

Paige could not help be smile widely, the butterflies in her stomach never wearing off after she was touched by Azzi.

Azzi put her in all different positions, making sure to capture every angle of Paige. She secretly loved the attention Azzi was paying her, and she wanted to pay it back to Azzi.

“Come here and take one with me”, Paige pleaded. Azzi took no time to agree and pressed Paige’s side.

Paige stole the camera from Azzi, with much push back from the younger girl, “Don’t break my camera! All those photos are one of a kind now”, she teased back at Paige.

What did she do to deserve this love and light from Azzi? And how could she accurately capture it in a photo?

Page turned the camera around to take a shot, Azzi stopping her before she could complete it. 

“You’re doing it all wrong. Let me show you”, Azzi plucked the camera from Paige’s hands and turned it around to try and show her how to take a photo properly.

Paige fell into place behind Azzi, wrapping her hand around her bare stomach and leaning her head into her shoulder as Azzi rambled on about how to hold the camera and the right way to press the shutter button.

Azzi clearly did not want Paige to move once she realized how close they were to each other, and instead opted to take the picture herself, snapping a beautiful candid picture of Paige nestled into Azzi. Paige was a bit caught off guard, not ready for the photo, but Azzi had not put the camera down yet. So she did the only thing she could think of and placed a light kiss on her cheek just as Azzi snapped the next picture. 

Before they could get too far into their photo taking, a group of hikers entered the same lookout they were in, immediately embarrassing them and separating the two. 

The two cleared out of the point to give the group their time on the outlook alone. They continued to walk the trail quietly, soaking in the sounds of each other's breathing and footsteps on the ground. 

[bestruction]

hii could you make gojo x wife!reader. Reader is itadori's older sister. A special grade sorcerer and incharge of second years. She holds very strong cursed technique like psychic manipulation or she's a vessel of a cursed god (whatever you prefer it's your choice)

Could u please make angst/comfort oneshot. Reader help gojo in fighting against sukuna, they won but at the cost of reader. She went into a coma. She also had saved Nanami during Shibuya so nanami is also present. (Gojo is alive)

You can also show how everyone reacted specially Satoru and Yuji and recap of the memories they share.

Please let me know wheather your interested in doing it or not!!!!!!!

please don't mind my grammar. English is not my first language................

Warnings: none Notes: Thank you for your request. I had a lot of fun writing for Gojo and ended up with a few scenarios ideas for him in the store. Also, your grammar is fine <3 Don't worry (Plus, english is also not my native language so high five)

The hospital room smelled too clean. After so long, the usual white walls felt infuriating. Gojo hated it. The sharp scent of antiseptic, the way the light filtered too harshly through the blinds, and the flowers on the windowsill made the place feel like a shrine rather than a room where someone lived, breathed, and existed.

He sat slouched in the stiff chair by your bedside, one leg stretched out, hands dangling between his knees. The blindfold was shoved carelessly into his pocket days ago. He hadn't worn it since the moment they dragged him here, bleeding and laughing and terrified because you had fallen and you hadn't gotten back up.

"I told you not to fight," he muttered for the thousandth time, voice low, fraying at the edges. He raked a hand through his messy silver hair, tugging at the roots until it hurt. "But nooo, you had to be a hero. Had to throw yourself into the fire because you can't stand seeing me in danger."

Sukuna was gone, the Jujutsu world was finally returning to its tracks but he couldn’t care less. He met you while you worked as a teacher. He thought you were…infuriating at first. You had a special kind of cursed technique that allowed physics manipulation through your vital energy. Of course, something so powerful would have a high price. He lost count of how many fights you two had because he didn’t want you to get involved in missions anymore. He wanted you to work training the students and preserve yourself because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. 

Did that stop you from jumping into the fight against Sukuna the moment you saw him bleeding? Absolutely not. You would throw yourself in fire and turn into ashes before seeing something or someone you love disappear without doing anything. But being so damn stubborn was part of the reason why he fell in love with you. 

The monitors beeped softly, the only sign that somewhere, deep beneath the broken surface, you were still fighting. Gojo slouched forward again, reaching out to brush your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You looked so peaceful, it made him furious.

“You better wake up soon,” He said, his words low as he tapped the back of your hand with his fingers “I miss you telling me to ‘shut up’ already” 

You didn’t move. He waited, watching your eyes, your fingertips, and nothing. He scoffed a bitter, fond sound. 

A gust of wind stirred the flowers on the windowsill, filling the room with a sickly sweet scent. Gojo's lip curled. He wanted to throw them all out. Rip the damn stems apart with his hands.

"They keep bringing flowers," he muttered. "Yuji, Megumi, even that moron Panda. I hate it. Makes it feel like I’m visiting your grave." His thumb brushed lightly over the back of your hand, seeking something—anything. "You’re not dead," he said fiercely, teeth gritted. "You hear me? You’re not. You don’t get to leave me like this."

Silence.

Outside the window, the city kept moving. Inside the room, time had stopped.

Day after day, night after night, Gojo stayed. He slept half on the bed sometimes, sprawling over the chair like a thrown-away doll, refusing to leave even when Shoko threatened to sedate him.

He told you stories. About the students, about how Nanami actually cracked a joke once (he didn't, but Gojo knew you'd tease him if you ever woke up to hear the lie). He told you how Yuji cried the first time he came in and saw you, how Megumi stared at your hand for half an hour without saying a word.

Gojo hated this helplessness more than anything — the sheer, brutal truth that for all his limitless power, he couldn't lift you out of that bed, couldn't force your eyes open with sheer will, couldn't heal what your soul had sacrificed. He was used to winning, to bending the world around him, to standing above fate itself. But now he could only sit there, every day, whispering his dreams into your sleeping ear like prayers he wasn't sure would ever be answered. 

Some nights, when loneliness wrapped too tightly around his chest, he told you about the future he had started to imagine — a small house tucked somewhere quiet, far from the blood and curses and endless wars. 

"I’ve been thinking about quitting," he confessed, his thumb stroking slow, trembling patterns along the back of your hand. "The kids can handle it now... Yuuji, Megumi, Nobara. They don’t need me hovering anymore or you." His voice softened, almost bashful. "We could get a place out in the countryside. Grow tomatoes, or whatever old people do. Maybe have a kid or two. You'd hate the names I've picked out, by the way. Like... 'Soichiro,' or 'Tamaki.' Imagine calling for them at dinner." He laughed — a hoarse, broken thing — because he needed to believe you would wake up just to roll your eyes at him, to punch his arm and scoff that he was an idiot. Needed to believe that somewhere inside the quiet shell of your body, you were still there, smiling, waiting to come back to him.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead — a soft, lingering thing like a vow — and when he pulled back, he saw the imperceptible flutter of your lashes. For a moment, he froze, his heart slamming hard against his ribs, his mind reeling, terrified that it was just another cruel trick of exhaustion. But then your hand twitched weakly against his, and your voice — raspy, barely a breath — broke the silence.

"I like the name... Soichiro."

Gojo stared at you, wide-eyed, breathless, his whole world tilting sideways. For a split second, he genuinely wondered if he had finally lost his mind, conjured you with sheer desperation. But no — your warm eyes found his. Your lips curved into the ghost of a smile. You were there.

A laugh — broken, beautiful — tore out of him, and before he could stop himself, he was kissing you again: your forehead, your nose, the corner of your mouth, frantic, reverent, as if anchoring himself to the reality that you were here, awake, alive.

"Breath, Satoru," you croaked out, your voice barely above a whisper, your hand weakly trying to push his chest away. "I need to... breathe."

He laughed again, wet with tears he didn’t even realize were falling, and rested his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your cheeks like you were made of spun glass.

"Sorry, sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking with a happiness so raw it hurt. "Just... don't go back to sleep, okay? Not yet. I’ve got a whole list of terrible baby names to tell you.’ 

[scoupsakakitty]

Drowning in Us | idol!Joshua x Reader | angst

The hotel pool shimmered under the dim glow of lanterns strung along the perimeter. The water was a deep sapphire, rippling faintly in the cool night air. Y/N stood at the edge, her bare feet curling slightly against the cold tiles. She hadn’t expected to see him here not Joshua.

He was alone in the pool, his dark hair wet and pushed back, droplets tracing a path down his sharp jawline. His arms rested on the edge, his head tilted back as he gazed up at the stars, seemingly lost in thought. He looked like a picture of peace, but she knew better.

Her heart clenched painfully, the same way it always did when she thought of him when she thought of them.

She shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t go in. But the urge was too strong. The chance to finally confront him, to rip open the wound she had carried for so long, was too tempting.

She slipped out of her robe, revealing her sleek black swimsuit. The air was cool against her skin as she took slow, deliberate steps toward the water. Joshua didn’t notice her at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts he was drowning in.

The water was warm as she slid in, and the slight splash caught his attention. His head jerked up, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw her.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. It was as if her name carried a weight he wasn’t ready to bear.

“Joshua.” She met his gaze, her tone steady despite the storm raging inside her.

He straightened, pulling his arms off the edge, his body tensing as if preparing for a fight or maybe an escape. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I guess,” she said, moving closer. Her movements were slow, deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey. “Trying to clear my head.”

He looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “There are plenty of other places for that.”

Her lips curved into a small, bitter smile. “But none as interesting as this one.”

They were silent for a moment, the only sounds the faint hum of the pool’s filters and the occasional chirp of a night insect. Y/N moved to the middle of the pool, the water lapping at her shoulders as she stopped a few feet from him.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said finally, her voice cutting through the silence.

He stiffened, his hands gripping the edge of the pool. “I haven’t.”

“Don’t lie to me, Joshua. We both know that’s not true.”

His eyes darted to her, then away, as if looking at her for too long might break him. “It’s better this way,” he said quietly.

“Better for who?” she demanded, her voice trembling slightly. “You? Because it sure as hell hasn’t been better for me.”

He flinched at her words, his jaw tightening. “Y/N, please—”

“No,” she interrupted, moving closer. The water rippled around her, her presence as undeniable as the ache in his chest. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk away and pretend like I never existed.”

“I’m not pretending,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“Aren’t you?” She tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “Then look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t think about me. Tell me you’re over me. That you’re happy with her.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t look at her. His silence was louder than any confession, and she felt both a pang of satisfaction and a wave of sadness.

“That’s what I thought,” she said softly, her voice tinged with bitterness.

He turned to face her then, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You don’t understand, Y/N,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” she shot back. “You either love her or you don’t. You’re either over me, or you’re not.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his body evident. “It’s not that black and white,” he said, his voice strained. “I—I care about her. She’s good to me. She’s—safe.”

“Safe,” Y/N repeated, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. “Is that what you want, Joshua? Safe?”

He didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the water.

“Because I don’t think that’s what you wanted when you were with me,” she continued, her voice softer now. “We were messy and complicated and… and real.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water. “Maybe real is too much.”

She stared at him, her chest tightening. “Too much for who? For you? Or for her?”

His head snapped up, his eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue, to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Are you happy with her?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

He hesitated, his mouth opening as if to answer, but no words came out. He turned his face slightly, avoiding her gaze.

“Joshua,” she pressed, her voice more insistent. “Are you happy with her?”

Still, he didn’t answer, and his silence made her heart clench painfully. She took another step closer, her movements careful but deliberate. “Answer me.”

He finally exhaled, his head dropping slightly, he shook his head.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. Her voice softened as she whispered, “Why?”

She moved closer, until the water was the only thing separating them. Her hand reached out instinctively, brushing a tear that had slipped down his cheek. He closed his eyes at the contact, his breathing shaky.

“Why, Joshua?” she asked again, her voice trembling.

His hand shot up, wrapping around her wrist. Gently, but firmly, he pulled her hand away from his face, his grip lingering for a moment before he let go. His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“Because she’s not you,” he said finally, his voice breaking.

Her eyes widened slightly, her heart pounding in her chest.

“She’s not you,” he repeated, his voice raw. “She doesn’t make my heart race when she walks into a room. She doesn’t challenge me, doesn’t make me feel alive the way you do. She doesn’t laugh like you, or smile like you, or look at me like I’m the only person in the world.”

His voice grew softer, almost a whisper. “She’s everything I thought I needed. Everything safe and simple. But she’s not the person I can’t stop thinking about at night. She’s not the person I see when I close my eyes.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as his words sank in. “Joshua…”

“I thought staying away from you was the right thing to do,” he continued, his voice shaking. “I thought if I could convince myself to move on, to love her, I could stop hurting you. But I’m still hurting you, aren’t I?”

She nodded silently, her throat too tight to speak.

“And I’m still hurting too,” he admitted, his voice breaking. Another tear slipped down his cheek, and this time, he didn’t stop her when she reached up to wipe it away.

They stood there in the water, the world around them fading away. It was just them, their pain and their love, laid bare under the dim glow of the lanterns.

“Then stop,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Stop running. Stop pretending. Just… stop.”

He stared at her, his heart aching with everything he wanted to say, everything he wanted to do.

But he knew one thing.

He still loved her.

And he always would.

Joshua’s grip on her wrist loosened, and for a moment, he let himself simply feel the warmth of her touch, the way her presence seemed to pull him in like gravity.

But then reality came crashing back.

“I can’t,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he took a step back, the water rippling between them. “I want to, Y/N. God, I want to. But I can’t.”

Her heart sank as the space between them grew, her hand falling to her side. “Joshua…”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “I can’t give you the pieces of me when I’m already broken.”

She stood there, frozen, as he turned and climbed out of the pool. The cool night air hit his damp skin, but it was nothing compared to the cold settling in his chest.

Joshua stopped at the edge of the pool, his back to her. “You deserve someone who isn’t afraid to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving Y/N alone in the water, her tears blending with the ripples around her.

As she watched him disappear into the night, a quiet resolve settled in her chest. She had come here to find closure, but instead, she found something else a truth she couldn’t ignore.

She loved him. But maybe it was time to let him go.

————————————————————————————-

[rainrot4me]

What would you think the creeps favourite song from Ethel Cain is...

I love Ethel Cain & Hayden more than I can physically name so sorry I went a little overboard with this,,,

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

“Thoroughfare”

Jeff has that chaotic, feral energy, but beneath all that bloodlust is a deeply broken person looking for something he can’t name. When I listen to Thoroughfare, it gives me the uneasy feeling of watching a car crash and not being able to do anything about it or help anyone involved. You kind of just have to stand back while they suffer, and that’s what I feel like Jeff’s backstory is like from the reader’s perspective. You just watch this boy slowly rip his life apart without even realizing it.

“And every small-town diner, saw our faces at least once or twice / But in these motel rooms, I started to see you differently, oh.”

He definitely listens to this on loop when he’s alone, sprawled out somewhere half-covered in blood, pretending he doesn’t feel anything while his brain replays memories like film burns.

✦ . ticci toby

“Family Tree”

This man is made of generational trauma and repressed fury, so this song might as well be his entire backstory in 5 minutes. He’s a sad little boy in a grown man’s body, and everyone around him has to face the repercussions of that. There’s nothing else to compare this with than with his family—his horrible dad, the grief of his sister, and the loss of his family and home. He’s always waiting and begging to be taken back to a place that doesn’t exist anymore, but everything that has happened to him has been from his own creation.

“I’m just a child, but I’m not above violence / My mama raised me better than that.”

It opens up something primal in him. It feels like his feelings have a soundtrack now. He won’t say it, but it makes him cry when no one’s watching.

✦ . eyeless jack

“A House in Nebraska”

Jack’s the most introspective of them. The yearning, the haunting sadness, the feeling of being almost loved? It hits. The feeling of wanting to go back to something, to reverse all the horrible choices you’ve made and start from the beginning, but knowing you’ll never be able to no matter how much you beg. It’s just the story of him and the events that happened in college retold again, so he listens because he knows the feeling.

“And it hurts to miss you, but it’s worse to know / That I’m the reason you won’t come home.”

There’s something nostalgic about it that he can’t quite name. You’ll find him sitting in the dark with this on, lost in thought, mask resting beside him.

✦ . masky (tim wright)

“Ptolemaea”

Tell me you’re the big brother of the group without telling me, y’know? Oh yeah. Screaming, chaos, pain, pure dread and unidentifiable noises. It’s just a verbalization of all the torment and mental dread he went through to become a proxy, all the emotions and internal dialogue that comes with it. Something about the religious undertones strike him in the weirdest, most uncomfortable spots.

“Even the iron still fears the rot / Hiding from something I cannot stop / Walking on shadows, I can’t lead him back, uh.”

He listens to it on low volume while driving to town for supplies. No, he won’t talk about it. Yes, it means everything.

✦ . hoody (brian thomas)

“Western Nights”

It’s quiet, brooding, and secretly devastating just like him. He doesn’t like anything that evoke too many emotions, but something that will speak to him in the way he understands, that’s all he needs. His head is loud, he doesn’t need anything louder to clog it all up.

“Breaking in to ATMs / Sleeping naked when it gets too hot.”

He’ll never tell you how many memories this song drags out of him, but he’ll slip one earbud into your ear and let you listen with him if he likes you enough.

✦ . ben drowned

“A House in Nebraska” (but the distorted slowed-down version)

Yes, it’s a repeat, but Ben puts this through so many audio filters it sounds like a corrupted save file mourning its lost player.

“Labored breathes and bed sores, sing it to me all day long / When the aching sound of silence, used to be our favorite song.”

He lays in the digital void with this echoing around him, glitching slightly. Melancholy and memory get tangled up in his code, but it’s comforting in a way, makes him feel human.

✦ . clockwork

“Gibson Girl”

Sensual, darkly feminine, dangerous? That’s her. But besides aesthetics, it’s also a reminder of who she was before she put that clock face in her eye. It reminds her of her power she holds, what it cost to get to this point, and how she promises to never let herself be weak again. Everything she has she’s taken for herself, this song plays as a mental check.

“And if you want it good, downright iconic / Then I would show you something that you wish you had.”

This is her pre-kill playlist. She unwinds to it. Lives for the control, the power, the dizzy sweetness of it all.

✦ . laughing jack

“Sun Bleached Flies”

This one’s unexpected, but Jack’s chaos hides a lot of grief. The song’s eerie, decaying beauty speaks to the quiet sadness in him he buries under teeth and tricks. Jack is a toy, a being that was never really meant to have a purpose, but was inevitably given one. There comes a lot of useless emotions and complex knowledge along with having your only interaction with others through dreams or imagination.

“God loves you, but not enough to save you / So, babygirl, good luck taking care of yourself.”

He laughs when it plays, but his eyes don’t match the sound.

✦ . slenderman

“Hard Times”

Ancient. Cruel. Detached. But something about this track moves through him like a ghost of something he’s lost or buried long ago. Slender’s emotions are about as easy to pick apart as the answer to where he came from, nonexistent. He’s folklore, myth turned reality, legend given legs—there comes a lot of misplaced directions and misguided emotion. He knows how to stalk, he knows how to lure, he knows how to kill—that’s it.

“Bleeding wherever you want / Too tired to move, too tired to leave.”

He doesn’t listen to music often. But when he does? It’s this. Repeatedly.

꩜ .ᐟ

[vilhelios]

—; DROWNED IN LIVING WATERS.

( your guiding hand pulls me under. ) ; there is no such thing as less, when it comes to rafayel: always more. at least when it comes to you, of course.

CW: fluff ; slightly suggestive content ; mentions of abysswalker!rafayel my beloved ; just lots of kissing bc rafayel is big and greedy!!!

no matter what it is, rafayel always wants more. more conch shells to crush to attain a singular gram of lustrous pink-white paint. more plates of seafood platters when you both go out to your favourite beachside restaurant. more time with you when you’re away from your rightful place by his side, wrapped up in nothing but the scent of seasalt and paint and each other’s arms.

“what happened to just one more…?” you pant, nails digging slightly into the bare skin of rafayel’s shoulders—they’ll be his battle scars for the night, red crescent moons borne of greed. one kiss had turned to two, and two to three, and—well, now the two of you are breathless, bodies flushed warm and lips kiss-bitten on his couch. your eyes zero in on his, and you drink in the sight of his darkened eyes—the blue depths you want to be baptised in, the red desire that will burn your very soul. everything fades away; the sound of the waves breaking upon the shore, the seagulls cawing, the moonlight filtering in through his grand, arching windows. there is only him.

( lord, there is no saving you now—only in him will you find salvation ever again. )

“you know it’s never just one.” rafayel chuckles, the soft breath of it fanning across your skin as he presses his forehead against yours. he looks beautiful, ruined like this—lips a darker red from how you bit at them, his cheeks and the tips of his ears painted the prettiest shade of red, his bathrobe almost slipping off his shoulders. rafayel’s hand falls from where it was at the back of your head, down to cup your cheek. his thumb gently brushes against your lower lip, as he murmurs, with a growing smile, “i need more, cutie. always more—” 

he doesn’t even let that final word hang in the air before he presses his lips to yours once more, melding together in a sweet desperation. 

more, more, more. more of your touch, more of your lips on his, more of your very presence. how could he ever want any less than all of you after going an eternity without? he won’t deny it—he’s a selfish, greedy man, and the only thing he ever wants to hoard is you. rafayel’s kisses, often, are sweet and chaste—like the softest flutter of a butterfly’s wings that have you chasing after more. and yet, there are times like this, where he seems intent on consuming you, a hunger unrivalled as his lips move skillfully against yours. it’s as though if he had anything less than all of you it would be his undoing. 

( the thing about stray dogs, you suppose, is that they will hoard the food and affection they are given. after all, who knows how long until it is ripped away from their maws again? he can’t survive another hundred years without you, with nothing but memories of those no-longer-lonely nights in lemuria, and desperate visions of what could have been. it would be too cruel an existence for a starving, stray dog. )

when you pull away (and even then, he chases after your lips), you feel absolutely winded. your hands clutch uselessly at the dark satin of his bathrobe to ground yourself. even as you try to steady your breathing, your senses are assailed by his very being—every gulp of air is laced with the scent of seasalt, citrus, and sandalwood. he occupies your every thought, now. (maybe it has always been that way, since a time long lost.)

“i thought you said… you were hungry…” you manage between shaky breaths. right, right; you two wanted to get dinner and then spend the rest of the night lounging around, but well, that was an hour ago. the sun was setting when rafayel first pulled you onto his lap and pressed the smallest of kisses to every inch of skin he could reach… but it’s dark now, and those kisses have long since devolved to blooming hickeys when he shifts his focus away from your lips…

“nuh-uh. not anymore.” he quickly quips back and, almost like he was afraid you’d try to slip away from his hold, pulls you closer with the arm he has around your waist. if you were close before, then you melted into one entity now, with his chest flush against yours. you think your racing heartbeats are beating in sync, beneath the flimsy material of your nightgown and his bathrobe. 

a desperate whine leaves him as he tries to chase after your lips, only managing to press a peck to the corner of them. (that’s not enough, never enough—) “don’t wanna eat. just want you, please–” and again, he somehow manages to pull you closer, close enough to get what he wants once more. and of course, you happily relent, melting against him as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

...

( and somewhere, in the far off future, amongst the golden sands, nothing has changed. ra’el is foolish to think he ever would. no, he is still weak to those lips that first kissed his aeons ago. what was first an act borne of your desperation and will to live against the drowning waters turned into the fuel to his hunger and a basic, primal need.  

“i’m not leaving you yet, your highness.” he murmurs, and it feels something like a promise as he presses a gentler peck to your cheek. it does take all his restraint to give you some respite from his barrage of kisses, however, as he watches you heave for breath. his eyes can’t help but dart all over, as he feels you clutch at the leather of his garb, but they always return to your kiss-bitten lips and hazy eyes.

he smiles, a cheeky thing, a practised swipe of his thumb against your bottom lip. “surely your highness would not call me with the fishtail beacon just for a bedtime story, hm?” 

and the hungry, stray dog, found once more by its rightful owner, begins to hoard its meal. )

a/n: inspired by horny posting with my pookie wookies on lndtwt 🫶💕 ty lisa my beloved for this mental image that you've conjured. also, i guess this is the fic to celebrate getting lvl 100 affection with rafayel!

creative notes: rafayel is very much so a dog-like character to me and less cat-like; especially abysswalker! i heard somewhere that stray animals will hoard food and ask for food more (and if you feed a stray animal on the road it will follow you) and rafayel himself does compare himself to a stray animal/animal in need of help in nightly stroll, i think? so uh. that's why i have a lot of dog-like comparisons for him 🫡💕

[areyouwell]

Athazagoraphobia

Noun: An extreme and irrational fear of forgetting. Children or adults with this condition tend to experience nausea, raised heart rate or panic attacks when attempting to remember someone they don't.

Ch.5

Ch.4, Ch.3, Ch.2, Ch.1 <--

Pairing: Logan Howlett x F!Mutant!Reader

Warnings: MDNI, sexual content, talks of suicide, suicide attempt, descriptions of extreme bodily harm, needles, this chapter gets dark, reader discretion is advised

Word Count: 13.7k

A/N: i have been looking forward to this chapter for so long oh my GOD i am vibrating. this is the shit i love, although the absolute BATTLE i just fought to get this post off the ground was long and arduous so rip my formatting tumblr didn't like it :( god gives his hardest battles to his silliest soldiers. also kurt and hank are here because i felt bad leaving them out timeline WHAT TIMELINE?

Taglist: @badbishsblog @reidsworld @idioticstar @toogaytofunctiondangit @ghostyv @wolviesgirl @over-bi-the-wayside

To say Logan hadn’t gotten much sleep was an understatement. Sure, he’d dozed off here and there, but he would jolt awake every time you held so much as a sleepy breath. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind. Seven of them. The way their heads cocked at an unnatural angle. The way they silently stared, faceless, voiceless, seemingly just watching. Waiting. The way they sank back into the shadows the moment you stirred. They must have been from you, some subconscious product of your mutation. Still, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t creep him out a little. 

Though, he didn’t know what else he expected. You could manipulate and walk through shadows. You were bound to have some creepy quirks, as well as constantly looking tired, apparently. 

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, dust mites floating in the golden beams filtering through the leaves of the various plants near your window. You’d told him a while ago you’d named them all, something about giving them a voice making them grow faster, or something else equally as ridiculous. He still didn’t quite know which one was Molly and which one was Dalia, but he could tell his Herberts from his Judases, which was a start, he supposed. 

Fucking hell he was down so bad.

You still slept soundly against his chest, occasionally a soft snore would melt his heart, or a discontented pinch of your brow only to smooth out when you nestled closer. Part of him wished neither of you ever had to move. Actually, scrap that, he wished you didn’t have to move with his whole being. He silently thanked whoever came up with the idea of Saturdays and the knowledge that the two of you could spend a lazy morning in bed without the approaching threat of teaching a class. 

Maybe he would take you out today, steal Scott’s bike and escape for one peaceful moment. There were a few lakes nearby he wouldn’t mind visiting with you, end the day at a bar or something. The image of you perched behind him on the bike, your arms wrapped around his middle, cheek resting against his back made up his mind. He was definitely going to take you out today. Get away from everything for a while. Away from teaching, training, the possibility that if you didn’t get your mutation under control you could be lost to the shadows for good…

That kind of thing. 

He gazed down at you, your mussed hair and twitching features. He loved you. Logan knew that. Two months and he was already certain. It was just saying it, he struggled with. Admitting it out loud. That’s where the problems started. It was like he was cursed, the moment he uttered those three words, some kind of catastrophe would strike and he’d lose everything for good. 

He hoped you knew. Fuck, he hoped you knew. Hoped you knew that with every waking moment, he burned to be near you, seared with the need to touch you. Even innocently. A hand on your knee, an arm around your shoulder, anything. Sure, he’d happily spend the rest of his life with his face between your thighs or his cock submerged in your cunt, but that didn’t seem realistic. And, if nothing else, Logan was a man of realism. 

A sigh escaped your slightly parted lips, eyes fluttering slightly as you started to wake. He brushed the stray hairs from your face, your features scrunching, blinking awake. 

“Good mornin’,” he smiled, and you groaned in response, closing your eyes again and hiding your face in his chest.

“No.” your response was muffled but audible, and he cocked a brow.

“Bad mornin’?”

You shook your head slightly. “No morning. Wake me when it’s midday.”

If there was one thing Logan had learnt about you, it was that you were not a morning person. ‘Too much light’ was your typical excuse, and he couldn’t say he blamed you. He used to drag himself out of bed with the promise of a strong cup of coffee before he became a teacher. He didn’t know why he was shocked to learn you were a night owl, it made a shit ton of sense considering your mutation. Though he chalked it down to the fact that your smile shone like the sun itself.

“Coffee?” He asked, and that silenced your protests. Your clock was still discarded on the floor, but flicking his wrist up in front of his face, he grinned seeing the time. 8 am. Oh, you were going to be furious. Especially since it was a Saturday. 

“What time is it?” you asked, raising your head from his chest and turning your head to your window as if the sun had personally offended you. You had half the mind to storm over to the curtains and snap them closed. If only you hadn’t been so comfortable, you’d really show the sun what for.

“A little after eight…” he said tentatively, and your head whipped back to look at him, face a picture of utter disbelief. 

“You’re fucking joking.”

“Nope, sorry sweetheart, the clock doesn’t lie.” he showed you his wrist with the time, and you groaned in frustration, your forehead hitting his chest in defeat.

“It’s a goddamn Saturday, not even Jubilee is up this early on a Saturday.” You lamented, pulling the covers up and over your head. Logan chuckled slightly, finding your detest for mornings amusing as you hid from the sun. “Fucking curtains not being closed for the fucking light to get in fucking god fucking damnit.”

“Yeah, you tell ‘em.” His hand rested on your covered head in faux protection, feeling you shift beneath the duvet, your angry huff fanning his chest. 

“I will.” He could almost hear your pout, shuffling forward to poke your head from the covers like the world’s most gorgeous groundhog, the duvet wrapped tightly around your head so he could see only your face. “Did you say coffee?” You asked, and even if you didn’t have the hope of a child being offered a lollypop dancing in your eyes, he still would have nodded. Though with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

Couldn’t appear too keen to bend to your every request.

“What’ll you give me for it?” He smirked, knowing full well there were very few lengths you’d go through to acquire a fresh pot of caffeine in the morning. And your narrowed eyes confirmed that knowledge. 

“I’ll suck you so hard you’ll see fucking stars.”

Logan choked on his own saliva. He didn’t know what he was expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. “Fuckin’ freak…” he muttered, failing miserably at hiding his smile. You flashed him a toothy grin, knowing you had him in a box. Honestly, you’d do it anyway just for fun and maybe to tease him a little. 

Logan threw back the covers on his side of the bed, waiting for you to move so he could sit up and start his coffee-making mission. Only, you didn’t move, just blinked at him expectantly. “You gotta move, hun.” 

“Why can’t you be telekinetic, so inconvenient.” You grumbled, reluctantly releasing him from your arms and rolling onto your other side, only to huff once again as sunlight invaded your eyes. “Fucking sun!”

Logan watched with no small degree of admiration as you angrily threw one of your pillows and the window, eyes tracking the trajectory as it hit the curtain with a slight thump before falling to the floor. “You showed him.” He quipped, receiving a small kick to his side. 

You looked over your shoulder as he stood, watching his naked body shamelessly. Shit, he was so fucking hot. Your mouth almost watered as he stretched his arms above his head, his back flexing, muscles tensing. You sat up a little against the headboard, sandwiching your thumb between your teeth as he flexed his back again, and this time you knew it was on purpose.

“Enjoyin’ yourself?” he didn’t even need to look to know your eyes were on him. He could feel them, for fuck’s sake. And your maniacal little laugh confirmed it all.

“You’re nice to look at, excuse me for finding you attractive.” There wasn’t even a hint of guilt in your voice. You really were a freak weren’t you? 

Logan slowly turned to face you, watching as your eyes dragged up and down his body, your mischievous smile only widening. He cast his gaze skyward, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Ya done?”

You clicked your tongue. “Not even close. But, I really want a coffee, so I guess I am for now.” You shrugged as if you hadn’t just been fucking the shit out of him with your eyes. Logan huffed a laugh, shaking his head in fond disbelief. As if you couldn’t be any more endearing. Yes, you were a grumpy little shit in the mornings, but you were his grumpy little shit. And he had a sneaking suspicion you might feel exactly the same about him. 

You rolled your eyes as he shrugged on his singlet, pulling up his briefs and jeans before looking around the room, unable to locate his belt. He spun in a slow circle, eyes scanning the floor. He swore it had fallen with his jeans. “Have you seen my–”

Hearing the telltale clink of metal, Logan looked back at you holding up the leather by his buckle. That was not where he thought he’d left it. He raised a brow of questioning, and you shrugged again. “I had it on hand. In case…” you trailed off and his eyes widened in scandal, brow furrowed.

“In case of what?!” 

“Just, in case.” You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide your filthy grin and failed spectacularly. Logan barked a laugh of disbelief, skirting around the bed and snatching the belt from your hands, tossing it on the covers as he trapped you in his arms.

“You,” he started, before pressing his lips to yours. “Are such,” he kissed you again. “A freak.” He finished, moulding his mouth against your own in a lingering, lingering dance. You giggled into his lips, your hands finding the soft strands of his hair. “Only two months in and you already want me to tie you up?” He drew back with a smirk, just far enough to see the perversity in your eyes.

“Who said anything about tying me up…?”

He blinked. How many fucking surprises were you going to spring on him this morning? “Hate to break it to ya darlin’, but if that’s your intention then a thin strip of leather ain’t gonna cut it.” 

Your irises sparkled with the realisation that he wasn’t saying no. “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to get something stronger.” You murmured, closing the gap between the two of you once again before breaking it almost immediately. “Maybe some of those metal zip ties… or just a really thick wire. I dunno, how strong are you?”

“Real fuckin’ strong.”

Your brows furrowed in thought, and he ruffled the top of your head. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You gaped in mock offence. “So rude. Go get coffee, I don’t even want to look at you right now.”

“Weren’t sayin’ that earlier, were ya?”

“Yeah, but now your shirt’s on.” 

“Face not good enough for ya?”

“Not when it’s insulting me, no.”

“And when it’s doing this?” Logan leaned into your neck, his tongue darting out to lick along the side of your throat, teeth gently nipping at your soft, bruised skin from last night. You gasped a strangled moan, still sensitive from where he’d left his marks on you. 

“That’s more forgivable.” You breathed as he drew back, a smug smirk plastered across his face. “Go, before I drag you back into bed and have my freaky little way with you, belt and all.” You wiggled your brows and he chuckled darkly, as if anything you said could be seen as a threat. But he acquiesced nonetheless, feeding his belt through the loopholes of his jeans, securing the clasp. 

“I’ll be back in a few.” He placed a kiss to your forehead and you hummed a soft, contented smile before he turned away and headed out down the hallway. You were right, it was far too early for anyone to be awake on a Saturday. As far as he could hear, nobody was up yet, which just meant he got a good few more hours to spend with you before the rest of the mansion started to think you were either dead or missing. You weren’t a morning person, but that didn’t mean you weren’t up most mornings, just with a face like thunder. 

He loosened a contented sigh, cracking open the door to the kitchen before crossing to the kettle and flicking the switch, listening to the low hiss of the water heating up before he pulled open the overhead cupboards to retrieve two mugs, a glass one for him and your favourite one for you. Logan realised with no small degree of shame that he didn’t actually know your birthday, and come to think of it, nobody else had mentioned it either. He hoped it hadn’t already been and gone, seeing your small collection of mugs had given him the perfect idea. 

He rifled around for a bit, before locating the larger, cáfetier. It was easily big enough for two cups and then some. Popping open the steel lid to the coffee grounds, he spooned four heaps into the glass, guestimating the correct amount. Two heaps each seemed about right…

It had been too long since his biggest worry was something as domestic as how many heaps of coffee should he put in a cáfetier for two. It gave him a sense of peace, despite the events of three days ago. And with nobody else up and about yet, it really did feel like the two of you were alone in the world. 

And honestly, he’d be fine with that.

At least, it did feel like, before the fantasy was shattered by approaching footsteps. Logan groaned internally, knowing that gait and heft anywhere. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was Scott. Why, of all people, did it have to be fucking Scott.

“Logan… I didn’t know you’d be in here so early.” His tone was curt, stunted almost as if he was allergic to being nice. Logan simply grunted, pouring the freshly boiled water into the cáfetier and placing the lid on. 

“I was just leavin’.” He responded gruffly, hooking his fingers around the two mug handles and carefully lifting the coffee pot, making for a quick escape before Scott cleared his throat. 

“I uh… Look man, I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Logan paused, giving Scott a sidelong glance, a silent suggestion for him to continue. “About what happened the other day. The Professor was right, it wasn’t the time for us to fight.”

Logan grit his teeth. “That’s what you’re apologising for? Not for suggesting we should just get rid of her?” he snarled, his fingers tightening on the mug handles. Scott sighed, running a stressed hand through his hair. 

“It’s not– It’s not that simple, Logan. She’s done this before, and last time it resulted in the death of one of our teammates. Jade was so kind. And she–”

“Loved her, yeah I know.” Logan finished, and Scott started in surprise.

“She told you that?” he asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

“I’m startin’ to think you’ve never actually had a conversation with her.” He bit, keeping his self-control intact. Though he didn’t know how annoyed you’d be if he told you he’d smashed your favourite mug over Scott’s head. 

“She was my teammate before you were, Logan. I– It’s not easy to be the one to make these decisions, or even suggest them. But sometimes we need to do things to protect other people. You know that.”

Logan nodded in confirmation. He did know that. He knew that better than anyone. “And you should know that there is nothing I won’t do to protect her. So you come at her again, spoutin’ bullshit about neutralising a threat, and there’ll be no Professor to stop me from tearin’ you apart. Got it?” He snarled, subconsciously baring his teeth. Scott sighed again. It wasn’t uncommon for Logan to threaten his life, when they first met it was almost on a daily basis. 

“I don’t want to neutralise her. I just want her under control,” he explained wearily. “Sure, the first time this happened and she killed Jade, I’d been the one to suggest that. But we were scared. We were damn terrified of her. It was only thanks to Jean that she came back.”

Logan paused for a moment. He knew Jean was keeping something under wraps. “How? What exactly did she say?”

Scott shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. “No clue. She wouldn’t tell me. She told me to ask the Professor, but we were all a little caught up in grief to ask questions at that point, and by the time we’d all managed to move on, it didn’t seem to matter anymore,” Scott paused, evidently debating his next words. “But she responded to you. We all saw that. So, what I’m trying to say, is keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. None of us want her gone, Logan. We couldn’t help her, but maybe you can.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment Logan had ever received from the man, and he honestly didn’t know what to do with it. So he nodded in silent acknowledgement. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch, but something had definitely shifted in their dynamic. But before he could contemplate it further, Scott piped up again. “I’m happy for you two, by the way. You really complement each other. Or maybe I’m just happy you haven’t been making eyes at Jean for the last two months.”

Nevermind. He hated the prick. “Go fuck yourself, Scott,” he uttered with disinterest, and if he had either of his hands free, he would have flipped him off as he left. Heading back up the stairs, Logan wondered when it would ever just stop. When everything would finally come to a halt and he could have just one day for the two of you and not think about anything catastrophic happening. Yet here he was, climbing the flight of stairs up to the third floor, contemplating your mortality. He fucking hated it. 

And he was having such a nice morning, too. 

Shouldering open the door to your room, he was greeted by an empty space and the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, steam rolling out of the small gap where you’d left the door open a crack. Maybe he could still salvage this morning after all. 

Settling down the coffee and mugs on your nightstand, he left the grounds to soak in the water before briskly stripping off his clothes, leaving them in a collected pile at the foot of your bed and slowly opening the bathroom door a little wider. It was like a sauna in there, steam fogging up the mirror, the walls sweating. You hummed a soft tune, one he recognised after a beat.

It was the same song he’d asked you to dance to. 

His heart inflated as he opened the steamed-up door to step in behind you, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist to your small jump and gasp of surprise.

“‘S’just me, don’t worry,” he soothed, burying his face in the crook of your slick neck. Your hair hung limp, freshly washed as you leaned back into him, holding his arms against you.

“Mmm, was just thinking about you.” You hummed, and if Logan wasn’t already half hard at the sight of your dripping naked body, that low, sultry tone of your voice would have been enough. 

“Yeah?” he loosened his grip so you could turn around to face him, your arms slinking up his body and around his neck. “What about me?” he asked, biting back his groan as you swapped places with him, warm water cascading down his back. 

“‘Bout last night… all the things I didn’t get to do…” You teased his lips with whispers of kisses, barely making contact as you held his gaze hostage, your eyes darkening with each passing moment. He felt lightheaded already when you bypassed his mouth altogether, your teeth instantly biting down against his collarbone. 

“Like what?” he strained, his hands skirting up and down your waist, your lips trailing up the hollow of his throat, over to the side of his neck where you sucked a harsh bruise that, to your irritation, faded instantly. You knew doing it again was a losing battle, but that didn’t stop you from sinking your teeth into his flesh, feeling his rising groan on your tongue as you smoothed over the unmarked skin. Your hands braced against his chest as you rose up on your tip toes to breath into his ear.

“I wasn’t joking earlier.” Was all you muttered, nibbling at his earlobe and leaving the side of his head tingling before you travelled lower down the curve of his fuzzy jaw, back down the path you’d carved for yourself, pressing kisses down his chest, your nails lightly scratching down either side of his ribs, following the curve of his hip bone and to his hard cock. 

Logan inhaled as you took him in your wet palms, squeezing around his shaft, delivering pinches with your teeth around one of his nipples, clamping down around when you teased his already leaking tip.

“Shit…” he gasped as you sucked against his shockingly sensitive bud, the scent of your own arousal heightened in the steamy heat, driving him mad with need. Releasing him from your mouth, you giggled softly as he thrust into your grip, his hands sliding from your waist to your hair as you sank to your knees before him, making sure you kept eye contact. 

  Sticking out your tongue, you waited for what felt like an eternity to him, before you delivered a small kitten lick to the underside of his cock. His jaw fell open as he watched you, all your attention now stuck on teasing the fuck out of him, not going any further than small, short swipes. He didn’t want to push you but holy shit were you testing his self-control. 

“Fuckin’ tease.” He huffed, gritting his teeth when your malleable tongue traced one of the thick, pulsing veins down the side of his shaft. His fingers tightened in your hair, though not to move you, rather just to feel you beneath his fingertips. 

Logan’s head fell back as your lips enveloped his sensitive tip, and he realised he would happily drown in this shower if it meant you didn’t stop, water washing away the sweat from his brow, bouncing off his closed eyes. A gravelly moan bubbled from his chest, echoing slightly off the walls. “Jus’ like that, baby,” he whispered almost to himself as you took him further, your pointed tongue dragging down the underside of his cock, one of your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, the other braced against his hip to hold him still. 

You bobbed your head slowly, tasting the distinct musk and salt of his ecstasy as you flattened your tongue, hollowing your cheeks and humming lowly. The bathroom became an orchestra of gravelly groans and airy gasps, all drowned out from the outside world by the running water. Sinking into a comfortable rhythm, you looked up at his head thrown back, one of his hands had moved from your hair to the wall as he all but leaned against it.

Opening your throat, you slipped him further in your mouth until your nose was nestled comfortably against the coarse hairs at his naval. There you held him for a moment, swallowing around his cock and he fucking whimpered at the feeling of your throat squeezing him. You gagged slightly, and Logan looked down, his jaw slack as he took in possibly one of the hottest things he’d ever seen in his over a century of being alive. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and he made to pull away to give you a moment to breathe. But the moment he shifted, your nails dug sharply into either side of his hips, holding him against you. 

He stuttered moaning of your name and you knew he was close, so you hummed around him again, the vibrations of your voice travelling his throbbing length. The hand in your hair tightened as he slowly thrust his hips into your wanting mouth, gently fucking your face. 

“Jesus Christ you feel good…” he uttered breathlessly, tensing his jaw as he approached his peak. You smiled wickedly around his cock, dragging your slick tongue down that same vein you were paying attention to earlier as he moved back, your teeth ever so slightly scraping atop his length, and it was his undoing. 

Pleasure flooded his senses, fire coursing through his blood as he went to pull from your mouth, only to have you angrily shove your head forward, swallowing again around his member as he threw his head back to embrace the stream of the shower. “Fuck, fuck!” He stuttered a long, drawn-out groan as he spilled into your mouth, painting your throat white as his hips bucked uncontrollably, the tips of his claws poking through his knuckles as he fought to keep control, stars dancing behind his eyes.

The waves of ecstasy receded with each pulse, leaving him dizzy and gasping, his head falling forward to catch his breath and steady himself. Looking up from your knees, you drew back, leaving a lingering kiss on the head of his cock, your hands gently squeezing his thighs. 

“You okay?” You asked, rising to your feet, palm softly cupping the underside of his jaw and moving his face to look at you. He was stunned, dazed almost, as he wordlessly searched your eyes for an answer to a silent question. You laughed a little, and he drew you in with a thumb and forefinger pinching your chin, claiming your mouth with his lips in a delicately passionate kiss. The way he tasted himself on your tongue almost had him hardening again. 

“You almost suffocated yourself and you’re asking if I’m okay?” he asked with subdued disbelief, and you grinned wildly. 

“You seemed out of it for a moment, wanted to make sure I didn’t kill you.” You responded with airy innocence, and Logan huffed a laugh.

“Murder attempt number two. Not a great track record, huh?” He teased lightly, and you narrowed your eyes at him. But before you could come up with some witty retort, he sank to his knees before you, throwing a leg over his shoulder so bruskly you had to steady yourself against the wall. “Fuck you’re so hard to ignore when you smell this fuckin’ sweet, darlin’.” He murmured, before wasting no time in devouring your cunt until you were whimpering his name and gushing all over his tongue. 

Consider the morning salvaged.

“This is going to be insanely strong coffee.” You called from the bedroom as Logan dried his hair with a spare towel, draping it across his shoulders before padding out the join you. “Someone didn’t want to leave the shower.” You shot pointedly with a small grin. He simply shrugged in response, trying not to be too disappointed that you’d thrown on a baggy t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. 

“Not sure how I’m to blame for that.” He crossed the room to stand behind you, towel wrapped dangerously low around his hips and circled his arms around your waist, setting his chin atop your head. “You started it.” 

You leaned back into his chest, basking in the warmth of his embrace. It was these little moments of soft domesticity that you craved with him. Yeah, the sex was great. Mind-blowing, in fact, and teaching and training with him was a fantastic excuse for the two of you to spend time with each other, but it was these moments you valued. Swaying in the kitchen to whatever song blared from the radio, your head resting on his lap as you dozed off to some shitty reality tv-show, or vice versa. These were the moments you’d remember when you were old and grey and he was–

Still looking gorgeous and young. Fuck, you hadn’t thought about that. How had that only just occurred to you? You pushed the thought into the furthest corners of your mind. Now was not the time to be entertaining such things. 

“Why did you take so long, by the way? I was halfway through the intended length of my shower by the time you got back.” You asked, mourning the loss of his contact as you went to pour the coffee into the two mugs, your heart expanding when you saw he’d picked your favourite one. The one Kitty gifted you. 

“Ran into Scott in the kitchen…” You snorted at the irritation in his tone, clearly not a fond memory. 

“What’d he have to say for himself?” A hand extended behind you, clasping the top of the glass mug between your fingertips as you handed it to him, pouring yourself a mug of your own before you turned to sit on the bed.

“Thanks. He was just runnin’ his mouth, to be honest with ya. Though he did apologise, which felt weird.” Logan returned to his side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard and raising his arm as a silent request for you to join him. You shuffled closer, ducking beneath his arm and cosying into his side, making sure to hold your full mug of coffee steady. 

“He did? What for?” 

“We argued the whole training thing. He was apologising for the timing of it.” 

You snorted a laugh into your mug. “Trust Scott to apologise for the thing that mattered least. But it’s a start, I guess. He say anything else?”

“Not really. Said he was happy for us and that we complemented each other, which also felt weird.” He didn’t think you’d be thrilled about the Jean comment, so he left that in the past like he had his feelings for her. 

“Huh. Strangely nice of him.”

“‘S what I thought.” 

You sipped on your drink, pleasantly surprised it was still warm, savouring the bitter-roasted flavour. “Yeah, a little too long, think the beans are a bit burnt, but it’s still good.”

“How’dya know the beans are burnt?” 

“You can taste it. Or I can. I was a barista for a while, dontcha know?”

He raised a brow. No, he didn’t know that. “How many jobs have you had?” He asked, impressed that you had such a wide range of skills. You thought for a moment, it was actually a pretty good question. 

“Ya know what? I have no idea. What’s funny is that I never remember quitting them either. I’d just wake up one day and bam! New job. I guess I liked to bounce around a lot. Still do.” You elbowed him, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively and he groaned in exhaustion. 

“Terrible.”

“You liked it.” You stuck out your tongue and he huffed in amusement. Yeah, he did. And he wasn’t about to deny it.

Logan paused for a moment, knowing the next topic he wanted to talk to you about was likely going to be a sensitive one. You hadn’t told him for a reason, and if you didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push you, but he wanted to let you know that he knew. “Can I see your wrist…?”

Predictably, you shot from his side, muttering a curse as your coffee sloshed from your mug and onto your hand. It wasn’t like you’d made an effort to hide your scars, it was more that you banked on the fact that people, generally, were too afraid to ask. But you should have guessed Logan of all people wouldn’t shy away from something like that. Not where you were concerned anyway. 

Tentatively, you set your mug down on the nightstand, turning back to him and offering one of your wrists. He did the same, shifting to set his own mug down before slowly taking your outstretched hand in his own, inspecting the deep, faded scar with the pad of his thumb. “When?” He asked gently.

“Years ago. It’s all kind of a blur really, and I don’t remember much of it. I just– I was terrified of being a mutant and couldn’t see a way out. I think my brother found me, and took me to a hospital. I don’t know why they’re still there, honestly. I’ve used my mutation countless times since, but I guess scars are as part of the mind as they are the body. Or something like that.” It was the only explanation you had for the marks littering your body, not just the ones on your wrists, but your chest, thighs, and neck. You were a scrappy kid, always picking fights with the wrong people. 

Logan brought your wrist up to his lips, ghosting featherlight kisses down the raised line. “I’m so sorry.” He murmured, and your heart bled. He had nothing to apologise for, you hoped he knew that. 

“‘S’okay. I… learned to accept what I am. Rowan helped me with that. That’s his name, don’t know if I ever told you. After he was done being mad at me, that is. Not that I blame him. I don’t know what I would have done had the roles been reversed.” 

“You got on well, didn’t ya?”

You sighed. “Yes and no. We did when we were kids, but as we got older we started to drift apart. I think the grief over our parents changed him, and he got more cautious, whereas I got more reckless. We would fight a lot, but that didn’t mean I loved him any less. I just wish I could remember what our last argument was about. We were so fucking mad at each other, I left and deleted his fucking number.” You huffed a sigh of past frustration, turning to retrieve your mug of coffee. 

That was news to him. He didn’t know your parents had died. He knew they weren’t around during your teen years, but he didn’t know they’d died. But the way you just casually mentioned it told him it was a topic that didn’t need discussing right now. 

You settled back against him, his arm draping over your shoulders, your head dropping to the dip in between his collarbone and neck as silence settled back over you. You appreciated the way he didn’t press you for more. You doubted you’d be satisfied with such a brazen explanation, and you knew he most likely had more questions for you, so when he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, you smiled against his skin. 

“‘M gonna take you out today.”

“Like on a date or with a gun?”

You felt his snort of laughter against your cheek. “Have you always been this dark?”

“I’m a shadow weaver, comes with the territory.” You responded nonchalantly. 

“‘S that was you’re calling yourself now?”

“Nah. I still kinda like Phantom. But who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind someday.” You raised your head to take another sip of your coffee, grimacing as the liquid had gone from piping hot to lukewarm.

“On a date, dumbass. Thought we could get away for a while.” He brushed a strand of your hair back from your face, smoothing over your eyebrow with his thumb. 

“What’d ya have in mind?” You asked, leaning into his touch a fraction. 

“Take a drive, head to one of the lakes in the area, grab a drink after. Things normal couples do.”

You huffed in amusement. “We’re not a normal couple, Lo’.”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, I know. You’re a freak.”

“And you’re not? Mister ‘I can smell your arousal and it gets me going’.” You poked the centre of his chest and he flicked your forehead in retaliation. 

“You up for it?” 

“I get to spend the day away from the kids and visit a super scenic lake with my second favourite mutant in the mansion? Followed by an evening of drinking in a bar? You might as well have asked me to marry you here and now.” 

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, we’re n– wait second favourite?”

You nodded, looking at him like the answer was obvious. “Well yeah, Kitty bought me my favourite mug so she reserves favourite person rights.” 

“S’that how it works?”

“Bit slow on the uptake aren’t ya?” Logan pushed you off him, careful not to shove you too hard so you spilt any more coffee on yourself.

“I take it back. We’re gonna spend the day here.” You gasped dramatically, setting your drained mug to the side before trying to cosy back up to him, only for his arm to hold you at bay.

“I lied, I lied! You’re incredibly smart and quick and my favourite person I’ve ever met ever!” You exclaimed through fits of laughter as you tried to fight through the wall of sinewy muscle. 

“Didn’t hear ya. Come again?” He held you off with one hand, the other effortlessly raising his mug of coffee to his lips. It was a testament to his strength how he could keep you back with just one arm.

Maybe metal cable ties weren’t strong enough after all…

You conceded, flopping down onto the pillows next to you, bubbles of laughter still popping from your chest. “When do you wanna leave? What time is it actually?” you asked, taking him by the wrist only to see he wasn’t wearing his watch. Must have taken it off to shower.

“Lemme check, hold on.” Logan leaned down off the bed where the poor alarm clock still lay completely abandoned, retrieving your lamp at the same time and setting them both on the nightstand. “Just gone nine. Leave in an hour? I think it’s roughly three hours by car, but Scott’s bike shaves off at least half an hour so…” He shrugged with a cheeky grin, and you laughed at the mischief in his eyes.

“Gives us around six hours to ourselves, minus the journey. Sounds perfect to me.” Being unable to withstand a lack of physical contact with you for any longer than three minutes, Logan lifted his arm for you again, and you returned to the home you’d built next to his heart.

“We should get out more…” he lamented softly, his hand holding your shoulder, thumb stroking your soft skin beneath the short sleeve of your t-shirt. 

“If we had the time, that would be great.” You sighed, feeling his slight despondency. If only your circumstances had been different, and you were just a normal couple that could do normal couples things. But now, you had to teach younger mutants how not to accidentally kill the wrong people, and how to effectively kill the right people. Not only that, but you had to train to ensure you didn’t accidentally kill yourself in the process.

Fuck’s sake.

A fist knocked at the door three times, and you braced for Kitty to simply let herself in. But the longer the silence after lingered, the surer you became that, whoever was on the other side of the door, wasn’t Kitty.

“Come in!” You called, not making any efforts to obscure either yourself of Logan. The whole mansion knew by now, it wasn’t like you were trying to keep it a secret. The door opened to reveal Ororo, her white hair neatly tied back from her face. 

“Morning! Just wanted to– oh. Hey Logan…” she eyed the two of you suspiciously and you shared a glance with him. The fact he was only dressed in a towel and you in a loose tee and boxer briefs didn’t exactly help your case of innocence. “Right… anyway, I guess this saves me two trips. Xavier has a conference in Connecticut, Jean’s going with him. They’re giving a talk on starting up a new school for both mutants and humans to start coexisting, so you’re both on babysitting duty.”

Your heart sank. “What the hell are you and Scott doing?!” You asked accusingly, sitting up from Logan’s chest. Storm’s brows pinched like she seemed genuinely remorseful this was how things had to be.

“Tying up some loose ends for Kurt and Hank before picking them up. They’ve been away for a while now, but they’re back today. That and Scott has some errands to run, so we’ll be back late.” She explained sheepishly, and you groaned in frustration. The one day off you thought you could have and you’ve been stuck with babysitting.

The gods really like shitting in your dinner, don’t they?

“Alright… but you owe us.” Logan piped up, and you whipped your head to him in exasperation. He read your face instantly. ‘Are we really going to do this?’

‘Like we have a choice.’ he silently communicated back, and he knew you’d understood what he’d said when you sighed heavily, dragging a hand down the side of your face.

“Fucking fine, but Logan’s right, you owe us. And I was wondering where those two had got to, how long’ve they been away?”

Ororo loosened a breath of relief. “Thank you. And next Saturday? All your’s, I promise. As for Kurt and Hank, around a year or so? Xavier sent him off on a private mission not even we knew about until a couple months ago, just before you came back. We’re going to pick them up just to make sure they get here safely.” She didn’t seem too confident about wherever Nightcrawler and Beast had been.

“That dangerous, huh?” As if the mere mention of a dangerous mission set him on edge, Logan’s arm wrapped back around your shoulders protectively. Neither of you had been required for one since your return, and he was honestly dreading the day. 

“Kurt’ll explain more when he gets back I’m sure, but yeah, that dangerous. Hank doesn’t like to go on missions like these, but apparently, Charles needed his diplomatic expertise and Kurt’s quick getaways, so who knows?” Ororo shrugged, before looking pointedly at Logan’s bare chest and then your bare legs. “Do I even wanna know what you guys were up to before I knocked…?”

You laughed, waving off her concerns. “Having a coffee and chatting about the day we did have planned before being landed with babysitting duty, nothing exciting don’t you worry.”

“Unless you wanna talk about the shower…” You shot Logan a scandalised look, mouth and eyes wide in utter shock.

“Ew, no, I’m good, see you later.” Ororo shielded her eyes as she left as if she could unsee the mental image Logan had just planted there. As soon as the door shut you smacked his arm with the back of your hand.

“What was that for?”

“Did it look like she was gonna leave anytime soon to you?” You took a moment to think about it, and Logan’s expression shifted to self-satisfaction. “Exactly.”

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. You offered him a little, defeated smile. “Guess our day off will have to wait.”

He leaned forward, tucking you into his side before relaxing back against the headboard. “I’ll take you out soon, ‘kay? Promise.”

“Like, on a date or w–” You couldn’t even finish the sentence before he clapped his hand over your mouth, stopping you midway through.

“Enough. It wasn’t funny the first time, why did you think it would be funny again?” 

You stuck your tongue out to lick his palm, a foolproof method of removing someone’s hand from your mouth. Or, at least it had been foolproof in the past. But you raised your eyes to his face, and he looked at you with disinterest. “Not gonna work, firefly.” 

You adored that nickname. He never explained where it came from or why he started it, but it didn’t matter to you. As long as he never stopped. 

Thick black boots pounded the floorboards as you raced through the hallways of the mansion, vibrations humming up your legs with every step, your breath like fire in your lungs. Shouts and screams echoed in every corner, flashes of torchlight illuminating cones of white against the walls like searchlights. The Professor was away. Why was the Professor always fucking away?

Sliding to a halt as you heard footsteps around the corner, you quickly slipped into the shadows, hushed voices muffled as if underwater as you jumped to the ceiling. Light separated the shadows, and four silhouetted figures walked cautiously beneath you. You could make out the outlines of their guns as the torch shifted before the hallway was again drenched in darkness as they continued their search.

Morphing to the floor, you reformed from the black, stealing a quick glance behind you to where they’d disappeared. There were no students that way, Logan and Scott had made sure of that. The moment Logan had sensed something was off, the evacuation had begun, escorting the students silently from their beds and through the hidden channel behind the panel wall. You knew there were stragglers, but you focused on the knowledge Ororo and Kurt were with them.

How had things gotten so out of hand so goddamn fast? You’d woken up on Logan’s chest this morning feeling like a whole new mutant, comfort wrapped around your heart like an embrace. Now, the opposite couldn’t be more true. You cursed the fact that Jean followed Xavier around like a lost soul. You could really use her help right about now. 

A piercing, shooting pain rushed through your head as you clamped your hands down over your ears, crouching to the floor. Your eardrums throbbed as you recognised that ability, gut knotting at the realisation that Theresa was still inside somewhere, her sonic scream sending waves of agony through your mind before it stopped abruptly. Fuck.

With a new sense of urgency, you sprinted through the entrance hall, taking the stairs two at a time. If you’d been a little more focused on your surroundings and less hellbent on saving the girl, perhaps you would have noticed the line of guns pointed in your direction. One moment you were racing full speed down the first-floor hallway, the next you’d frozen solid as torches flared simultaneously, erasing any easily accessible shadow. You braced, knowing after they “killed” you, they’d turn away and leave you to sink into the darkness and reform. 

But they held fire, your strained pants the only sound in the eerie silence of the bedroom corridor. 

“They were right…” you whipped your head back to the voice behind you, knees bent in anticipation as two figures stepped from the room you knew to be Jubilee’s, and you prayed to whatever sick, twisted gods above that Logan or Scott had got to her first. The torches behind you revealed a man you thought to be in his thirties, a pair of thick, round glasses perched on the end of his crooked nose. He was taller than whoever was next to him and unnaturally thin. “We missed you dearly.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Come again?” You spat, eyes darting between the two.

The man just laughed heartily, opening his arms as if offering you a hug. “Of course, how could I be so rude? I’ve read the reports… Subject Five, if you could be so kind.”

Panic surged through your body as Subject Five stepped forward, a golden glow emanating from beneath its clothes. Your eyes closed instinctively as the hallway lit up as though the sun had risen, your hands flying to shield your face. 

“That’s a bit better. You look good, Eight, but you always were the resilient one.” You were barely listening, still caught up in the dawning revelation that you knew that mutation. You’d know that mutation anywhere. “We’re here to take you home. Subject One isn’t here, sadly, so I’m afraid you’re just going to have to take my word for it, but we really have missed you.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you managed to grit, your eyes adjusting to the light as you cracked them open a little.

“I have to say, when I received word you were a teacher now, it almost made me laugh. You hated kids! Why on earth would you surround yourself with them? But then it dawned on me. A mutant school. If only my great-grandfather had thought of that at the start.” He continued as if you were engaging in nothing but a pleasant conversation in the park.

“Ya know, for someone who talks so much, you really are saying very little.” you quipped, finding a nugget of solace in the fact that this man didn’t want you dead, at least as far as you could tell. “Let’s start with introductions, yeah?”

He chuckled again. “You’re absolutely right. My name is Doctor Kreva. This man here, why you should already know him, even without Subject One to help out.” he was almost condescending in his tone, and you hated the fact he was right. You did know the mutant. And your heart bled for him. What the fuck was he doing here? Why was he raiding the school with this chucklefuck?

“Means nothing to me. The fuck do you want?” you snarled, to his further amusement.

“Were you not listening, darling? We want to take you home. My father was so stupid for letting you go,” it was the first emotion you’d seen on his face beyond sadistic joy. His eyes filled with frustrated hatred. “He never had the stomach for science. And after Seven somehow managed to kill my mother, a problem you so kindly took care of, he started to pity you all.” He spat like the word was venomous before he took a breath of collection. “Seven years it’s taken to track you all down and rebuild what he destroyed. Seven long years. But we’re nearly there. All we’re waiting for is you.”

Your breath got stuck in your throat. Seven years ago, you and Jade were picked up by Jean and Ororo on the side of that highway. How could he possibly know any of this? “You got the wrong gal, sorry bub.” Oh, you’d been spending way too much time with Logan. Dr. Kreva sighed, holding out his hand expectantly. Like a king’s attendance, one of the guards stepped up from behind you, making sure to keep his shadow far from your reach, before he slung a heavy pack from his shoulder, dropping it into Kreva’s waiting hand. 

The doctor took a knee, removing one of the thickest folder’s you think you’d ever seen, and holding it up. It was old. Incredibly old. Whatever colour it had been originally had faded to a pale grey, the edges frayed and splitting. He placed it on the floor face up, and your eyes caught sight of a label, though it was too far away for you to read accurately. 

“Everything you think you know is a lie, Phantom. Didn’t you think it strange your memories are jumbled? Important moments of your life scrambled or forgotten. Loose ends never tied, arguments never resolved? But this, this holds everything. Your entire life, in one folder. All eighty-two years you were with us.”

You scrunched your face, slightly offended. “I’m thirty-two, asshole.” You spat back, your skin starting to burn under such intense lighting, those threads in your body begging to be released into the shadows to escape. 

“So that’s the age he decided before releasing you. Interesting. Well, I’ll have Subject One rectify that when you’re back with us. Tranq her. Now. Subject Three, begin evacuation.” Before you could even turn around to defend yourself, a sharp pain spiked the side of your neck. You froze, blood draining from your face as you realised you’d been pierced with a needle. Heartbeat rising, you fought the urge to throw up. You didn’t know where your fear stemmed from, but you assumed it was when you were taken for blood tests as a child.

If… if that even happened. Because if you were to believe anything this dickwad said, maybe you didn’t even have a childhood. 

Your vision started to swim, and you angrily blinked the grogginess away. “Rowan… wh– what’re y– what’re you doing…?” You could barely finish the sentence as the tranquiliser entered your bloodstream, taking quick effect on your mind as you struggled to stay upright, your knees buckling as you threw your arms out to catch yourself. Shadows. You needed a shadow. But there was nothing to morph into. Nothing you could reach to rid yourself of this feeling. Everything became muffled, as if you were underwater, only barely able to hear a gut-wrenching roar before your vision went dark, and you were out cold. 

Logan raced up the stairs, fury pumping through his blood. He’d been looking everywhere for you, crashing through doorways and slicing through skin and muscle to find you. Hank had mentioned he’d seen you sprinting toward Theresa’s room after she’d screamed, and he didn’t wait to hear the rest of what he’d said before he took off at a run. He crested the first flight just in time to see three figures halfway down the lit hallway, obscuring your unconscious body. He didn’t even take a minute to acknowledge the light was emanating from the figure on the right, rather than the lights themselves. The man in the centre turned just as Logan bellowed a cry of pure, unadulterated rage, offering him a curious tilt of his head before the one one the left took hold of each other their shoulders, and they disappeared before his eyes.

He didn’t care. They were gone and you remained. That was all that mattered. Racing to your side, he saw the cause of your condition, pulling the tranquiliser out from your neck and cautiously lifting you into his lap, checking your pulse just to be sure. 

You were alive. Your heart was still beating. He almost shook with relief. 

“It’s okay, I got you firefly, I got you.” He soothed, brushing your hair back and cradling you against his chest. “You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

“Logan?” He turned his head back down the hallway, heightened sight able to make out Kurt and Scott by the stairs, Kurt wringing his hands with worry. “Is she–”

“She’s fine, just out cold. Theresa’s still in her room if you wanna make sure she’d okay.” He gestured to the room a few doors down, and Kurt jogged passed him, pausing as he saw the file on the ground. 

His eyes widened slightly, gaze flickering from the file name to your unconscious form, then back again, before looking at Logan. Crouching down, he flipped the folder so it was facing him, before continuing to Theresa’s room.

Logan froze as he read the scrawled, ink-smudged handwriting on the front of the file, his blood turning to ice in his veins. 

NLMO. Subject Eight. “Phantom”.

Logan paced as he waited outside the med-bay, chewing at the cuticles of his thumb. Scott, Jean and Charles were having a heated debate in the room to his right, he could hear raised voices even with the doors closed. Ororo and Kurt had chosen to wait with him, Kurt crouched against the wall opposite and Ororo fixed her hair every two minutes. A nervous twitch, he noticed.

Since Jean was currently held up in the furious discussion, Hank had offered to perform the routine checkups on all the mutants they’d managed to tranquilise, yourself included. It had been four hours since the attack, and he still hadn’t shown his blue furry face. Then again, there were quite a few students who’d been targeted, not just you. 

The meeting to his right went quiet before the doors slid open and Scott stormed out, a face like thunder. Logan couldn’t blame him, he had his own anger on a tight leash, simmering just below the surface. What the fuck was going on? Who the hell were you? Did Charles know about this? Did Jean? Was that why she’d been so strange lately after the training incident? The idea of the two of them knowing and not telling anyone made him want to tear apart the whole fucking mansion, and it seemed Scott was on the same wavelength as him for once. 

“Scott wait!” Jean called after him, running after the furious man, but not before casting Logan a cautious glance. He just glared at her in response, before she hurried to catch up with Scott.

“You should have told me, Jean. I’m supposed to lead this goddamn team, how can I do that without knowing who I’m dealing with. No wonder she can’t control her fucking mutation, and I’ve been made to look like a monster for wanting the situation sorted when you knew about this the whole time!” He heard Scott rage, and it was the first time he’d actually heard him raise his voice to her. It would have almost been refreshing if he hadn’t just answered one of Logan’s most burning questions. 

She did know about it. Oh, he was going to have a little chat with her later about that. 

There was a beat before Charles wheeled from the room, his face a grim picture. He loosened a breath upon seeing the three of them still waiting, his eyes lingering on Logan, the file held in his lap. Logan grit his teeth.

“Did you know?” Was all he asked, and Charles said nothing, moving his gaze to the med-bay doors. That just pissed him off further. “Did. You. Know?” he spat every word like venom, balling his fists in an attempt to keep his anger in check. 

“Yes,” Charles replied softly, as if speaking any louder would set him off. But Logan didn’t need him to raise his voice. That was all he needed to hear for his trust in the Professor to shatter completely. “Some memories are better off forgotten, Logan. You of all people know that.”

“Not her entire life!” He clamoured, causing both Ororo and Kurt to jump a little in surprise. He took a deep breath. It wasn’t their fault. They were as in the dark as the rest of the team. Except, it seemed, team telekinesis. “What’s in that folder, Charles? And tell me honestly. No more bullshit.” He seethed, though, to his subconscious surprise, Xavier held the file out to him. 

“That’s for you to find out. If you wish. But I’ll warn you, Logan. Nothing in that file is good. Nothing is happy. Everything that’s happened to her in the last eighty years or so.” He explained sombrely, and Logan didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream. Eighty years? How was that possible? You were thirty-two. You’d said so yourself. None of this made any goddamn sense. How could you just forget the fact you’d lived at least eighty years of your life? As if Charles had read his mind, which he most likely had, he spoke up again. “A powerful mutant with a focus on memory altering known as Subject One, or Obscurity. From what I could gather, he could alter and re-alter memories, planting ones that never existed and pushing those that deep to the farthest reaches of their minds. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best they had at the time.”

The best they had? The best they had? Logan wanted to punch something. Or someone. Preferably someone bald and in a wheelchair. But he refrained himself when the doors behind him whooshed open, and Hank stepped through. 

“All stable. Took a little longer than I thought it would. I think Jones will be out for another few hours, maybe a day or so. The poor little guy barely sleeps as it is, so a tranq knocked him for six.” Hank explained before sensing the tension in the room. Logan said nothing, almost knocking Beast to the ground as he breezed past him, uncaring as he was once again greeted by yet another sight of you lying unconscious on a metal table.

This was becoming a bad habit of yours.

“She should wake within the hour. The tranqs weren’t too strong, only designed for short knockouts rather than extended periods of unconscious.” Logan was barely listening, his heart clenching as you slept peacefully, hooked up to another fucking machine. How many of these have you been hooked up to in your life? How many other machines have you been monitored on? Was that how you received the scars? Or had that part of your story been true? Did you know anything about this? Or had you been lying to him the whole fucking time?

He had too many questions for you, but he knew how he could answer them. He extended a hand behind him. “Hand me the file.”

“Logan, you should–”

“Hand me the fucking file.” His arm shook impatiently, and there was a beat before Ororo took the folder from Charles and placed it in his waiting hand. Christ, it was hefty. Though, he supposed there was eighty years worth of information within its pages. Storm hovered next to him, sparing him a worried glance as he opened the first page. 

Well, any hope that it was another Phantom was quickly dashed as the faded type described you perfectly. From the texture of your hair and the colour of your eyes to the size of your feet and the length of your legs. His heart caught in his throat as he flipped a few pages, hearing Ororo’s gasp of horror next to him.

4th September. 1932 Ex.3 – 12 pm - 9 am. Deprivation / Indulgence Subject 8. “Phantom” / Subject 5. “Solaris” Observer: Doctor R. Kreva.

Removed all objects from Sub.8’s and Sub.5’s observation chambers, and installed flood lighting on all surfaces. Sustain peak lighting in both chambers for 24 hours and record findings. Since 8 and 5 have similar DNA, they have both been selected for this experiment. Their mutations, whilst similar, are opposites. Two sides of the same coin. Will repeat experiment with darkness at a later date. 

Hour 1 – No change in any subjects. Sub.5 seems extremely content with the change of atmosphere, it’s skin emits some kind of glow similar in colour and frequency to the light around. 

Hour 2 – Still no notable changes. Sub.8 raised its head to look around the chamber, perhaps seeking refuge from the light. Only movement in the last two hours.

Hour 5 – Sub.8’s behaviour has become noticeably erratic, its eyes flickering all around the room, has yet to make a move. Sub.5 has remarkably begun creating its own lights, I have included a sketch of my findings below.

Hour 8 – Due to the lack of shadows, Sub.8’s movements have become peculiar. At times, fast and frantic, searching the room for refuge, whereas other times it would be slow and sluggish, barely able to lifts its head to look around. 

Hour 10 – Much the same as Sub.8 in the dark, Sub.5 had disappeared completely. We can only assume, due to the similarity in their DNA, that Sub.5’s body has disintegrated into the light. Sub.8’s vitals are spiking and dipping seemingly randomly. Its body lags when it moves, almost glitching into shadow with every movement. Is this the molecules trying to release?

Hour 17 – Sub.5 has returned, its hair is now elevated above its head and its eyes no longer resemble that of a human’s. Where there should be an iris and pupil, there is now nothing but smouldering light. Sub.8 has begun writhing, parts of its body disintegrating and reforming where it lies. Is it in pain? 

Hour 19 – Sub.8 has started to scream. It’s interesting. With every breath, its entire body shudders as if trying to phase through the fabric of light itself, like Sub.5 can do. Its fingers bleed from frantically clawing at the ground and blood is leaking from its nose. Will need a cleaning crew in hereafter. In contrast, Sub.5 Is now levitating approx. 5 inches from the ground. 

Hour 20 – Sub.8’s condition has rapidly declined in the last hour, its skin seems to have veins of black spiderwebbing across its face, hands and feet. Must make notes to strip both subjects next experiment, but for now I must assume this continues across its body. 

Hour 21 – Sub.8 has ceased all activity and now lies motionless. Vitals have dropped well below human sustainability, heart rate of 20 BPM, and blood pressure of 90/60 mmHg. How is it still alive? Sub.5 has begun wielding the light from its body. It seems as surprised by this as I am. It has been able to form duplicates of itself, objects, and what could be interpreted as a pair of wings. Could Sub.8 be capable of such things?

End of Hour 21 – Leaving the lights on for 24 hours would most likely be the death of Sub.8. With the slow decrease of light intensity, Sub.5 settled back to the floor, its eyes dimming before returning to what we shall now call the default state. Sub.8 remained motionless for another 2 minutes and 42 seconds before their body disintegrated. Interestingly, it couldn’t disappear before the lights were off completely. Saved footage of Sub.8’s disappearance, the infra-red camera pinpointing the moment its body broke apart. Fascinating. Placed them both back into the observation house, and monitored them for the next few days. Sub.5 is already up and around, behaving regularly. Sub.8 still rests in bed. How will this affect its interactions with other subjects?

Ex. Duration: 21 HOURS Ex. Outcome: Success Findings: See above. Memory erased: Last 21 hours Replacement memory: Cooking lesson, NLMO bonding Comments: Must remember to use the same memory for Subjects 2,3,4,6 and 7

Logan felt sick, bile rising in his throat as he blew out a shaky breath, checking the date three times to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. Ororo whimpered a small sob next to him, her eyes scanning the page, her hand covering her mouth in utter devastation. Kurt looked between the two of them, not knowing if he wanted to be involved in whatever horrors lay within that folder. 

He couldn’t stop reading, some pages had notes about the life they made you believe you were living, a simulation world with the other seven, not dissimilar to the danger room. Only, every time you ‘went out on an errand’, or ‘went to work’, it was just a replacement memory for when they pulled you out for experimentations. Those were the pages that had shattered his very soul. What they did to you… How could they have been getting away with this for so long?

He continued flicking through, thumbing stacks of pages at a time before he settled on a less faded sheet, dated much more recently. He only read the first line before Ororo looked away, her head in her hands, Kurt bamfing next to her to hold her as she sobbed.

22nd September. 2008 Ex.1,243 6 pm-6:50 pm Pain Tolerance / Resilience Subject 8. “Phantom” Observer: Dr. J. Kreva

It has been noted that Sub.8’s tolerance for pain is exceptionally high. It can easily disappear with surface-level wounds and reappear as good as new. I want to test its durability to its limits and discover how deep we can wound it before we start leaving scars. In order to accomplish this without endangering Sub.8’s life, it will be stripped of clothing and strapped to the operating table and I have given us ten-minute windows. Using the same light-flooded room as Ex.3, a team will be entering the room with various appliances, following the strict instructions of careful harming, before leaving for the lights to be shut off. Sub.8 has been known to fight back, unlike its counterpart Sub.5, and we have lost good people to its unpredictability. So we will be using Sub.5 as a bargaining chip. It has been noted these two have some kind of relationship similar to that we would typically see in siblings. If Sub.8 refuses to cooperate, the team has permission to harm Sub.5 to whatever they deem necessary.

Each ten-minute window will be referred to as a cycle, due to the nature of the lighting we are implementing here. 

Under no circumstances should either Subject be killed.

Cycle 1 – Team TS8 managed to coerce Sub.8 onto the table, strapping it down with efficiency. It has yet to fight back, but it has noticed Sub.5 in the corner. It likely knows the terms already. A small cut has been made on its left arm, with no visible response from Sub.8, however, Sub.5 flinched. Interesting. Team TS8 left the room, lights still on. Nothing to note, Sub.8 disappeared and reappeared with the lightning, with no sign of the small cut. Though it is no longer strapped to the table. I am glad we brought along Sub.5. After seeing its capabilities in the mirrored experiment of Ex.3 (please see Ex.4), Sub.5 will be an excellent bargaining chip to ensure those abilities are not put to use.

Cycle 2 – Team TS8 has already threatened to harm Sub.5 to get Sub.8 to cooperate. Nothing physical yet, only threats. It understood and climbed onto the table itself, allowing itself to be strapped down again. It has said nothing in these moments, simply stared. Due to our already collected knowledge and the two-hour time limit on this experiment, I have had to jump a few levels of pain. I have provided Team TS8 with a conical flask of concentrated hydrochloric acid. It seems the jump was necessary, Sub.8 reacted with subdued screams and desperate tugging on restraints. With the skin tissue of its right calf burned away, I can see its muscular system is almost identical to our own, tendons working in the same way. Though this is no groundbreaking discovery, it is still important to note. Team TS8 left the room along with Sub.5, who seemed reluctant. Sub.8’s breathing is erratic, and it claws at the table in a similar way it did during Ex.3. Does this have any practical benefit or is this simply to ease the pain? It disappears once again along with the lights, a burn scar remains on its leg when it returns.

Cycle 3 – Sub.5 had to be harmed. I didn’t want it to come to this, but Sub.8 wasn’t cooperating as well as I hoped it would. We removed Sub.8 and Team TS8 from the room and turned out the lights. Sub.8 thrashed against restraints as it watched Sub.5 be beaten from behind the door. It agreed to continue swiftly after. Sub.5’s wounds healed as the lights returned. Their bond is a fascinating one, and one I would like to explore further. Sub.8’s Trypanophobia has been noted in its records, having an extreme reaction to the sight of needles. I have provided Team TS8 with various sizes of serrated needles with a diagram of its body. The idea was to see whether Sub.8’s mutation could remove things from its body by disappearing and reforming, or whether obstructions could prevent this. Sub.8 seems panicked by the sight of needles, surely triggering its trypanophobia. Once again it thrashes on the table with each insertion, though it only cried out when pierced in the side of its neck and its inner thigh. Perhaps these are somewhat erogenous zones? Or particularly sensitive places? I will have to make comparisons to Sub.5. Team TS8 left along with Sub.5, who seems to be doing very little to stop the process, though is exhibiting signs of great discomfort. Once again, Sub.8 disappears along with the lights, and interestingly, the needles are left behind on the bed, along with copious amounts of its blood. Not sure the cleanup crew could get those stains out. 

A sob wracked from Storm behind him, though Logan couldn’t find it in himself to tear his eyes away. They exploited your fears and used you to record responses for their sick, twisted gain. He grit his teeth, his jaw threatening to crack as his eyes continue to scan the page. 

Cycle 4 – We have recorded Sub.8’s behaviour on the brink of death in Ex.3, however it was due to lack of shadow. There were no threats necessary to encourage Sub.8 back onto the bed, the needles having been carefully removed. The next stage is incredibly simple. Team TS8 sliced through each radial artery on either side of Sub.8’s wrists. I am not a man easily haunted by much, however I do believe Sub.5’s scream will live in my memory for quite some time. I have made sure to set the cutting of the lights long before Sub.8 has time to bleed out. Sub.5 had to be dragged from the room, however, I can observe Sub.8’s body performing the same motions as it was in Ex.3 around hour 19, however, there is a complete lack of vocal response. Its body keeps attempting to disappear, though it has nothing to dissolve into. It’s fascinating to watch, parts of its limbs shimmering jet black before settling again. It’s like the molecules want to disperse. The lights have dimmed far quicker than the last three times. Sub.8 has not moved from the table. It has not disappeared at all, but it is simply lying in wait. Does it wait to die? Perhaps we underestimated its resolve. I have sent Team TS8 back into the dark room, a knife held against Sub.5’s throat. If it doesn’t dissolve, I have instructed them to make a small incision against Sub.5’s neck. It didn’t need to get that far, Sub.8 saw the consequences and immediately dissolved, though it took far longer for it to return. Perhaps the more severe the wound, the longer it takes to reknit the body back together. Will have to perform further experimentation on this. Two more scars have reformed on either wrist. Interesting. Will need to inspect needle incisions later.

Cycle 5 – It’s dead. I’m certain. Due to the ignorance and fear of man, I have lost one of my most valuable subjects. A terrified guard shot it in the chest several times and burst into the experiment. He didn’t exactly aim for it, but rather for Sub.5. It seems the bond between 5 and 8 ran deeper than even I could comprehend, 8 didn’t think twice about putting itself between the guard, taking several bullets to the chest. Four, to be exact, before he was apprehended. I couldn’t get the lights off fast enough, having to override the system I’d set specifically for this experiment. I wasn’t fast enough, and 8 suffered for it. It’s been here for the last 80 years, and one man ruined everything. Its body is still in the room. I haven’t found the heart to move it yet. Sub.5’s memory of the incident has been erased by Sub.1 once again, and replaced with a severe argument between it and 8, resulting in 8 leaving. I will most likely be dead before I find a subject as valuable for mutant research as Phantom. 

Ex. Duration: 50 MINUTES Ex. Outcome: Failure (subject fatality) Findings: I fear Mutants and Humans can never coexist Memory Erased: Experiment above, Sub.8’s death (for Sub.5 only) Memory Replacement: Severe argument. Comments: A devastating turn of events

Logan swallowed as he reached the bottom of the page. Was that how you escaped? Was that how you got out? They thought you were dead only for you to be able to heal from bullet wounds? Did you slip through the shadows? It took him a moment to think it over. No, that wasn't possible. The dates didn't add up. He turned the page over, seeing further notes scrawled on the back in pen rather than type.

22nd September, Ex.1,243 – Continuation. 1932, 11:42 pm.

The body has disappeared. I have kept the lights off since the incident at 6:50 and made the mistake of closing my eyes for a few minutes. When I opened them again, Sub.8 had disappeared. I sealed the doors immediately, hoping this meant it had somehow found the strength to dissolve back into shadow. Looking into the infrared camera, I have noticed the projectiles of bullets scattered where Sub.8 had fallen. Does this mean it’s recovering? Is it possible for it to recover from four bullet wounds to the centre of its chest? 

12:08 am

Sub.8 has returned. Remarkable. Though there are clear scars on its chest and wrists, it seems to have almost completely healed from the incident. This is a staggering discovery. Will need to alter Sub.5’s memory once again.

Logan dropped the file, pages still spread apart as he took a step back. This couldn’t be real. None of this could be real. What you’d endured, what you’d suffered. The scars that remained. You were right, what you’d said this morning. Mental scars leave the same marks as physical ones. Your body had altered to the memories they’d forced into your mind. They couldn’t remove the scars, so they made you think you’d attempted to take your own life. Made you think you remembered getting into fights as a kid. He knew what mutant experimentation was like. He’d had a firsthand experience. But this was on a whole other level. What the fuck was this all for? 

Now Charles’ words made sense. Some memories were left forgotten. He glanced back to the Professor, who nodded grimly as if to confirm all he’d seen. “My first act as headmaster of this school is to tap into the minds and memories of its students and teachers. Logan, trust me when I say, some things are better left in the past.”

He didn’t know what was right or wrong. Keeping this from you felt wrong but at the same time, you were happy with what you had. Was it already too late? Was that glasses-wearing motherfucker Dr. J. Kreva? How much had he told you? How much did you know?

“They were looking for her, weren’t they?” It was the first phrase he’d spoken since reading the file, pieces of your puzzle clicking into place. Charles simply nodded again. 

“It’s not safe for her to be here anymore. For the students and her. They know where to find her now.”

“Then what to we do?” Ororo asked through heavy sniffles, teary eyes looking between you and the Professor. 

“We take her off grid,” Hank said, setting down his glasses. He’d picked them up to read whatever was in that folder but quickly decided against it after seeing Storm’s reaction.

“But we can’t do that without good reason?” Kurt chimed in, casting worried glances around the room.

“Two years ago, I received signals from an environmental research facility we all believed to have been destroyed in a freak accident seven years prior. I sent Jean and Storm to assess the situation after the explosion, and that’s–”

“That’s where we found her and Jade… Oh my God, that was the site?” Ororo finished, her voice dripping with dread. “But… how did they escape? What happened?”

Charles sighed with resignation. “We don’t know. It would take searching her locked memories and risk pulling them to the surface to answer that question, and that wasn’t a gamble I was going to bet on, not after what I’d glimpsed in the past.”

Logan could barely hear any of this. His ears were ringing, white noise clouding his senses as he just stared at you. Your whole life had been a lie. A jumble of nonsense knitted into your memories by another mutant, reality locked away within the darkest depths of your head. He didn’t know what to do. His urge to protect you from this new threat fought with the urge to protect you from your own past. 

“The decision should be hers.” He interrupted the ongoing conversation, moving to take your hand and press a kiss to the scar on your wrist. “Whether she remembers or not. Explain to her what you said to me, and let her decide.” It was the only course of action he could see. The room fell into silence, all contemplating the suggestion before Charles moved forward to the file on the ground, picking it up and closing it. 

“Wherever you take her, wherever you hide her, take this with you. You can’t tell me where you’re going, and I won’t search for you. The less people who know, the better.” He instructed, and Logan nodded, setting the folder to the side. “When she wakes up, we’ll–”

“When she wakes up, you’ll what?” 

The room had been too caught up in their conversations to notice you stirring from your tranquiliser-induced nap. “You know, I seem to spend a concerning amount of my time unconscious these days.” You sat up slowly, the heel of your palm braced against your forehead as if to help the slight pounding at your temples. 

Logan was at your side in a single stride, his hands cupping the sides of your face delicately, as if holding you any tighter would cause you to break. Your relieved smile when you saw him broke his heart. “Hey Lo’.” 

Though that smile faded as he didn’t return it, his eyes brimming with an emotion your groggy head couldn’t quite place.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He responded, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, and it was as if that was all you needed for your headache to fade. You held one of his palms against your cheek, leaning into his touch.

“How long was I out?”

“Around four hours or so. You feelin’ okay?” Concern. That was the emotion you couldn’t pinpoint a moment ago. Concern and… heartbreak?

“Yeah… ‘m fine. Who died?” You asked, trepidation lacing your tone as you stole glances at the others in the room. Ororo had tears in her eyes, Kurt’s arm still wrapped around her shoulders in comfort. Hank looked more bleak than you’d ever seen him, his hands clasped together as if in mourning. You continued scanning the room, Charles offering you a look of sympathy before your eyes landed on the folder Logan had set down. It was like a trigger had been fired in your brain, hazy memories of before you fell unconscious rushing back to you in one big hurricane.

“Oh.” Was all you could say, and Logan wrapped his arms around your head in response, smoothing gently touches against your hair as you basked in the comfort of his embrace.

“How much do you know?”

[slowlyoats]

The Lost Boys: How They Comfort Their Significant Other 

Marko

I could see his S/O having some tough skin, so it’s on the rarer side that Marko would have to comfort them because they got their feelings hurt or someone made fun of them 

 They would need comforting for art critiques though 

Like I’ve mentioned in previous posts, Marko is drawn to creative energy, so it likely that his S/O would be an artist of some kind 

Anyways 

They don’t take criticism lightly, so when a local art critic calls their painting “a mess of lines and colors attempting to be art” they are CRUSHED

Like they refuse to leave the pigeon hole, and Marko has to bring all their meals to them for a week 

Lucky for this S/O though 

Marko is a supportive and a loyal KING 

That man brings you your meals, and lets you cry it out 

He lets you sleep all day and all night, and stays right by your side, giving plenty of little “it’s okay, I’m here” kisses 

Then, when you’ve gotten all that “sappy stuff” out of your system he wants you to get MAD

He wants you to get ANGRY 

He wants you to form a very detailed, long winded revenge plan, with some nice artistic touches! 

He loves bonding with you over art, so throw in a dash of revenge and it’s the perfect date night 

Paul 

 Paul tends to not take things seriously, and is the Prince of Teasing 

That being said he can take it too far 

He won’t notice that you are upset right away, because he probably got distracted by something shiny, or is currently trying to see how many little objects he can get in Marko’s hair without him noticing 

One of the boys would probably have to point out to him that you are upset 

If you're upset about something that he said, then he is quick to point out that he may be pretty but he’s also pretty stupid 

He will apologize right away 

Dwayne 

Dwayne’s S/O I could see being on the sensitive  side 

Comments people say about them bother them all the time, but they would never call the person out for it or tell Dwayne (though Dwayne can usually tell anyways) 

They care very deeply for their found family and don’t want to cause conflict, so they find it easier to keep moments of distress and sadness to themself 

But 

There is one topic they are particularly touchy about

Their body image 

Even the slightest comment about how they look or what they are eating can dig its claws into their subconscious 

Dwayne didn’t know this at first, and he shamefully admits it took him awhile to understand why these comments upset you so much 

But, in Dwayne fashion he educates himself on the topic so he can teach himself how to best support you 

He watches you like a hawk so that he can learn the facial expressions you make when someone makes a comment that makes you uncomfortable 

Or how you voice changes when your holding back tears 

The boys have no filter *cough cough Marko & Paul* so there have been a few comments made by them

Like one time you all were grabbing ice cream, and you got three scoops instead of your typically two  because you were FEELING ice cream that night and Paul made a comment 

“ Wooh, you better watch your figure! A moment on the lips, forever on the hips!” 

Now, Paul said it as a stupid joke and didn’t put much thought to it

You on the other hand couldn’t eat the ice cream after he said it

Dwayne PROMPTLY dragged Paul by the scruff of his collar out of ear shot, and ripped the poor man a new one

They didn’t realize how much it bothered you till that night, and none of the boys have ever made a comment like that again 

Dwayne would encourage you to eat the ice cream, but he wouldn’t pressure you. 

He would stay close throughout the night, and would only talk about it if you wanted to 

You would walk along the beach, side by side, and point out constellations together till you felt ready to talk 

He wants you to feel confident in your body, because this man thinks your the most ethereal woman he has ever laid eyes on, and he knows that confidence  lays right under your surface 

He is always whispering compliments in your ear from then on 

They always make you blush, but they do help you feel beautiful and remind you that you are loved and seen 

David 

Their significant other hates feeling dumb 

They are an intelligent, fierce being; who unfortunately really struggled with academics from elementary school to high school 

They worked hard through college though! stuff doesn’t come easy to them

They just try, try, and try till they get it right 

Their relentless 

That doesn’t mean their childhood trauma of feeling stupid had gone away though

David would never call his S/O stupid after learning this, unless, of course, he deems that they are indeed acting stupid. (Which in his eyes happens often) 

He can be an insensitive jerk so whenever you two get in a fight it’s the first blow he gives 

He knows it hurts you, that why he said it 

He always regrets it afterwards though 

He thinks giving you space afterward will comfort you, but that’s not what you want 

Comfort starts with an apology 

And he is the king of apologies 

He would find you laying on the couch with puffy, red eyes, staring at the ceiling 

He would lay down next to you, and proceed to give you the most well thought out and meaningful apology you have ever heard 

Only to you though 

No one else gets an apology from him 

His only regrets are the ones where you get hurt

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

one piece drabble | zosan | pride kisses 2025 challenge

{"I ALMOST LOST YOU" KISS}

It’s been three days since the fight with Bartholomew Kuma, and Zoro still hasn’t woken up.

“Sanji,” Chopper says as they sit vigil together over Zoro’s unconscious body, “what if… What if he—”

“Don’t say it,” Sanji growls, puffing vehemently on his cigarette. He’s been chain smoking for hours now, so jittery from the nicotine overload that his hands are shaking, but he can’t stop. Because if Sanji’s not smoking, then he’s going to end up doing something far worse. Like screaming. Or crying.

Chopper sniffles, his big brown eyes wide and watery in a way that makes Sanji’s heart break. “Okay, but what if—”

“I said don’t fucking say it!” Sanji snaps, and then immediately reaches out to rub a soothing hand over Chopper’s back; it’s not the doctor’s fault that Sanji is so wound up. “He will wake up, Chopper. It’s just… taking a little longer than usual. That’s all.”

Chopper sniffles again. “Right,” he says dully. “Right, Zoro’s… Zoro’s strong. He’ll wake up. He just… He just needs some more time.”

There’s a brief, agonizing silence as they both stare down at Zoro’s unmoving form, and then suddenly Chopper stands up. “I’m gonna go consult my books again. See if there’s anything else I can do,” he says, voice wobbly but determined. “Sanji, can you—”

“I’ll stay right here,” Sanji assures him with a two-fingered salute and a grin that he doesn’t feel in the slightest. “And if he wakes up while you’re gone, I’ll start chewing his inconsiderate ass out right away for making you worry so much.”

Chopper’s mouth twitches. “I’d prefer it if you just come and get me so I can tend to him,” he says, and Sanji heaves a dramatic sigh.

“Alright, if you say so. But I really think getting cussed out would do wonders for him.”

The reindeer makes a noise that’s not quite a giggle, but it’s close enough that Sanji counts it as a win. Then he trots off, leaving Sanji alone with the idiotic swordsman whose life is hanging by a thread.

“You’re a real heartless bastard, you know that?” Sanji tells him as he takes a long drag off his quickly vanishing cigarette. “Making Chopper worry like that. I don’t care what he says, I am gonna rip you a new one as soon as you wake up.”

Zoro doesn’t answer. He doesn’t do anything except what he’s been doing for the past three days, which is lie there, ashen and grey.

“You are going to wake up,” Sanji says, glaring at him furiously.

Again, Zoro doesn’t respond. If not for the unsteady rise and fall of his bandaged chest, he looks as though he could already be dead.

“You are,” Sanji insists, inhaling violently around his cigarette, ashing it down to the filter. “You are or so help me god, marimo, I will—”

Sanji chokes on a lungful of smoke, erupting into a rather spectacular coughing fit that leaves him red-faced and panting, eyes wet from the failed attempt to blow out his lungs and for no other reason. He leans over Zoro as he tries to breathe deeply and force more oxygen into his airways, pressing their foreheads together at an angle that allows Sanji to see the faint scatter of freckles covering one of Zoro’s cheeks.

A memory rises up, of Zoro illuminated by bright moonlight filtering through a hotel window, wide-eyed and frozen as Sanji leans forward to pepper kisses all over him, his freckles disappearing under the wave of red that overtakes his face. They’ve never talked about it; Sanji wanted Zoro to believe that he didn’t remember, because cleared from the haze of alcohol, it had seemed like a stupid, silly thing to do. He and Zoro have their trysts, sure, but they’re not soft with each other. Sanji’s never wanted to be soft with Zoro. Being soft would mean… Would mean…

Zoro’s breath rattles on a difficult inhale; Sanji feels the shudder of it through his own body, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the overwhelming sting that wells up behind them.

“Wake up,” he whispers, voice thick and swollen with unshed tears. “Stupid, no good, moss-for-brains bastard, wake the fuck up.”

Zoro’s only response is to take another rattling inhale, which Sanji answers with his own shuddering exhale. He lifts his head, blinking blearily down at Zoro’s face, which might as well be a death mask at this point. For a few painfully long moments, Sanji simply stares at him; wondering if he’ll ever get to see Zoro’s hazel-grey eyes again, or the wide, boyish smile he gets when something truly amuses him. The thought that he might not makes Sanji want to scream until he chokes.

“Please, Zoro,” he pleads softly. “Please just… wake up.”

Zoro doesn’t answer, and after another moment, Sanji leans down again, pressing his lips to the corner of Zoro’s mouth in a soft, fleeting kiss.

“Asshole,” he murmurs before pulling back with a heavy sigh. Sanji’s not sure how much more of this interminably waiting he can take before he cracks, and he’s terrified of what will happen when he finally does.

He reaches into a pocket to take out his lighter and what Sanji assures himself will be his final cigarette of the day (nevermind that he’s got another two packs stashed in the pouch of his hoodie), flicking it open with practiced ease and holding the end to the small flame. It’s just beginning to catch when Sanji hears a soft rustle, and then a barely there rasp that echoes like a gunshot in the night—

“Cook?”

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hi! How are you? Hope you are doing well! I didn’t see any mention of you ask box is open or not so take your time to answer this! ♥️

Id like to ask for a scenario or Headcanon with the tmnt boys x reader about a situation that happened to me recently, I was venting about work with a friend and she out of the blue just “can I take a picture of you? You look so pretty right now” and proceeded to tell me she felt like she was living the “bla bla bla place name, back story stuff” meme? (If you are not aware it’s basically a meme where someone is going on a full rant and the other can only see them through being pretty and ethereal, even when talking about something super serious 😂) I busted out laughing when she mentioned, I thought about the boys going through the same would be super funny, Maybe their crush doing mundane things and they are literally heartened for it?

If it’s too complicated to do allllllll of them I’d like ask for this to be a donnie scenario then 🫶 I know you are a ralphie girlie (which I adore your stuff for him like it’s so good??? Seriously I’m eating it up your recent posts) but if you feel comfy doing it all or just Donnie it will be more than welcomed!

thank you and hope you have a good day!

I'm unfamiliar with the meme, but I think it's from the LEGO movie? Anyway, I hope this is okay. 😂

Distraction

Donnie x reader

No warnings, just fluff

It didn't take much, and it was so damn frustrating. Especially while he was working.

Donnie restarted the sequence again from the beginning. He needed to get these disks calibrated before the next time they tangled with the foot, but for SOME reason YOU exist, and your soul purpose in life is to torture him.

A scent, a sound, the smallest indication of your existence pulls ALL his focus.

Right now, you're in the living room watching a movie with Mike and Raph, and Donnie just has this *last thing* to finish before he can disengage and join you, but now you're laughing and he's lost count again.

He sighs, ripping his glasses from his face and rubbing his eyes. Replacing his glasses, he glares at the lab's door. He knows he should close it, of course he should close it, closing it is the only way he's going to get anything done.

But the door was in view of the couch and you'd think that was rude, right? He didn't want to be rude...

No. You'd get it. Especially if he could finish up quickly and join you for the rest of the movie. Okay, he was gonna close the door. He nods resolutely to himself before scowling.

An IQ of 187 and somehow you're constantly turning him into an idiot.

He sets down the disk he's working on and stands, walking over to the door. He hears you laugh again and makes the mistake of looking up at you.

Whatever movie you were watching forgotten, Mike and Raph are listening to you tell a story about something that happened at work this week.

It's inane, something about an argument in the break room over the new coffee machines, but the colorful fairy lights scattered about the lair have caught in your hair and eyes, and he is trapped in your spectrum.

It occurs to him that you can't see it. The depth of you. The reds and pinks in your skin when it flushes with laughter, the blue cableing of your veins beneath. Tetrachromacy is an advantage that he's not sure he ever fully appreciated until just now. And it breaks his heart.

There has to be a way to show you. There's light filtering technology that help people with colorblindness. It couldn't be that hard to retrofit a pair of those glasses to fit custom lenses. He'd need to examine your eyes specifically, of course, to ensure his measurements are correct, but he already has the glass grinding equipment, and people are constantly throwing away frames, and it takes him a moment to realize that the room has gone quiet.

He blinks and his eyes refocus to find the three of you staring at him, standing dumbly in the doorway, staring at you.

"You good bro?" Mikey asks.

"Yeah," he squeaks, before clearing his throat, "Yeah," he corrects, "I'm good. I'm just gonna, uh... finish up in here. I'll be out in a few."

You smile at him and he nearly trips over... the door? God, he's a mess. He closes it quickly before he can make an even bigger ass of himself.

He walks back over to his current project and sits back down. He stares blankly at the laptop and scattered pieces of tech for a few moments before sighing heavily and pushing everything aside.

He pulls out a notebook and starts sketching a pair of glasses.

...

Tag list:

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @footninja @daedric-sorceress

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 10

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

TW: Underage drinking, sobriety, triggered PTSD

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 10

Dear Weird Mr. Rich Man—  

Sorry. Tell me if I’ve gone too far with these.  

I’ve made friends! I know that has nothing to do with my studies, but We can both agree that socialization has its benefits. It’s an important piece of one’s college experience. I’m sure you have a few stories from your wild college days…  

Maybe you could tell me about them sometime?  

Or not.  

Probably not.  

But it’s nice, feeling like I finally have a foothold in this strange new world. At first, I felt out of place, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of this. It only took a few months.  

Colored lights flashed in time with the heavy bass pouring through the speakers over Jason’s head. It was only slightly louder than the shouts and clink of glasses happening around them. He teetered on the cusp of a sensory nightmare, but he shoved the discomfort aside to focus on what Roy was saying.  

He rarely went to clubs. The noise, the lights, the sheer number of people packed into a confined place spelled trouble for him, but it was Roy’s turn to pick their hangout spot. Even though he stopped drinking a year ago, he liked to surround himself with the noise and bustle of the club. Jason couldn’t relate, but it had been months since they’d had a chance to get away from their busy lives and catch up. He could suck it up for his sake.  

It wasn’t the ideal place to talk, but Roy managed it just fine. “Lian lost another tooth this week.” He angled his phone toward Jason.  

He leaned forward, squinting at the offensively bright screen.  

“Put on your glasses,” Roy said before muttering a soft, “Stubborn fuck,” under his breath.  

Jason scoffed as he grabbed the glasses that hung off his collar. He avoided wearing them when he could. Not only did it not help the nerd allegations, but glasses weren’t the most practical for his line of work. “I wear them to block blue light.”  

“Uh huh.”  

A dunk in the Lazarus Pit fixed a lot of things, but his penchant for splitting migraines was not one of them. He also had a bad habit of reading without an overhead light, but correlation did not equal causation in this scenario. He slid the glasses up his nose with a soft huff and he could finally focus on the photo on Roy’s phone.  

Lian smiled back at him, showing off several gaps in her teeth. He could see Roy the slightly crooked smile and the wrinkle of mischief around her eyes.  

“She’s getting so big.”  

“Tell me about it.” Roy sighed wistfully as he straightened his frayed ball cap. “I fear the day she starts calling me dad instead of daddy . Or God forbid she switches to father like that little demon spawn does with Bruce.”  

“How will you ever survive,” Jason teased as he sipped his soda.  

Roy smirked. Ah, there was that wrinkle of mischief. “I heard through the grapevine that I’m not the only one getting called daddy these days.”  

Jason sputtered, the carbonated fizz burning his nostrils. He wiped his mouth and sneered. So, this was his plan all along. An ambush. It was suspicious for Roy to call him out of the blue. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy hanging out with him, but it was odd that it happened to coincide perfectly with his return to Gotham.  

“I told Artemis it wasn’t like that.”  

“Hey, man, I’m the last person to judge. I like to be called—” He stopped himself, much to Jason’s relief. That was information he could live without. Roy settled on a light punch to the arm instead. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

“No.”  

He downed his drink, despite the unpleasant roil in his belly. The song filtering through the speakers switched to something more upbeat. A cheer ripped through the crowd, and he flinched.  

“But if I did, what would you say? Hypothetically, of course.”  

“Hypothetically, I would say that I’m glad to hear you’re putting yourself out there again. I know you’d never admit it, but the breakup with Artemis hit you hard. This is good…” He bobbed his head thoughtfully. “Though the execution seems a little eh, but I’m not as romantic as you are, so what the fuck do I know? It wouldn’t hurt to try your luck with a civilian partner. Heroes have their perks, but so do civilians.”  

Jason chewed his lip. “I never said I wanted to date her.”  

“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”  

Jason thought things would get easier once he distanced himself but not seeing you for nearly two months left him feeling oddly empty. He thought distracting himself with the Outlaws or Park Row patrols, but his mind always wandered back to you. He tried to pinpoint when exactly this crush developed, but he couldn’t settle on a singular moment. It just kind of snuck up on him.  

Still, he stayed away. You never asked for his attention, even if he to sit on your floor and read to you until you fell asleep, to touch—  

Roy waved a hand in front of his face, dragging him back. He forced himself to refocus. “What?”  

“I lost ya there for a second. Care to tell me where you went?”  

Not particularly, but Jason tried anyway. “My life is dangerous. It’s inconsistent, and I have a habit of disappearing when things get tough. I can’t put a civilian’s life needlessly in danger like that. It’s not f—”  

“Shot time!”  

Jason looked up as you passed their table, dragged by none other than Stephanie fucking Brown, in all her sparkly purple glory. And you—  

His eyes widened.  

He’d never seen you wear anything except that ill-fitting button up and slacks. He now realized that was a small mercy granted by the heavens because hot damn . You wore a pair of torn black jeans and a tight red shirt that showed off the contours of your body. It was the jacket though, beaten brown leather, two sizes too large, and obviously thrifted, that dried his throat.  

You looked like…  

He muffled the pathetic whine that pressed through his lips. You and Steph stopped at the bar, the latter muttering low in your ear with a twinkle in her eye. You threw your head back and laughed. Jealousy reared its ugly head as Jason stared.  

Since when were you two friends?  

“Jay?” He tore his eyes away from you to look at Roy. Concern furrowed his brow. “Are you sure you’re alright? If this is too much, we can go somewhere el—”  

Over his shoulder, you and Step clinked glasses before knocking back a shot.  

“No!”  

His expression grew more severe. “No?”  

Jason splayed his hands flat on the sticky table. “I mean, we just got here. Next round is one me. Club soda with a twist of lime, right?”  

Roy looked conflicted, but only for a moment. “Yes.”  

He shoved out of his chair. “Be right back.”  

Sweaty bodies pressed in from all side as he aimed for the bar. Your back was to him as you spoke with the bartender. God, you looked great. Casual, but effortlessly so. You didn’t have to do much to turn heads, and you had certainly garnered the bartender's attention.  

You can do this , he told himself. Make it look natural. Jason could strategize and plot with the best of them. Talking to you wasn’t nearly as complicated as infiltrating Black Mask’s base or apprehending a—  

“Babe, get down before you hurt you—”  

Before Jason could react, he hit the ground. Beer dripped from his curls and soaked the front of his shirt. He straightened his glasses as he turned his ire on the dumbass that had fallen on top of him. “What the fuck, man?”  

Tim stared at him with flushed cheeks.  

He stared back.  

“How’d you get in?” Tim muffled a hiccup as he stumbled to his feet. Jason jumped up to catch him before he fell back onto his face, though it would have been objectively hilarious to see. “You don’t have a valid ID.”  

“This is front for one of my dealers. I’m technically their boss, so they couldn’t turn me away if they wanted to.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re underage. How’d you get in?”  

“I’m Timothy Drake.” Jason could smell the mix of hard liquor and beer on his breath. “Do you really think they’re going to kick me and my friends out?”  

God, the entitlement.  

“Friends?” Jason seethed, “How many people did you smuggle in with you?”  

“Bernard and Steph. She brought a friend too. Whatever. The more the merrier. I don’t usually take the night off, so Bart came in from Central, and Kon flew down from Metropolis…”   

He counted them off on his fingers, but he quickly lost the plot and trailed off. He went a little cross-eyed as he tried to find his train of thought again. Jason crossed his arms and waited. He wiggled his fingers as if it were the most fascinating thing.  

“Tim,” Jason pressed.  

He finally refocused. “A few others too. I’m not going to list them off. It would take too long. I know that’s not something you’re used to.”  

His nostrils flared. “I have friends. I’m here with a friend now.”  

“So, Roy.”  

He searched for the right answer. There wasn’t one.  

“Did someone say shots!” Steph pushed through the crowd with two more glasses. She shoved one into Tim’s hands before throwing her shot back. Her expression puckered before she opened her eyes, zeroing in on Jason. Her smile turned feline. “Well, well. This is a surprise.”  

His attention shifted over her shoulder to where you hung back. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. You met his gaze with a narrow look. God, he missed your blatant distrust.  

Steph clocked the tension between you immediately and decided to help by introducing you. “And this is Ja—”  

“Jacob,” he cut in quickly, “My name is Jacob.”  

His heart raced. While objectively the smart move, he’d just dug himself a bigger hole by giving you a fake name. Steph would never let him live this down, and Tim—Jason dreaded to think what Tim had to say about all this. He willed the ground to swallow him whole.  

“Have we met before?”  

He struggled to catch his breath. “Don’t think so. I just have one of those faces, I guess.”  

“Right.” You nudged Steph. “I’ll go wait for our drinks.”  

“Don’t forget to put it on my tab,” Tim insisted as you turned away. His knowing smile rankled Jason. He curled and uncurled his fists. A quick punch to the throat. That was all it would take to wipe that smug look off his face.  

“You knew it was her.”  

Tim shrugged as he downed his shot, confirming nothing, but this was Tim. Of course, he knew who you were.  

“Um, hello, am I missing something?” Steph flicked a damp curl over her shoulder. “Why are we using fake names? Unless that’s what you want to be called now? If so, I’m totally in support of your journey, though Jacob is a little basic. You look more like a—”  

Tim mercifully cut her off, “He can’t let her know his real name.”  

She blinked. “Why?”  

“Drop it.” Jason craned his neck to keep an eye on you. “It’s not important.”  

“If we’re changing our names, it’s gotta be somewhat important.”  

“I’ll tell you in the morning,” Tim assured her.  

“Is it juicy?”  

“If by juicy, you mean kind of pathetic, then yeah.”  

Steph bounced giddily on the balls of her feet. “Oh my god.”  

Jason tuned them out as he settled solely on you. God, that jacket looked amazing on you. For a second, he imagined it was his instead. If it was, that bartender would stop looking at you with those heavy bedroom eyes. He was tall, but Jason was much taller. His skin was smooth and unblemished.  

Did you like that kind of thing?  

He glanced down at the discolored knicks and scars that marred the back of his hands. They didn’t bother him as much anymore. Each mark told his story. At least, that’s what Talia tried to instill on him when he lived in Nanda Parbat. You liked a good story.  

Fuck it , he thought as he abandoned them to head toward the bar. It was too late to pretend he never saw you, and there was no way he was letting this moment slip through his fingers. You did a double take as he sat next to you, effectively startling the bartender who had leaned across the bar to flirt with you.  

“A club soda with lime and a Coke.”  

He cleared his throat and moved to make Jason’s drinks.  

You studied him for a second, your expression unreadable. “Not drinking?”  

Jason forced himself to look at you. It had been easier with the helmet, but tonight, there was nothing to protect him from the full brunt of your gaze.  

“My friend doesn’t drink, so I don’t either when we hang out.”  

“I’m sure they appreciate that.”  

It wasn’t a direct compliment, but his heart swelled all the same. “Nah, it’s not a big deal. Drinking by myself isn’t all that fun.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I would know.”  

“I never assumed that you did.”  

He forced himself to laugh. It effectively killed the mood, and you turned back to the bar, seemingly content to have things end there. Jason was not, but he struggled to come up with something to say. His gaze fell to your jacket once more.  

“So, leather?”  

“Leather?” you echoed as you bit back a smile.  

“I mean, your jacket. It’s leather.”  

You feigned shock. “Really? I had no idea.”  

He choked on another laugh. Fuck, this was going a lot worse than he pictured it in his head, but he pressed on anyway, “I have one too.”  

“Yeah?”  

“I mean, I think it looks—” His head spun. “You look—”  

A hand clapped down on his shoulder. “And here I thought you left me high and dry.”  

Jason sagged with relief as Roy settled next to him, sparing him from the embarrassment of finishing that thought. His relief faded when Roy’s gaze shifted to you, his easy smile turning rueful.  

“Is he bothering you, sweetheart?”  

“Not at all,” you said as the bartender dropped off your drinks. Two in front of you, and two in front of him.   

It barely registered, his beef with the bartender forgotten now that he was faced with the terrifying realization that every conversation with you ended in him acting like a bumbling fool. His mouth worked, but no words came out.  

“But I think he might be short-circuiting.”  

Roy chuckled. “Yeah, he gets a little shy around a pretty face.”  

You smirked as you sipped your drink. “Flirting on his behalf. Now, that’s a good friend.”  

Jason shoved him away, gritting his teeth. “Ignore him. We were just leaving. Sorry to both—”  

“Please. No need to stop on my account,” Roy insisted, ever the helpful one. Jason resisted the urge to smack him. “I think you were about to compliment her jacket, right?”  

“He was,” you agreed, “But I’ll spare him from doing so in front of you.” Your hand fell to his shoulder as you leaned in. Tequila sharpened your breath, fanning across his skin. If he turned his head just a fraction, you’d be nose to nose, your lips sinfully close. He stayed still as stone, shoving that mental image from his mind.   

You whispered in his ear, “If you want to try again, you know who I came with. I’ll even pretend this isn’t our first time meeting, Mr. Darcy.”  

Ice coated his veins.   

“A pair of glasses isn’t enough to fool me, though I’d be lying if I said you didn’t look good.” You squeezed his shoulder and walked away.  

He stayed facing the bar, too stunned to move, to speak, hell, he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing any more.  

“That her?”  

A low whine wrenched from his throat.  

Roy took a long sip from his drink. “Everything makes sense now. Your lifestyle has nothing to do with why you’re against dating. You suck at flirting.”  

“That’s not true.”  

“Did you hear yourself before?”  

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, fine, but that’s only part of it. I know all this stuff about her, but I can’t tell her that without looking like a weirdo. I want to do this right, but I don’t know how to begin. What do I do?”  

Insane that he was turning to Roy of all people for dating advice. He loved the guy, but his track record with women was not the best.  

“You could ask her to dance?”  

If Jason had pearls, he would have clutched them. “Have you lost your mind?”  

“Dude.” He flicked him between the eyes. “I know you haven’t had a whole lot of experience with flirting, but that —” He pointed to where you disappeared in the crowd. “That was a clear invitation to follow her. And if you play your cards right, you could end the night like them.”  

Roy then pointed to where Tim balanced precariously on another table. He dragged Bernard up with him this time, his mouth sealed over his in a sloppy kiss. Bernard held a beer in one hand as he grabbed his ass with the other.  

Jason averted his gaze. “Yeah, okay, let me try making it through a conversation without looking like a dumbass first.”  

“Whatever floats your boat, man, but this your shot. Take it.”  

He wiped his sticky palms on his jeans. “I thought you wanted to hang out with me.”  

“I can survive,” he insisted, “Who knows? Maybe I’ll call Dick so we can watch the shit show together.”  

“Dickie is too busy being Bludhaven’s golden boy to care about my non-existent love life.” Jason hadn’t heard from his brother in months, which was probably for the best. Things were easier when they didn’t talk. Reminded him of the days before he bit the dust.  

“I think he’d make an exception for this,” Roy countered with a sharp smile, “This is the best entertainment I've had in years. Now, I need to know how you bagged a baddie like Artemis. I thought you had hidden charm, but that’s clearly not the case.”  

Jason clamped down on his irritation. “Are you done?”  

“Almost.” Roy considered him thoughtfully. “Is it the curly hair? It must be, right? I can’t think of anything else that would—”  

“Roy.”  

He waved him off. “Alright, fine. I’m done now. Are you going to ask her to dance or what?”  

Continuing his relationship with you as Jacob wasn’t the worst decision he’s made where you were concerned. It was closest he’d ever get to being himself around you. No more skirting around under the guise of protocol or chance meetings on fire escapes. He could finally meet you halfway, on equal footing.   

He stood with hardened resolve.  

Roy clapped him on the back. “Atta boy. Go get her.”  

Anxiety prickled his skin as he headed into the crowd to find you. All the while, he tried to convince himself that this was an invitation and that you wouldn’t laugh in his face when he asked you to dance. He didn’t dance, but he would do it for you.   

Jason could picture it now. His hands dipping under that jacket to grip your hips, pulling you flush against his body as you moved to the music. Your breath mingling with his as he pressed his forehead to yours. Words had betrayed him tonight, but he could make his actions count.  

He caught a blur of red hair, then blonde hair, then the outline of a man who was undoubtedly half-Kryptonian. He found Tim’s entourage, so that meant you had to be—  

Someone laughed.   

It grated on his ears, warping until it bordered on hysterical.  

Something snapped inside him.  

It couldn’t be his laugh, he tried to rationalize.  

He was rotting in Arkham.  

He closed his eyes, starbursts painting the back of his eyelids. They looked an awful lot like explosions. His breath shallowed as he pressed his palms over his eyes in a vain attempt to shove the image from his mind.  

No.  

No.  

No .  

Not here.  

Not now.  

He staggered back as a familiar panic twined through his chest.  

It was suddenly too loud, too bright, too warm—like fire. Flames. He smelled smoke. He tugged desperately at his collar, but it failed to alleviate the tension in his throat.  

Suddenly, he was moving.  

A chill it into his skin as he exited the club. Where he went, he had no idea, but he needed to get away. Somewhere quieter, somewhere darker, somewhere that didn’t remind him of that night.  

Eventually, he sank to his knees, slush and snow soaking through his jeans as he willed his head to stop spinning. He focused on the ground, the feel of the rough asphalt under his palms. He counted his breaths. One, two, three —all the way to ten . His fists tightened as he held his breath, then released the tension on the exhale.  

His vision felt too sharp, too real, but his mind finally slowed as he slowly regained control of his body. He released another shaky breath, tears in his eyes.  

Jason hadn’t had an episode this bad in a while.  

Small things could trigger him—like forcing himself into a packed club with all that stimulation. God, he was an idiot to push himself like that. He should have left when Roy suggested it.   

Roy.  

He abandoned him.  

Fuck .  

On top of everything, he was a shit friend too.  

Anger twined with his shame and fear. He punched the ground. And again. Over and over until his knuckles bled. His next breath broke on a sob as he folded in half, his forehead pressed to the concrete.  

To think, he almost fooled himself into believing he had a chance at something normal—something good. Things would never pan out between you two. You deserved someone better. Someone less fucked in the head. He distanced himself for a reason. This was why.  

---------------

A/N: Haha. That was fun until it wasn't. Until next time!

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Pillars | Jack Marston x gn!reader

After his father's passing, Jack and Abigail struggle to keep up with the work. Luckily enough, Bonnie and you are there to support them and teach them a thing or two about handling a ranch.

This is based on a request that I got the other day. I hope that I managed to write it the way you envisioned it, anon <3

And I know that you used she/her pronouns in your request, but by the time I was done, I noticed that I didn't use any throughout the entire fic so yeah. Now it's gender neutral!

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: no pronouns for reader, mentions of blood, grief and loss, I apologize to everyone who dislikes strawberries

Clouds cover the sky, putting a grey filter over your vision. Although you're currently at the peak of summer, there's a certain chill in the air, making you shiver whenever a slight breezes blows over your skin. You're on your knees with a basket by your side and picking strawberries. The scent of the plump red berries fills your nostrils, giving you at least some sense of summer.

A creak behind you rips you out of your thoughts and you throw a glance over your shoulder. There stands that boy again, leaned against the white picket fence and you take in his appearance. It's not the first time that you have met Jack Marston. The first time you saw him was when his father dropped by to buy some cattle from the MacFarlanes.

Jack had sat in his saddle with all the awkwardness and stiffness of a 16 year old, though he was still livelier back then. Nowadays, there's an air of sorrow surrounding him and you can't blame him. It's only been a few weeks, roughly the same time when the weather had dropped, that his father passed away.

You remember that day very clearly when the letter of Mr. Marston's untimely passing had arrived at the ranch. Bonnie hasn't been quite the same ever since and neither has Jack. Dark bags are underneath his eyes and he looks incredibly tired, too tired for a boy his age. The two of you have never talked much, but you still feel bad for him.

From what you've heard, he's struggling to keep up with the demands and work on his own farm. You can't imagine how tough it must be to keep a ranch afloat while grieving. When your own parents passed away at a young age, you at least had the MacFarlanes to back you up, but from what you understood, it's just him and his mother now.

But you still understand what it's like to lose a parent. You feel for him. Looking down at the basket, you quickly come to a conclusion. As much as you would like to offer him a hug for comfort, you're not too sure if it would be the right move. After all, you have barely exchanged any words with the boy and so you pick up the basket.

Walking up to him, you clear your throat to grab his attention and offer a soft smile. When Jack attempts to return it, it turns out more as a grimace, but you don't comment on it. Instead, you lean against the fence, mimicking his stance and hold out the full basket.

"You want one?", you ask with a hint of uncertainty.

He had always seemed a little shy and unproachable, so you're a little worried that he might get annoyed. Much to your relief, he grabs one of the strawberries and nods in your direction.

"Thanks.", he mumbles and takes a bite.

Pleased with the outcome, you grab one yourself and do the same. The two of you stand there in silence for a long time, side by side and stare out at the ranch.

"You came here for help?", you ask, finally breaking the silence, while he sucks off some of the juices off his fingers.

"Do I look like I need help?", he snaps, but you don't take it to heart.

He just lost his father and so it's only understandable for him to be on edge. Instead, you simply offer him a second strawberry, which he silently takes.

"I've been living on this ranch for ages now. If you want, I can talk to Bonnie and we could come over to visit sometime."

To you, it seems like the boy has quite some pride, but you don't like the thought of walking away without having offered at least some sort of support. Halfway expecting him to take offense yet again, you're surprised when he just nods.

"Okay.", he meekly answers, before pushing himself off the fence and trotting away.

The next time you meet him, is at Beecher's Hope. You actually did convince Bonnie to ride over to the Marstons, although she looked anything but excited about it. John Marston's death is laying heavy on her shoulders and it doesn't help that the mood on the property is as chilly as the weather.

You remember seeing Mrs. Marston one time when Bonnie had requested corn, since the MacFarlane's silo had been emptied out by both mice and birds alike. The loss had struck the widow like a blow, to say the least. Even when she's looking directly at you, it feels like she's somewhere entirely else still, with that distant look in her eyes.

Seeing the ranch, you can tell that she and her son are doing the most, but barely keeping it together. Whether it's the grief or the lack of experience, it doesn't really matter. Bonnie is currently in the house and talking to Mrs. Marston, while you're outside with Jack and teaching him a thing or two.

It seems like a certain air of anger is always surrounding him and whenever something doesn't go right the very first time, he easily grows frustrated with both the task and himself. It almost feels like he can't shake off the need to prove himself at all times and you chew on your lower lip, thinking about a way to cool him off a little.

"It's alright if it doesn't work the first time.", you point out, getting the opposite reaction that you were hoping for.

"I know that. You don't gotta talk to me like I'm some kid.", he argues.

The words might be harsh, but you know they're not directed at you. Not really at least and you shake your head.

"No, I don't think you're a kid." The fact that you believe he never even got to be one, you purposefully keep to yourself. "What I'm trying to say is, that you shouldn't be so hard on yourself."

"Well.", he starts and gestures hastily around. "You make all this look like child's play."

That gets a sincere laugh out of you and you catch him widen his eyes in bewilderment.

"Listen, Jack, I really do appreciate that you think so highly of me, but all this didn't exactly fall into my lap." Then you lean forward as if you're going to tell him a secret and he mimics the action. "One time, when Bonnie tried to teach me how to shoot to help her keep the coyotes away from the chickens, I accidently shot a ranch hand in the foot."

"Really?"

"Really." You shudder when you recall the pained screams and the bloody boot. "I'm not allowed to hold a gun anymore."

"Well, I could show you how to do it.", Jack awkwardly suggests, sounding almost hesitant as if he's not sure if he even wants to offer the help or maybe he's just scared that you might reject him.

"Sounds good."

"Just make sure not to shoot my foot.", he jokes and chuckles.

That's the first time you've heard him laugh.

"I'll try."

From that point on, the two of you only grow closer. Whenever he would visit the MacFarlane ranch, you would grab him by the sleeve and drag him over to hide in the strawberry field and Bonnie would catch you slacking off everytime. All excuses and lies fall on deaf ears of course with your lips and faces painted with the red juice.

Over the years, Jack starts to smile more often around you, but the scowl still never leaves his face. Spending time with him has you both at ease and almost carefree, though you can sense that his anger is still present. It's just more in the background now, simmering instead of boiling over.

You also can't help but notice how he's slowly growing into a young and handsome man. At 19, his hair is longer now, reaching down to his shoulders and he has a neat mustache and goatee adorning his face. The ranch work has made him strong and broad shouldered, which is definitely attracting some looks whenever you're in town with him.

But he's still your Jack, the awkward boy you met by the picket fence. More times than not, he's a tad too bold with his choice of words, earning outraged reactions from folk around him, but you like that about him. He doesn't mince his words and you always know where you're standing with him.

Or at least most of the time. It doesn't come as a surprise to you that you've developed feelings for the man, given how closely you work together. Sadly, it never feels like he sees you as more than just a friend. Either he's excellent at hiding the fact that he might have deeper feelings for you or there simply aren't any.

And it doesn't help that all your signals fly right over his head. He doesn't question it when your touches linger for longer than they should or when you sing him praises that reach beyond anything platonic. The worst part of it all is that he's still teaching you how to work a gun properly.

After years of practice, you're only able to hold that damned thing. You can't even count on your fingers how often you've hit your marks, because it hasn't happened yet. Like now, you're gripping the rifle tightly in your hands and pull the trigger. The row of empty food cans that Jack has lined up infront of you is still completely untouched.

"I'll never get the hang out of this.", you murmur in frustration and nearly chuck the gun into the dust.

"You will eventually.", Jack says in an attempt to cheer you up, but you roll your eyes.

"You've been saying that for four years, Marston.", you point out and hear a pair of heavy boots approach.

Next thing you know, he's standing right behind you with his chest flush against your back. The close proximity does nothing to help you focus on your aim. Quite on the contrary, if anything then your grip is trembling even more and you're sure you're going to lose it for good, when he suddenly places his large hands on your arms.

Completely oblivious to the reaction he's getting out of you, he explains how you should pull the trigger when your lungs are empty and whatnot. Those are all tips that he has already given you and none of them work. Jack's hot breath hits the back of your neck as he speaks and heat shoots up your face.

Things only become harder from that point on and you notice with much dread that there's a rift forming between the two of you. Each interaction, each exchange of words is accompanied by a hint of awkwardness (more than the usual amount of course) and reluctance. By now, it's obvious that your feelings aren't being reciprocated and so you pull back, out of fear to ruin your friendship.

If you can't have him as a lover, then you're going to do your best to avoid losing him as a friend. Of course Jack notices the sudden shift in your dynamic and of course it gnaws at him. It doesn't help that his mother has fallen ill too and out of nowhere on top of that. Though she hasn't been quite the same ever since his father's passing. Maybe the side effects of a broken heart are finally starting to catch up to her.

"Why are you avoidin' me?", Jack asks you one time, catching you all alone in the strawberry field.

"What makes you think I am?", you counter, staying in your bend over position and not even throwing a single glance at him over your shoulder.

Instead, you busy yourself with plucking.

"Don't deflect now and don't you dare think you can hold me for a fool."

"I don't think that you are one.", you answer with an exhausted sigh and stretch your back. "But I'm not avoiding you."

That's a blatant lie.

"C'mon. We both know you are.", he argues, seeing right through you. If anyone is the fool then it's you, for believing that you can actually deceive him. "Just tell me what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Then why can't you even look at me?", he asks and you nearly flinch as if he just struck you.

Jack carefully reaches out to touch your shoulder and turns you around. The contact makes your heart cry out in longing and you catch yourself leaning into his hand. After a long pause, in which the two of you just stare at each other, he leans forward to pick up two strawberries from the basket.

"Talk to me.", he quietly begs, holding one out to you.

Slowly, you grab it and take a bite to give yourself some time to come up with the right words. Of course nothing comes to mind.

"It's complicated.", you meekly admit and he shrugs.

"Then make me understand.", he answers as if it really is as simple as that.

The roles are reversed and now you're the own growing angry at things. There's a deep crease between your eyebrows when you glare at him.

"That's the thing. I tried doing that before and it didn't work."

Stunned by your sudden outburst, he just stands there with his hands hanging down by his sides.

"What in the nine hells are ya talkin' about?", he asks and you go to pick up the basket.

"I like you, Jack. That's what I'm talking about!", you throw into his face and he only looks more confused than before.

"I mean, I like you too, but-"

You cut him off with a long stretched groan before he could even attempt to finish the sentence.

"See? There you go again!"

"There I go with what?" Your anger is slowly seeping into him as well now. "Why don't you just speak plain to me?"

With features contorted in sheer irritation, you harshly poke your finger against his chest, but Jack is like an unmovable iron wall.

"I've been trying to do that for ages! Like right now! I confess and it flies right over your big, dumb head."

Spinning around on your heels, you mumble more curses and names under your breath, before swiftly stomping off. Or at least attempting to do so, when something grabs you by your arm and you're being held in place. The grip that Jack has on you is like a vice, but he's making sure not to hurt you.

His fingers might be digging into your skin, but more so in a firm manner than a painful one. Slowly and with a raised chin, you turn your head to face him. If your confession has destroyed your friendship, then you at least want to regard the ruins with some sort of dignity.

When he goes to cup your cheek, you're not sure if you should burst out into cheers or tears. The feel of his calloused hand against your face is so familiar, yet also so strange. It's something you have dreamed about before, but experiencing the real deal, has your heart drum against your ribcage at a concerning pace.

Without a word, he leans down and you instinctively go to meet his lips halfway. Eyes fluttering shut and breath hitching, the basket slides out of your grasp and lands with a thud in the dirt. The kiss is soft, hesitant and unsure from both sides. A part of you is worried that he might have only done that to smooth out the situation, but even Jack Marston isn't such a fool. He simply couldn't be, could he?

When he pulls away, you stare into his face with stunned silence. The many emotions that are swirling in his eyes are clogging up your throat and that is when you know that the kiss was real and genuine. Stripped away from all doubts and inhibitions, you fling your arms around his neck and your lips collide a second time.

His hands snake over your waist as he pulls you close and you lose yourself entirely in him. The taste of strawberries invades your mouth when he slides his tongue past your lips and kisses you senseless.

[tiredandoptimistic]

tsc character you'd like to examine like a lab rat and dissect all their actions and behaviors?

Robert Lightwood without a doubt. He's got everything wrong with him and he's making that a problem for everyone he knows. I think Robert is so fascinating to me because he really doesn't have much self-awareness, and since he's a relatively minor character we don't get much of his perspective on himself or the world, so most of his story is filtered through the perspectives of his children. We can't know why he's like that because he doesn't know why he's like that, and he's sure not gonna have an honest conversation with Alec and Isabelle about why he's like that. The Evil We Love isn't very long but it still showcases a bunch of issues that can't be examined in depth because that would require Robert doing introspection, and that won't happen because the man has a passion for repression. He's clearly always trying to do better for his family, but he keeps fucking it up and then trying again anyways because at the end of the day he loves his kids and he wants them to have happier lives than he did. He's so damn proud of Alec and Isabelle but he doesn't know how to communicate that and he doesn't know how to make up for the hurt he caused them as kids, but he's trying anyways and it's messy but it's worth it.

Also. Okay. Robert is the most aromantic man I've seen in my life, and if he wasn't born in a warrior cult in the 1960s he could have been so much more normal about that but NO he thinks that there's something fundamentally broken inside of him and he can't handle Michael being queer because Robert needs to hide that brokenness rather than potentially examining and accepting it as a part of who he is and he can't stand Michael proving that there's alternate ways to be happy with yourself. Robert decided to define himself as "world's most normal man" because he knows deep down that he isn't normal, and anything that challenges that image is a threat because the image is all he has.

Robert's repression game is so peak that he literally broke his and Michael's parabatai bond which is why he didn't feel Michael's death in 1991 and Valentine was able to keep up the lie that Michael was alive until 2001. Valentine's whole scheme would have fallen apart if Robert was emotionally open with his best friend. Guy who ripped out half of his soul as a teenager so he wouldn't have to question why that part of himself didn't match the ideal he wanted to be, and so lost his ability to see what was wrong with that ideal until it was too late.

Thanks for the ask! I'm taking more of these if anybody has more to send.

[child0feden]

TAKE MY HEART

pelle “ dead ” ohlin x pregnant! reader

- general headcanons for pelle with a pregnant partner!

some more domestic fluff for my one of favourites <3

- view my metal masterlist here

reading music recommendations: death stranding by chvrches - end of small sanctuary by akira yamaoka

- pelle would be an absolute solidified pro at handling your general morning sickness!

✩ vomit does not bother him in the slightest, not the smell nor the sound of your retching, he will awkwardly stand behind you in the small bathroom as you get it all up, bending his lanky frame slightly to pull your hair back out of your sweaty face and gently pat your back…

- he really tries his absolute best to comfort you as you go through it

“ are you okay? is… is that it? no more vomit? okay… come on… ” ( he might not be the best at verbal comfort but the feeling of his hand stroking your hair away from your face as you brush your teeth is comforting enough )

✩ he will always make you some kind of nice hot drink, but not coffee, to help you feel a bit better after some rough morning sickness

- he would probably be secretly brainstorming so many name ideas all the time, always scribbling them down on a ripped up piece of paper whenever he thinks of a name he thinks you will particularly like or he thinks is quite unique and beautiful

✩ i feel like pelle would find the kicking really interesting and is always just so beyond curious about it as a whole

- whenever the baby kicks, he just goes dead silent and stares at the bump with such an obviously curious look in his sky blue eyes

✩ he would definitely ask a whole lot of questions about how it feels… like what exactly the kicking feels like inside of you and how the baby feels inside of your womb… he is just really curious and has no filter whatsoever…

“ …does it hurt? what does it feel like inside? sorry… ” ( he is not really sorry for asking so many questions, he is a curious guy, but he will say sorry just in case you feel awkward which you never really do after so much time of being with him )

- pelle is the absolute best guy to be with when you have some trouble getting to sleep at night because of the baby!

✩ he has no problem whatsoever with sitting awake next to you and quietly talking to you as you cuddle into his pale arm whilst he lays flat on his back staring up at the ever so slightly chipping paint of the ceiling in your shared bedroom

- he will usually just mumble about really quite random things, strange thoughts he had pent up through the day

✩ things like how he was wondering about what the baby will look like, how he really hopes they will look more like you, how he is just a little which actually means a very scared to be bringing a child into his care, he thinks you will just be more than great though

“ think you’ll be a good mother, really good… not sure about me though… ‘m not good with stuff… ” ( you are the only person he has ever opened his heart to, he just does not know if he will be able to open his heart to another person as he did you! he is the most nervous he has ever been, please just tell him he will be amazing )

- to be honest, his quiet voice mumbling to you would probably help you get right to sleep and as soon as he hears your soft breathing even out, he will nuzzle his head into your hair and plant a small kiss on your head before whispering an almost silent “ i love you ” against your hair

✩ when you are at doctors appointments with him, wether it be for ultrasounds or just casual checkups, he is super quiet and nearly unresponsive to anyone in the room aside from you

- he will just not say a word, only nodding or shaking his head and keeping his slightly shaky hand in yours the whole time, his bony fingers consistently tightening around yours

✩ whenever he sees his little baby on the grainy black and white screen, he just gets beyond lost in the low quality image and completely zones out as he stares ahead at it, the voices of you and the doctor becoming muffled white noise to him as he looks at his baby through a screen

- he will only really snap out of this when it is time to leave or you gently nudge him, he would definitely shyly ask the doctor for a couple copies of the ultrasound to take home every time you go for the ultrasounds!

✩ pelle would probably draw his own copies of the ultrasound a whole lot too, studying it for hours on end as he replicates the image down in his sketchbook

“ drew her ultrasound… you can see her little hands and feet now… look, this one is the very first one ” ( he really likes showing you his sketches of her ultrasounds, not for fishing compliments or anything but just because it is your baby though he will blush quite a bit if you compliment the sketches )

- when you are in a not so great mood due to your stormy hormones, pelle is very cautious around you and does not talk much at all, he will just let you do your thing and try his absolute best to not do anything that might irritate you or get in your way

✩ pelle would probably think the stretch marks beginning to appear on your stomach throughout your pregnancy are so damn pretty

- he would not be crazy vocal about it but whenever you are sleeping against him with his arm thrown comfortably around you, his skinny fingers will trace the indented marks on your growing bump just as he does your other scars and marks! he thinks they are absolutely beautiful in their own way, marks of strength more than anything else and he hates when he sees you being insecure about them

✩ when you are too sick or even too tired to go shopping and none of your friends are available to do it for you, pelle will definitely go for you, even if he really does not like shopping at all! he learns to suck it up just for you

- almost every time when shopping for you, he will almost accidentally find himself just standing idly in the baby supply isle, even when that is definitely not what you sent him shopping for! he just gets so lost in looking at the tiny shoes, cute little blankets and other accessories

✩ he will stand in the isle completely lost in thought and daydreams for at least five minutes, people passing by him and looking at him very strangely

- pelle will usually come home with at least one thing from the baby supply isle, something he picked up with a fast haste and quickly dropped into the basket as if holding it for longer than a second would burn him! he will not tell you he got it, he will simply let you find it in the shopping bag and if you ask about it, he will just give a short and quiet response

“ just thought they might like it… ” ( just because they might like it… he was spoiling her before she was even born )

✩ pelle does kind of a similar thing in the nursery when that is all prepared!

- you will wake up in the middle of the night due to not feeling his presence beside you and get up, walking around the dark hallways trying to find him before you eventually do find him in the nursery, ever so slightly bathed in the natural moonlight that shines in through the window and standing still, running one hand across the cot with whilst the other is up to his mouth as he nervously bites his nails

✩ he is just kind of realising that soon, there will be a baby made from both you and him in the crib, a baby he will love… just go up and hug him from behind, it will be one of the few times you make him jump from your surprise presence before he comes back to bed with you, mumbling an apology for waking you up…

- speaking of the nursery, he would paint some stuff in there! obviously not insanely creepy things but usually little forest animals and trees, fairytale or folktale type things with the slight twist from his signature style! he painted a doe on the wall above the crib, as if it was a guardian angel for the baby and it ended up matching the baby really well as she had the biggest blue doe eyes

✩ please just do not show this many any of your weird food cravings…

- he would be the type of guy to actually vomit at the sight of some of the stuff you have concocted, possibly even at just the smell of it!

✩ so you will need to give him a quick heads up when you are going to make something weird that you crave, just so that he can stay far away from the kitchen or even go for a quick walk in the woods

- yeah, so much other nasty stuff does not bother him at all but weird food combinations? keep that stuff out of his sight, please <3