#quell: day 10

[hungergameshyperfixation]

March 8th -> March 18th

10 DAYS EVERYONE!!

[pellucid-constellations]

I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Falling in love with Azriel had never been in the cards. Falling in love with anyone other than the husband your father appointed to you had always been a far-fetched notion. And that was a truth you had lived by. 10 years ago.

Word count: 5k

Warnings: Yearning, pining, all that is longing and angst and exes to lovers <3

a/n: Guys I adored writing this so I hope you love it!! Inspired by 'We Hug Now' by Sydney Rose. I so so appreciate hearing what you think. Thank you for reading!!

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

You fiddled with the ring on your finger, passing it over your knuckle and twisting it back down. 

Your stomach hurt, pain and nausea mingling with such severity you feared you would be sick. The thought was comical, in a way. The company at the table would be so concerned over their dresses and the obscenely expensive tablecloth that you could probably sneak away. But that would still be a feat considering the heavy palm resting on your thigh. 

Warren was a nice man. He fulfilled his duties as the man you were to marry with dutiful purpose. He learned your favorite foods, how you liked your tea in the morning, and the shops you frequented. He touched you kindly, respectfully, and he was always nice to your friends. He was nice. But you were not in love with him. 

In Warren’s defense, you were never going to be in love with him. Your father had decided that you should be, however, so you were promised to him from a young age. That was typical of the high fae with your family’s rank, and you had evaded that duty for some time now. Your father had given into your whims for several years, allowing you to “galavant around”, as he would say, acting as the Winter Court’s emissary until Warren’s family grew impatient. 

Your return to Winter had been met with immediate wedding planning. You had been called upon for floral arrangements and the menu and to finalize the color scheme. Warren had done his best to quell his incessant mother’s demands, but the wedding was a court affair and everyone was thrilled. 

Well, most were. 

Before you had stepped foot in the Night Court ten years ago, you had been indifferent about the wedding. Sure, it wasn’t optimal to have to marry a man you knew so little about, but it had been an expectation since your birth. Warren may not have been your choice, but he was certainly not the worst choice when compared to the other eligible bachelors in the pool. You had left to act as emissary with a gentle begrudging that cared little for the future. 

You had returned with so much indescribable longing that you had trouble speaking to others. 

Every decision you made was accompanied by an inundating weight that threatened to crush you. You chose daisies for the aisle and you thought of him. You wore that ridiculous wedding dress with the high neck and drapey sleeves and you remembered how he used to touch you. You sat at this dinner, celebrating the joining of two families, and you reminisced on how it felt to sit with him, with his family, and to feel that you belonged somewhere. 

The urge to be sick persisted as your future mother-in-law hoisted her glass in the air, bubbles losing weight and flying up to the rim. 

It was cruel—all the mundane things that reminded you of him. 

��To my son,” Warren’s mother toasted, white furs puffing around her cheeks. “And his new bride-to-be. We are overjoyed that the long-awaited day meets us!” 

You gritted through your smile, raising your glass to your lips. The edge hit your teeth and the sound of the impact vibrated your brain. 

“Oops,” you giggled, the splattering of fae wine against cobblestone suddenly hilarious. “Who did that?” 

“I believe you are the only one in this alleyway, my love.” Azriel’s smooth voice sent a pleasant warmth up your spine. 

You whirled around, night air kissing your bare shoulders. It felt electric when accompanied by Azriel’s adoring smile—addicting. 

“You followed me,” you mused, curling your glass into your chest and stepping closer to the Shadowsinger. 

Azriel met your steps without pause. “Of course I did.” You smiled at him, light and airy. He brought soft fingers up to brush along your face as he asked, “Are you alright?” 

“More than alright,” you were quick to reply. “Just needed some air. It gets so hot in there.” 

He hummed, eyes tracing over your features. “Want to go home?” 

“I feel that Mor would be angry with me.” 

“She would only be angry for a day. Buy her those shoes she was eyeing.” 

“And why should I choose to go home with you?” 

Azriel pressed his lips against yours in a tender kiss. He moved back, only an inch, and whispered, “Come with me and you’ll find out.” 

“That reminds me of when Warren climbed that icy tree in the courtyard. Oh, what a silly child he was!” A boisterous aunt clapped her hands as she shouted, snapping you out of the memory with a small jump. 

Your chest ached as you breathed out a laugh and rejoined the table. 

Beside you, Warren chuckled, his hand brushing lightly near your knee. “Please, do not bring up anything I’ve done before the age of twenty,” he pleaded. His eyes shone their pretty blues. His hair looked enticingly soft. “I don’t need y/n to have those images in her mind.” 

He turned slightly, flashing you a small smile that spelled marital secrets and private conversations through eyes. 

Where you should have felt the lightness of new love elating you, buzzing at your skin, you felt the increasing urge to cry. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t cry. You hadn’t cried since the night you left him. 

“I’m sure it would only make you that much more endearing,” you teased, swallowing hard when Warren took your words as an opening to dive into a tale of the past. 

He didn’t deserve this, in all honesty. 

Warren was a nice man. 

But Azriel— 

“You are so beautiful.” 

“You’re supposed to be watching, Az,” you admonished, tucking your face into his arm to hide the heat on your face.

“I am watching,” he argued. He leaned down, your back pressed to his chest, and kissed the skin above your ear.

“Not me. The stars,” you clarified. 

You tilted your head slightly, meeting the crook of his elbow where it rounded your shoulders. He kissed you again and again, mapping out the top of your head with the delicate pecks. You laughed and that only egged him on. He turned you and pressed you back until your spine met the railing of the balcony, and then he was kissing your cheeks and your temple—the bridge of your nose and your brow. 

“Azriel,” you tried again, but his smile was against your skin and he wasn’t listening. “You’re missing Starfall!” 

“I can see it next year,” he murmured against you.

“And you can kiss me whenever you want.” 

He paused, pulling back to catch your eyes. You smiled, confused at the serious moment in the otherwise light mood. He had no response to your confusion, only leaning back in to brush his nose against yours. 

Maybe he had known. 

You had foolishly thought this all to be avoidable, figuring your father would understand that you had found happiness. That he would have cared and given up on this unwanted marriage. 

He hadn’t.

“Isn’t that right?” 

You blinked, turning to your fiance with a haze in your eyes.

You hadn’t been listening. 

The cake on your plate was becoming stale, its untouched state starkly contrasted with the empty glass of champagne to the left. You pulled your lips into a line, searching Warren’s encouraging eyes as he tried to help you. It didn’t work; you had no idea where the conversation was left. 

“I’m sorry,” you bluntly stated, voice turned up into the posh tone your father had ingrained in you. You turned to address the table. “I seem to have been lost in my head. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Catch me up?” 

Warren gave your knee a fond squeeze before removing his hand to place it on the back of your chair. He leaned down slightly, his voice lowering as he offered a gentle excuse for you. She has been so incredibly busy, he offered warmly, she’ll be even busier when the wedding is over. 

You felt as if you were underwater. Your face lit up with another asinine smile and it was difficult to breathe. Not because you weren’t used to this setting—not because Warren was a bad man. This was supposed to be your life. This was what you were supposed to be doing. 

There had never been any indication of a different path.

“I love you.” 

You whipped your head to the side, abandoning the sketchbook in your lap as your charcoal rolled into the seat cushions. 

“What?” 

Azriel smiled. He leaned over the pillow separating you, tucking your knees further into your chest as he closed the space on the loveseat. “I said I love you,” he repeated, breath fanning over your lips. “I’ve told you before, but you haven’t heard me.” 

You let out an incredulous huff of laughter, your gaze bouncing between both of his eyes. “When? I don’t remember that.” 

“At the Sidra yesterday. Last week at the shops. Three days ago when you fell asleep on me.” 

“No, you didn’t! I would have remembered.” 

Azriel tucked your hair behind your ear and left his hand resting on your cheek. “You are often oblivious to your surroundings, my love. Especially when something is interesting in front of you like fish or jewels.” 

You scoffed. “Not true. My father made sure I was very observant. My tutor would smack the back of my neck any time I got distracted.” 

Azriel tutted, disapproval darkening his eyes as he brushed his scarred hand to cup the back of your neck. He shifted on the loveseat so you were sat on his lap, his other hand finding a home on the side of your thighs. 

“That is cruel,” Azriel remarked. “Being distracted is in your nature. I don’t know if there is a time you are not distracted.” 

“There are many interesting things to look at,” you mused, humming as his fingers inched up your scalp. 

“I’m sure.” A pause. Azriel had the gall to look unsure. “You do not have to love me back.” 

Your posture stiffened, the words leaving you before you could consider them. “I love you, Azriel. I love you, too.” 

He seemed to slump against you at that, tension you didn’t know was there leaving his body. He offered you a warm smile and then kissed you—and kissed you and kissed you. 

It had seemed like there was another path. 

“If you’ll excuse us,” Warren announced to the table. A musician had begun to play the harp in the corner of the restaurant. “My bride and I have much to discuss tonight so we must retire. Please, continue to enjoy the night.” 

Confused and disoriented, you took his gloved hand in yours and said goodbye to the correct people. You weren’t supposed to be the first to leave. This was your rehearsal dinner. 

Warren guided you into the winding hall, his grip soft and reassuring. You attempted not to trip on your dress as you went, your head throbbing with an invisible pain that seemed to linger these months back in Winter. 

It had been months without seeing him. 

You were getting married the next day.

It would be final then. 

The first step outside the restaurant was both invigorating and unpleasant, the cold air assaulting your senses. It did the job of snapping you out of your thoughts, but then you were left standing in the snow before Warren, and that was a similar form of torture. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he prompted, tugging your cloak over your shoulders. You had missed him grabbing it from the coat check. “You’ve been off since you returned but it’s worse tonight.” 

Warren had known you peripherally before you left for the Night Court. You were to be married, so he made it a point to at least meet you before you were gone. He had not known you would be gone for years, but neither had you. The last time you spoke to Warren before you had met Azriel, a wilted salad sat between him and your father, the pair discussing politics and import prices. 

Warren would not have known something was wrong, he hardly knew you, but he did anyway. Because he had made it a point to be a good husband. 

That’s what made this even more tortuous. 

Maybe, if he were terrible, it would be easy. 

Your chin wobbled for a moment of breath. You’d pass it off as a chill. 

“Nothing is wrong,” you smiled, cheeks already stiff from the cold. “I didn’t sleep well. That’s all.”

Warren closed his eyes, breath a white puff before him. “Don’t lie.” 

“Don’t lie.” 

“I’m not!”

Azriel tugged his hand through his hair. His face was flushed, feet taking him in a disorganized line around the room. “You are engaged.” 

“Not by choice. I don’t know him, not really. I could tell my father—” 

“You would be shunned—cut off. I know how noble families are, y/n.” 

The use of your name struck you, a stark contrast to the soft, endearing terms Azriel so loved to use around you. You flinched unconsciously, eyes darting around his room to find some sort of explanation for this. 

“I don’t care about any of that,” you urged. You remained rooted in the doorway, unable to move. “I’d stay here. I wouldn’t go back.” 

“You would leave your family? Your… fiancé?” Azriel spit out the last word. The crumbled missive crinkled in your hand as you clutched it tighter. 

“I would do anything to be with you.” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t make this my decision.” 

The paper fell from your fingers. You brought your palm to your chest, ignoring the harshness of his tone. “No, I know. This isn’t—this is my choice, Azriel. I want to stay here. To be with you.” 

“I can’t be the reason you abandon your family. Your responsibilities. You—You lied, y/n. You never told me about any of this,” Azriel bit out, hands curled into fists. 

“I’m sorry! I wanted to—I did—but I was so afraid you would be angry. And then I fell in love with you and—” 

Azriel held his hand up, abruptly stopping your teary explanation. His chest visibility heaved. “You should go.” 

“What?”

“Answer your father. Tell him you’ll comply with the date.” 

Tears wet your cheeks, the silence following his demand pressing them down in heavy streaks. He stared back at you and he looked so angry, his eyes a calculated cold. He had never looked at you like that. 

“You’re hurt,” you spoke, voice a mess of tears. “You don’t mean that.” 

He only shook his head slightly. “I do.” 

“Azriel, I love you. I was promised to marry him when I was born. I don’t—” 

The muscle in his jaw feathered, effectively silencing you. His shadows were going haywire, half of them wrapped around their master, protecting him, the other half twining around your chest. Did they know you were in pain? Did they know your chest wouldn’t move?

“Okay,” you relented. More tears fell when Azriel only gave you a hard stare. “Okay, I—I’m sorry, Azriel. I love you—” 

You choked on a sob when he turned around, apparently unable to watch as you broke down. 

And that's what made this the most torturous of all; you could leave Warren—maybe—and Azriel still wouldn’t want you back. 

You decided you wouldn’t lie to Warren just as you didn’t to Azriel.

“I fell in love.” 

Warren nodded, barely blinking at your admission. “In Night?” 

Your brow furrowed. “Yes, but—you aren’t angry?” 

“I couldn’t expect you to tie yourself to me. You didn’t know me when we were engaged and I didn’t do the best job at getting to know you when we came of age.” 

“I left.” 

“To meet your soulmate, it seems.” 

“We had no mating bond.” 

Warren’s mouth ticked up at the corner. He adjusted the collar of your cloak and dusted the snow from your shoulder. “A mating bond is not always the answer.” 

Faelight from the post beside the restaurant gleamed off the bronze hues in Warren’s hair. He leaned back, hands encasing your upper arms. “I’ve missed my chance then.”

Something soft fractured inside of you—because he was right. Warren could be all things kind and loving and he wouldn’t be Azriel. No one would be. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly spoke. “I never meant—” 

“Don’t apologize. Go to him.” 

Your lips parted. “Warren, I couldn’t. We’re to be married tomorrow. I wouldn’t do that to you. And our families would be enraged.” 

“I’m hardly concerned about our families. As much as I would have enjoyed marrying you—and I would have, please do not get that misconstrued—there are several noble ladies my mother has lined up and already ready, I’m sure. And as for your family… to be honest, y/n, you came back from Night brighter than I remember you. It seems you have another family waiting for you.” 

It all sounded wonderful—wonderful and so, so easy. You’d have Warren as an ally and you could return to the people you’d called home for so many years. You’d feel at home. The loss of your homeland would sting, but it was a worthy sacrifice. 

But then you remembered the anger and hurt in Azriel’s eyes, and this was no longer easy. 

The light extinguished from your eyes, shoulders deflating in Warren’s hold. “I can’t. He was so angry with me.” 

“When?” 

You met the blues of his eyes, chest hollow. “He found out about our engagement the night before I returned. He told me to go. He was—Warren, he wouldn’t want me back.”

Warren clicked his tongue. “I can guarantee that he’s kicking himself over that. He didn’t mean it. Imagine you learned he was engaged after so many years together. That can’t have been easy.” 

“I know,” you mumbled, ashamed. 

“But—” he continued “—if he loves you, he would have regretted that the moment you left. Go back to him. Speak with him. If he turns you away we can still be married in the morning.” 

“You would still marry me?” you deadpanned, brow raised in amusement. 

“It’s either you or the girl my mother surely has on standby.” 

You scoffed out a laugh and pushed at his chest. He grabbed his sweater in mock pain, a charming smile playing on his face. 

Despite the task that awaited you, you felt lighter. You let out a resolute sigh before saying, “You’re going to be a wonderful husband, Warren.” 

He looked up at you from where he had bent his neck, peeking out from below his lashes. “Just not to you?” he asked. 

“Not to me,” you affirmed. 

~~

The air in the Night Court felt different—shimmering, somehow, although that may have been chalked up to the anxiety coursing through your veins. The crystalline silk dress still adorning your frame stood out against the dark hues of the court. 

It had been a feat to get up to the house. After winnowing into the outskirts of Velaris, you had prayed Mor was home to the tune of several knocks on her door. She was—thankfully—and seemingly more than happy to see you. She had rushed through a tale of how terrible Azriel was doing without you that quickly morphed into a lecture about how pissed she was that you left without a proper farewell. 

You had apologized, and she had sent for someone with wings. 

Cassian appeared next, rattling off much of the same as Mor only with more shouting and less snapping. After several apologies, Cassian brought you up to the House and then promptly left to the opposite side of the House. 

And so, you were left alone with an insurmountable task. 

The halls of the House were painfully familiar, each step a reminder of the life you once thought to be forever. You passed your room—only used for the first few months before you made a home in Azriel’s—several sitting rooms, the kitchen; Azriel’s door was closed. 

You hadn’t knocked on it in years. 

You sucked in a breath, allowing it to fill your chest and then your stomach, and then you knocked. And knocked again. 

“I told you to leave it, Cassian,” came Azriel’s reply. “I don’t wish to talk about it.” 

His voice was rough and thick. You knocked again, listening close to the wood for the sound of footfall or movement. You only heard Azriel’s bed shift. 

You knocked again.

No answer. 

Well, if you were going to do this it wasn’t going to be halfway. 

You turned the knob, the metal cold and reassuring under your palm. You had done that before. 

Azriel’s room was much of the same. Some things were missing; paintings on the wall had been removed, the side of the bed you typically slept on looked all but bare, his curtains had been changed. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and when it went in, you saw him. Hunched over on the side of his bed, Azriel sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. His fingers were threaded through his hair, his room almost unseeably dark. He didn’t look up when you entered. 

“I want to be left alone,” he grunted out. He sniffed. “Tell me after she’s married and only then.” 

He knew you were getting married tomorrow. He had kept track. 

Obviously, that had been a possibility, but you had expected more avoidance. He was angry with you—at you. He couldn’t even look at you when you left, hadn’t told you he loved you as you packed your things and vanished. It would have made sense if he resented you. If he stayed away from all things that involved you. 

“I am not getting married.” 

His head snapped up at a vicious speed, hands falling into his lap just as quickly. His shadows, once in a clump at his feet, exclaimed in the air before cautiously edging towards you. He took you in, eyes roving over your figure in a panic. You caught the reflection on his cheekbones in the small amount of light filtering past his curtains. His eyes were swollen, his face gaunt. 

His voice cracked as it formed the sounds of your name. 

Nerves caught up with you. You closed the door behind you and stayed rooted in the same spot you had left him in, feet creating an indent by the wall. You played with your fingers at your waist. 

“Um, hello,” you greeted, clearing your throat. It hurt to look at him, you realized. You tore your eyes from his ruined expression to gaze down at your hands. “I realize you told me to leave. And I did—I had every intention of following my father’s requests as you told me to do. But—um. Warren could tell something was off. I was trying my best, I swear I was, but it was hard to fall back into that role after spending so much time here. After being comfortable here. With you.”

You chewed at your cheek for a moment. A bad habit you had picked up in the months back in Winter. Azriel’s bed creaked. He’d stood up. 

He was going to leave. You needed to get this out, quickly. 

“I know you’re angry and I’m so sorry, Azriel. I had foolishly thought I could avoid the fate my father had set out if I just ignored it. If I just lived out my life here with you. I thought it would all go away so I never told you about Warren and—” 

“Please,” Azriel interrupted. “Stop saying his name.”

You could feel his presence. Now directly in front of you, his shadows became more comfortable and had taken to sliding along your skin. Azriel stepped forward until you could hear his breath, but you refused to look up. You couldn’t. 

You apologized instead. “I just came back because… I just wanted you to know that you have become my family. You had said that I was making a choice between you and my family, but that’s not true. I feel at home here. And you can tell me to leave again. You can and I’ll—” 

“Look at me.” 

You sucked in a breath, picking at the skin of your palm. 

Azriel placed his thumb and forefinger on your chin, tilting your face up to his. The first touch of his skin against yours had warmth blooming in your gut, but it was quickly replaced with a tight ball of anxiety when his eyes met yours. 

“Gods, I’ve missed your eyes,” he all but sighed. You backed up a step until your back met his door. He followed. “Is it my turn to talk?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded. 

“Letting you leave—speaking to you like that—has been my greatest regret,” he began, the gravelly nature of his voice conveying more than his words ever could. His lashes were damp as they fanned against his cheeks. 

“I didn’t tell you the truth. You had every right—” 

Azriel pressed his thumb to your bottom lip and trained his eyes on the skin he displaced. He winced with a slight shake of his head. “I’m talking, my love.” 

He continued. “I did not have the right. I was hurt, you were correct, but I wasn’t listening. It was unfair of me to react that way. I wanted you to come back the moment you left.” 

“Then why didn’t you come get me?” you whispered. 

“I thought you had everything you wanted. I figured—y/n, I have never been the best option. I’m a killer. I have hang-ups. I wanted you to have a way out.” 

“I didn’t want a way out,” you stressed, gripping Azriel’s wrist. He had moved his hand back to cup your jaw. “I wanted you. I didn’t care about any of that. I was willing to throw away my entire life in Winter to stay.” 

“I know.” 

“And then you told me to leave.”

“I know.” 

“It’s not fair.” 

Azriel let out a tortured breath. His shoulders sagged and his forehead met yours, even though he didn’t ask, even though you weren’t sure who was mad at who anymore. You kept your eyes open as his closed, watching his face twist. 

“Wanted?” 

You drew back. “What?” 

Azriel’s eyes opened. “You said wanted. That you wanted me. That you were willing to stay.” 

You could only stare at him. 

“Does that mean… is this irreparable?” 

“Why do you think I’m here, Azriel?” A broken, defeated smile donned your face. “I don’t think we could ever be irreparable. I don’t think I’d have the strength to keep that up.” 

He was kissing you, a hurried press of his lips against yours, and his sticky cheeks became wet once more as they brushed against yours. His hands found the back of your head, your waist, pulling you in closer. His wings came around to keep you in place—unnecessary. You weren’t going to leave. 

He pressed harder still, barely enough air between you to breathe. He took the small amount that was there, whispering apologies and declarations against your lips. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“I know, Azriel.” 

“Please don’t marry him.” 

“I won’t.”

“I love you. So much.” 

You kissed him more, softer, and he let you set the pace. At some point, his feet had guided you to the plush surface of his bed, positioning you at the head without ever breaking from your lips. 

“I’m sorry,” he said again—a kiss to your jaw, one along your temple. “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Showing you how much I love you.” 

“It’s okay, Azriel. I’m sorry too—” 

“Don’t. Please. I played out you returning to me so many times in my head. You never apologized in them. You have no reason to.” 

You threaded your fingers through the hair on his nape, eyes cast softly up as he hovered above you. “I could have been more open.” 

“I’ve thought about that. I—I was foolish to think you’d want that future. You are nothing like the woman they have forced you into the mold of.” 

A small smile. “So you’ve noticed?” 

Azriel only kissed you once more before a seriousness cast over his face. “Were you… treated well?” 

“Treated well?”

“I believe his name is Warren.” 

You fought back a laugh at the way he mumbled the words. “You’re worried he was cruel?” 

“Among other things. I know how noblemen can behave.” 

“And when did you begin to worry about that.” 

“From the moment you said his name was Warren.” 

You did laugh that time, shifting on the bed until Azriel laid on his back. You rested along his side, palm flat on his chest. Like a moth to a flame, Azriel’s wings captured you in their own hold. “Warren would have made a good husband. He is a kind man—doting, even.” Azriel tensed beneath you, but you only smoothed your fingers down the plane of his chest. “But I didn’t love him. Maybe I could have tried, before I met you. But not after.” 

Azriel rested his hand atop yours, squeezing your fingers. “I will thank him then. For caring for you when I did not.” 

You looked at him softly, removing your hand to brush stray hairs from his forehead. “He told me to go to you. I was at my rehearsal dinner. I think if I had opened my mouth I would have said your name.” 

He responded with a hand rubbing circles into your back. You laid your head on his chest. “Things will be different now. I can’t go home for a while.” 

“You are home,” he replied. “Things may be different, but I will never be different. Not when it comes to you.”

Read the continuation of Warren's story here

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Rain, But No Thunder

Part four of The Rain series

Synopsis: The word gets out about The Prefect's condition after Ramshackle collapsed + Malleus visits The Prefect in the infirmary

TW: Aftermath of The Prefect getting caught under a collapsing Ramshackle, Malleus Cries, Discussions of Death

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (here), Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (coming soon), . . .

The story of what happened was kept relatively under wraps until about a week after when the staff finally had to explain to the students what had hapened.

The newly hired school counselor was swamped after that.

The staff had explained the collapse of Ramshackle, the condition you were in (vaguely as not to cause a panic), and that Professor Crewel would be taking on the role of Acting Headmage for the time being. He'd still be teaching his classes of course, he'd just have to do all the work Crowley had been letting pile up as well (with the help of the rest of the staff, of course).

Despite the attempts made to keep the campus calm, mayhem broke loose. Some of your friends tried to break into the blocked off hallway leading to the old infirmary (they kept you in that one so you could have a calmer environment in which to heal), but were ultimately stopped by Crewel and, surprisingly, Leona.

"D'ya think they'll be able to rest with all of you herbivores making a ruckus in there?"

It took a bit of convincing (and some force), but the mob was quelled.

The campus continued to be a bit more rowdy than usual for a few days, but after those days passed, and the news had time to set in, the campus went silent. Even those who hadn't liked The Prefect shut up in fear of getting pummeled by their many friends and supporters.

The news, of course, leaked outside of the campus after the students were informed. You began receiving gift baskets and flowers not only from your friends at NRC, but also those you'd met from RSA, your friends' families, and so many more people you had met in your time here.

The media found out about the incident pretty quickly as well, but they were barred from entering the school. Any letters they sent you were promptly thrown away or responded to in a manner that told the senders (rather passive aggressively) to leave you alone.

On the 3rd week it was announced that Crowley had officially been fired.

"Hey, Pup." a familiar voice called to you from the doorway.

You could tell by his tone that he was nervous. "I heard the news"

Professor Crewel pales at your scratchy admission. "I-. . .I see."

He crosses the room to sit next to your bed. "Look-"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at all upset, but I think I'm okay."

A moment of silence stretches out between you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

You no longer need to focus on the ticking of the clock to keep your mind off the pain. It hasn't completely gone away, but you've gotten used to what pain you currently endure.

"I. . .I know you probably saw him as your only way home. . ."

The man trails off, unsure of what to say next and you make no move to alleviate the awkward silence.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

When you do finally speak it's in a soft, barely audible tone "--------------------"

On week 4, you're finally allowed visitors. You're given a list of all the people who signed up saying they wanted to see you and told to sift through it to decide who you do and don't feel up to seeing (the ones you don't, the staff make an excuse on your behalf to avoid hurt feelings). From there, the order they get to see you is decided by the order in which they signed up (you were given an option to pick an order, but you had no real bias).

You were rather surprised by your first visitor. In the doorway to your room loomed none other than Malleus Draconia. The man who was never clued in on events, somehow managed to get his name on your visit sheet first. Needless to say, you were astonished.

"May I enter, Child of Man?" The usually regal and sometimes smug sounding Malleus sounded almost meek when he spoke.

You nodded as a way to tell him to come in and he did so, rather unsteadily. When he got to your bed, he just stood there watching you.

A nod to the chair didn't seem to do anything so you opened your mouth to tell him he could sit down but he stopped you in your tracks when he sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't say a word, and neither did you.

Tick Tick Tick Tick

The whole time he was sitting there all he did was stare. His gaze roamed over your body, but not in a way that was distasteful. He looked at you in a way that made it obvious he was simply assessing and trying to process the state you were in.

"We fae live long lives." he began. "I do expect that I'll have to watch you leave this world and return to your own or see you die someday, but I will not accept it being so soon."

"Nobody can dictate when I'll die-" Not the right thing to say! Not the right thing to say at all!

Clouds rolled in outside and the sky became unnaturally dark. You had seen this before when Malleus got mad, and any moment now, your eardrums would quake at a boom of thunder.

But. . .the thunder never came. The clouds poured buckets of rain, but there was no lightning in sight.

You glanced away from the window and up at Malleus. He was crying.

"I. . .I do not wish to lose you so soon."

That cold feeling you felt a few weeks back returned to your body and you shivered. "Tsuna-. . .Malleus. I don't want to die anytime soon either, but it may very well happen." The sound of rain pelting against the window got a bit louder. "When that day does come, whether it be soon or in the distant future, I don't want you to be sad."

Malleus took one of your bandaged covered hands in his before he spoke "You know I value your happiness dearly, but I'm afraid you may be asking too much of me, Child of Man."

"I guess so. . ." your gruff voice tickled at your throat. You had been speaking too much. However, you put that aside for the time being, "But I would at least like to ask that even when I die, you continue to remember me fondly, and not let my death taint the time we've spent together as friends. I don't like the idea of nobody wanting to remember me. . .but I guess that's kind of selfish-"

"I promise, Child of Man" Malleus cuts you off.

"Thank you."

Tick Tick Tick Tick

"May we please change the subject." Malleus asks softly as we wipes his tears with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket.

You nod. "So, uh. . .you managed to get your name on the list 1st, huh?"

He gives you a quizzical look as he hands you a glass of water. Guess you weren't doing a very good job at hiding the worsening rasp in your voice. "No. There were many other names on the list when I signed mine. I just wrote mine above all of theirs."

You listen to him talk until the sun has set. He insists you not say another word as not to hurt your throat, so you don't get a chance to ask him about the severe storm that started the day the Staff informed everyone about what happened and raged on for that entire week.

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[no-144444]

꩜summary: you really don't care

꩜pairing: charles leclerc x fem! reader

Parties. Pictures. Paige. 

Possibly the three most hated things by you, at that very moment. That moment, where you were sitting in front of your parents, hoodie and pyjama pants, with an empty seat beside you. 

Of course there was. There always was. He never showed up when it was important, which you’d grown to not really care about. You had good moments with Charles, and when it was good, it was really good. He was sweet. He cared.  And then there were moments like this, where he didn’t show up, but pictures of him doing something with another girl showed up on your instagram feed, and you had to explain it away to your parents, friends, and anyone else. Tell them he loved you. Promise them you know your worth. 

You didn’t. You didn’t know your worth, but you knew it was above being left for another girl in the middle of the night, the day before you asked him to meet your parents. You had to be worth more than that, at least. 

“Where is he?” your mother asked. Your parents weren’t traditionalists by any means, but they were wealthy and powerful, and they demanded respect no matter what. It’s ridiculously rude to cancel without notice, so Charles was the king of ridiculously rude. “And who’s Paige?”

You huffed out a sigh and dropped your head on the table. “I don’t even care where he is. She can have him.” 

You didn’t see it, but your mother smiled. She reached out and pressed a hand to your back, rubbing it gently. “Just let him go, alright?” 

“I plan on,” you nodded. “He’s a prick, good riddance.”

Blocking Charles had left good. You were a fucking 10/10, no man desevered you, much less Charles LeClerc. Still, it was nice to not have him whining in your ear every five seconds. 

Responding to other athletes, singers, and actors who dmed you felt good. Going on dates felt good. Feeling wanted felt good. 

Still, you had your ties to F1 as a fan, and an ambassador. You had to attend races. You had contracts to uphold. That meant dinners with other ambassadors. That meant WAGs too. You sat near Rebbecca, Lily, Flavvy, and Lily. You were wearing this stunning, blue dress, accidentally matching the special blue Ferrari livery. You hadn’t planned it, but it looked good. Someone whispered about how you matched the theme a lot more than her, in her bright pink dress. 

“When they stood together, they looked like a fucking gender reveal,” Rebecca scoffed and you literally choked on your drink, laughing. The rest of the girl erupted into laughter as well, the five of you leaning on each other as you giggled. Paige looked on from the other end of the table. 

“Shut up,” you hushed them, trying to quell the laughter. 

“So, how are you, Y/n?” Paige asked, and the table went silent. Rebecca hid behind her drink, smirking. She knew what was going to happen. 

“I’m fine thanks, how are you?” you asked, not taking her bait. You took a sip of your drink as she stared you down. 

“Just amazing,” she smiled, that sickly sweet smile, anyone could tell it was fake. “Charles and I are going to Lake Como for summer break, and I’m just so excited!” 

You shrugged and nodded. “Cool,” and then you turned back to your group of girls, silently chattering with them. She frowned. 

“He’s just so sweet! He bought me a whole new wardrobe for it too, and his mom is coming! We’re super close,” she bragged. 

You groaned. “Girl, he is using you. He sweet-talks, then he baits you, then you’re sitting at dinner on your own while he’s out fucking some other girl,” you rolled your eyes. “The only reason I’d stay with him is his dick, but y’know, sometimes even that’s just not enough.” 

Your girls burst into fits of laughter and Rebecca handed you her phone, showing a livestream of Charles kissing another girl in the club, happening at that very moment. You frowned and handed the phone to her. “See?”

“You’re lying,” she shook her head, and dropped the phone on the table. “Jealousy is kind of embarrassing.” 

“It’s ok- I’m ok, he’s a cheater, and he always will be. And trust me, it’s pity, not jealousy,” you scoffed. “You can have him though, I’m deeply uninterested in receiving any more of his late night calls to get back with me.”

She stilled for a second. “Give me your phone,” she demanded. “You’re lying. It’s so embarrassing!” but you could see the cracks in her performance. That slight eye twitch, the way she looked at other girls at the table, the way she looked at you. “Come on girl, you don’t need to hide it.”  “I don’t need to hide shit, he does,” you turned your phone around, showing her the messages you’d been ignoring for weeks. The pleas to get back together, the begging, the voice notes, the unsolicited nudes (ew). Her jaw dropped. “But of course, he’s all yours.”

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[mattsundaes]

contravention

soshiro hoshina x f!reader

Hoshina finds himself in a precarious situation when his repeated use of the No. 10 suit sends his body into a rut, one that's only further exacerbated when you let yourself into his office without warning.

wc: 3.2k

c: 18+ only, friends to lovers, rut dynamics, breeding kink, oral sex (f & m!receiving), cum eating, squirting, unprotected p in v, creampies, too many creampies to count, copious amounts of cum, a ridiculous amount of orgasms, pussy drunk!hoshina, required horny suspension of disbelief, author takes great liberties with human biology

a/n: this one goes out to the two requests i received for hoshina + office, in addition to an older request for him in a rut!

SPICY SLEEPOVER — ROUND V

There are three things Soshiro Hoshina promised himself when he was sworn into his position as Vice-Captain of the Third Division—

To give his life to the JAKDF. 

To do everything within his power and abilities to ensure the safety and preparedness of each and every officer under his watch. 

—and to never let himself get involved with a fellow officer. 

…after all, sentimentality is a dangerous weapon to hang oneself with.

The third is the reason he’s currently staring at you with wide, panicked eyes as you step past the threshold of his locked office door, your brows furrowed as you point what appears to be a hairpin in his direction. 

“You’ve been holed up in here for days, Soshiro,” you frown, your gaze tracking across the uncharacteristically messy state the room is currently in. Paperwork is left askew across the surface of his desk, a haphazard pile of blankets and pillows stacked on the couch, and an array of takeout food and drink containers is stacked precariously atop the filing cabinet. 

Soshiro grips the edge of his desk, teeth grinding as he fights to ignore the surge of possessive, blinding heat that unfurls inside of him at the sound of his given name on your lips. 

(It was an exception he was too weak to deny you, not when you’ve become the closest friend he’s ever had in the years since you joined the Defense Force.)

You begin to walk toward him, and his nostrils flare, chest heaving as the familiar, soft scents of your perfume and shampoo invade his senses, amplified like never before. 

“S-stop,” he gasps, hunching forward, palms flat against the desk as he inhales sharply. 

Your voice has an edge of panic to it as you stride closer. “Soshiro?”

He backs up, putting several more feet of space between the two of you, though the added proximity does little to quell the blazing fire your presence has ignited in his veins. 

“I…there’s….,” his throat burns as he tries to talk, “…a side effect from Number 10.”

A rut, to be precise. 

Biologically, it makes zero sense. There are no reported cases on file across the JAKDF of similar side effects as a result of kaiju weaponization. And Soshiro’s not even wearing the goddamn suit, he hasn’t been since he collapsed in the middle of the training grounds earlier in the week without warning. 

But the medical team at the Third Division has since hypothesized that it’s a particular irregularity resulting from the repeated usage of the No. 10 suit which has simply tricked his body into believing it’s going into an animalistic rut, of sorts. 

His cock has been achingly hard nearly round the clock all week, a thick and throbbing presence between his legs no matter how many times he brings himself to completion. 

Mortifyingly, after the higher ups insisted on contacting Captain Gen Narumi of the First Division to see if he had any insight, the other man had nearly laughed himself out of his seat as he suggested Soshiro try “fucking it out of his system.”

And this is where your presence has now become a problem. 

Deny it as he might, there’s a traitorous golden thread of sentimentality for you that runs deep in Soshiro’s veins, one that has nearly cost the team a mission on several occasions at times when he’s found himself too focused on your individual wellbeing on the battlefield. 

He sees the way you look at him. 

He feels the way his stupid, reckless heart throbs against his ribcage in your presence. 

He knows what this could be—what the two of you could have. If only he was weak enough to bend to the will of his own desires. 

But under the influence of the rut currently sinking its ruthless fangs into his better judgment, he’s a weak man. 

He’s a weak, hungry, desperate man who wants to claim you as his. 

Who wants to breed you, to fill you with his seed, to pump every last drop of cum he has left to give into the tight, slippery warmth of your cunt. 

This is why he’s been avoiding you specifically, why he’s teetering on the frantic edge of panic as he feels his body’s visceral, uncontrollable reaction to your presence. 

You sigh, expression softening. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

He stares at you in confusion and chokes out, “What?”

“Well…Captain Narumi called me to ask how you were doing, which threw me off. He didn’t go into much detail, but I…I got the gist of it.”

“That asshole…” Soshiro groans. 

“I think he was trying to be nice, if you can believe that. But I just…I know you like thinking you have to shoulder every burden yourself, and you hate asking for help. And you’ve been ignoring all of my texts. So I’m here now to offer you whatever help you may need.”

Soshiro maneuvers himself behind the side of his desk, if only to hide the stiff erection currently tented at the front of his pants. “This…I don’t…this ain’t somethin’ you can help me with.”

Putting your hands on your hips, you huff. “You look like you’re barely keeping it together. And I…” you scratch the back of your head, looking a bit sheepish, “I may have done some research. On the internet.”

“Research?!”

“I mean, I know the mental gymnastics of applying the concept from animals to kaiju to humans isn’t exactly laying the groundwork for the next peer-reviewed scientific study…”

“Do ya even know what you’re saying?”

You sidestep around the barrier of the desk, and Soshiro backs up again, his shoulder blades hitting the wall, the obvious outline of his cock in his pants the least of his concerns now. 

“I’m saying that your body probably isn’t going to revert back to normal until you satisfy the conditions of your rut.”

A subtle shiver runs through him. “I’ve tried,” he grumbles, looking off to the side. 

“Oh?” you ask, an odd look crossing your face, one that he can’t quite read—but it makes something inside of him clench all the same. 

“By myself, I mean,” he continues. “Many times, actually. S’not changing anything.”

“Because your body wants you to breed someone. Well, probably in the hypothetical sense, like just finishing inside of them…,” you reply, matter-of-factly. Like his cock isn’t threatening to thrash its way past his zipper at the sound of those words on your lips. 

He inhales slowly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before finding your gaze once more. “‘m not goin’ out and findin’ some random—“

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Excuse me?” Soshiro’s not sure he remembers how to breathe. 

“Use me, breed me. Whatever it’s going to take to get you out of this room and back into commission.”

He’s going to lose his fucking mind. 

“I can’t—“

“I trust you, Soshiro. I trust you more than anyone else. I don’t think you understand how much you mean to me. And I know you refuse to let yourself care about anyone enough to become a liability…but I’m here if you want me. If you’ll have me.”

Everything inside of Soshiro feels like it’s reaching a breaking point, a fever pitch. He takes one step toward you, and then another. 

—and it’s almost excruciating, the distance that remains, every cell and fiber in his body helplessly, desperately drawn toward your gravitational pull. 

“…also I…the contraceptive part is covered. So I won’t actually get pregnant. You can come inside of me as many times as you need to…”

Another step. 

“…or as many times as you want to…”

He’s standing directly in front of you, his muscles tensing painfully as he begins to feel the warmth of your body heat. 

“I locked myself in here to stay away from you,” he rasps. 

Your face falls a fraction. “Am I that terrible of an option?”

“No.” He sidesteps, and you turn to face him, your backside leaning against his desk. “You were the only option I want.”

You blink, clearly a bit taken aback by the admission. “Then why didn’t you tell me? I feel like I’m not exactly subtle about my feelings…”

“Cause I don’t know if this is goin’ to stop if we do this. I don’t know what kinda side effects there might be afterward.”

“Are you trying to scare me off with the threat of a potential sex sabbatical if your boner doesn’t go down?”

He bites the inside of his lower lip. “I’m tryin’ to warn ya that I don’t know if we can go back to normal after this…it’s more than just sexual…there’s this possessive feeling eatin’ me alive whenever I so much as think about ya.”

You lean more of your weight back into the desk, letting one of your feet slide forward to nudge against Soshiro’s. 

“You know just about everyone in the entire Defense Force already thinks we’re dating, right? Captain Narumi started crying laughing when I got into an argument with him over it.”

Soshiro’s self control is dangling by the edge of a frayed, treacherous rope. 

“You really wanna do this?”

“I was already yours, Soshiro. Even if you weren’t ready to acknowledge it.”

A ragged exhale leaves him at that, every last piece of his desire falling at his feet and bursting into flames. And when you meet him halfway as his lips come crashing into yours, Soshiro knows there’s no turning back. 

Distantly, Soshiro knows that if he were in the right state of mind, this would unfold in a far different manner. He’d settle down into his office chair, tugging you into his lap to kiss you soft and slow and languid. 

He’d take his time, familiarizing himself with each dip and curve of your body. Every corner, every plane. Every little sound and reaction. He’d use his lips and his fingers first, until you’re pliant and sated under his touch. 

He’d kiss the corner of your mouth and worship the very sight of you, tell you just how fucking terribly in love he is with you. 

But you know him better than anyone else, and he you. 

So when he gets out an, “I’m sorry,” between frantic, sloppy kisses as his hands fumble for the button of your pants—

When you gasp at the feeling of his fingers grazing your slit and bite down on his lower lip and moan into his open mouth, “Next time.”—

He knows you understand all that he wants to give you to, that this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. That you trust him and want him enough to let him fuck you through his rut like an animal moments after you’ve shared your first kiss. 

Despite the unbearable ache of his cock, which only grows worse when you begin to palm him through his pants, Soshiro still manages one thing—one moment of pleasure that he’s fucking dreamed of giving you over and over again. 

He has little regret for the way he swipes all of the paperwork off of his desk in one go before he sets you down on top of it, memos and unanswered letters the furthest thing from his mind when he finally has the taste of your cunt on his tongue. With your legs spread wide, he eats you out with reckless abandon, the heel of one hand shoved against his dick as he plunges two fingers of the other in and out of your dripping wet hole. The keening, needy sounds you make only fuel him further, your back arching up off of his desk as he thrusts his tongue into your tight channel, greedily lapping up every last drop of the arousal that’s slipping out of you. 

“Oh my god, Soshiro,” you cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase and eventually coming to tangle in the dark violet locks of his hair. 

When you come on his tongue, moaning and shaking as you roughly tug in his hair, it’s the most wonderful fucking sound Soshiro’s ever heard in his life. He groans when a searing wave of pleasure bursts inside of him, an unexpected orgasm filling his boxers with hot ropes of cum. 

You hardly have time to recover before he’s carrying you over to the couch, setting you down in the messy nest of blankets and pillows strewn about on the wide cushions. But before he can do anything else, you’ve pushed him into a sitting position and shuffled around to kneel between his legs. 

“Ya don’t have to…”

“Please.”

He can hardly deny you, especially not when he hears the satisfied sound that tips out past your lips when you slide down his pants and boxers to find the sticky mess of cum already coating his dick and balls. 

His dick that’s already hard again. 

“Did you come while you were—“

“Yeah,” he rasps, dragging a hand through his mussed hair. 

You bite your lower lip. “Soshiro, that’s so hot.”

He doesn’t have a chance to come up with an eloquent response, because his entire body seizes up with pleasure as you lean forward and take his cum-covered cock into your mouth. Soshiro wonders how he’s ever going to recover from this—the sight of your kiss swollen lips smeared with filthy, sticky cum and saliva. As you lap it from his balls. As you suck every last drop off of him until he’s coming again right down your throat. 

Soshiro thinks he’s going to climb on top of you when his cock stiffens once more, to stare down at you and press messy, hungry kisses to your lips as he thrusts inside of you. 

But you’re adamant that you think he needs something else the first time, something more akin to the primal needs his body is succumbing to. 

Soshiro knows you were right when he lines up his flushed, weeping cock with your slick, quivering entrance from behind while you lean forward on your hands and knees, the need in his body now burning hotter than ever before. 

It takes exactly three thrusts inside the dizzingly tight, soaked warmth of your cunt for Soshiro to reach his next climax without warning, cum exploding from his cock as his hips violently stutter while he fucks his seed inside of you. It feels so good, he’s worried he might pass out, but his hips won’t stop rocking into the plush curves of your ass. 

You whimper as you feel him fill you deeply, fingers digging into the blankets and couch cushions beneath you as your body rocks backward into him. 

“More, Soshiro,” you beg. “I know you’re not done. I need more, too.”

Soshiro nearly growls as something desperate and feral unfurls like the crack of a whip inside of him, folding his body over yours and sinking his teeth into the soft juncture between your shoulder and your neck as his cock hardens again inside of the grip of your tight channel. You moan as he bites down, whining and gasping as you reach back to tangle your fingers in his hair.

Soshiro’s balls ache as the wet sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, his throat dry and his muscles straining with the desire to pump you full of more cum. 

“Harder, Soshiro,” you gasp, rocking backward to fuck yourself on his shaft. 

He’s helpless to do anything but oblige as his hips begin to snap into yours at a brutal pace, his fervor only unraveling further when you shout as you squirt all over his hand right after he starts playing with your clit, your cunt rapidly spasming and contracting around his cock. 

“Breed me, please,” you whine, gasping for air, your chest heaving. 

He slams inside of you to the hilt as he comes hard, brokenly groaning in pleasure as the euphoric grip of your pussy milks the cum from his cock. 

“Don’t stop,” you plead when he pulls out, feeling the way his cock is hard once more as it rests against your ass. 

“S’ gonna make a mess,” he heaves, entranced by the load of cum dripping out of your cunt and sliding down the backs of your thighs. 

You shiver when he runs two fingers through it, the sound dissolving into a moan when he gives in to the unexplainable urge to lean forward and lap some of his sloppy mess directly from your folds. 

“Good,” you choke out.

It’s so fucking filthy—the amount of cum that slides out of you as he tries in vain to fuck it all back inside. The way you come again for him a third time from the feeling of the hot, sticky mess squelching inside of you as he murmurs against your ear, “Gonna fuck a baby into you. That what ya want?”

Soshiro’s so pussy drunk he can hardly think straight when he finally gets you where he really wants you—moaning into his mouth and dragging your hands through his hair as you straddle his lap on the couch. You alternate between riding his cock and letting him ease your pliant body up and down his length as he grips your hips, blazing a hot, open-mouthed trail of kisses along the curve of your jaw as he groans about how good you feel. 

The state of the leather couch is a lost cause as you bounce up and down on his shaft, cum slipping from your cunt and coating the base of his cock in a creamy ring of fluid. Drenching his balls and his thighs as he fucks up into you harder, his seed sloshing around in your fucked out hole. 

When he comes again, his head drops against the back of the couch as he tries to catch his breath, groaning as he watches a fresh wave of cum leak out of you with hooded eyes when you lift yourself off of his cock. 

His still hard cock. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs as it twitches with interest when you reach down and swipe your finger through the cum, licking it off slowly as you hold his gaze. 

“One more,” you whisper, leaning forward to slot your lips with his. 

You wrap your hands around Soshiro’s cum-covered cock, moaning softly as you rub your clit up against the firm base while you begin to stroke his length. It’s so intimate and sensual, the way your body presses up against his, the roll of his hips as he slowly twitches upward and fucks your fist before climaxing one last time.

–

Soshiro rouses from a deep, heavy sleep hours later, your head on his chest, your bodies tangled together in a pile of blankets on the couch. And he’s relieved to realize that he finally feels back to normal again. Albeit, every muscle in his body aches, and he doesn’t even want to begin to think about the mess the two of you left behind before passing out, but it’s a relief all the same.

When you snuggle up closer on his chest, he pulls you close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, whispering, “Mine,” into your hair.

“Is that still your dick talking?” you ask, tired and amused.

“Nah, just me,” he murmurs, lips curving upward in a content, relaxed smile. 

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Desperation

Content Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, SMUT (Minors DNI), Dirty Talk, Needy!Rhys, Possessive Behavior, Knotting.

Based on this conversation @thatonebookg1rl and I were having about Needy Alpha!Rhys

--------------

You’re going to kill him.

Keys fly from your hand, clanging in the little clay dish you’d made months ago as you toss them in with a huff. Your jacket comes off next, fabric nearly tearing as you toss it, not bothering to see if it catches on the hook of the coat rack. That insufferable bastard of a mate has been blasting the dirtiest, horniest, things imaginable down the damn bond all day, completely irreverent to the fact that you’d been on a mission with Az! It had started almost immediately after you'd left this morning, just before sunrise, cloaked in black leathers for a stealth mission into the Human Lands. The Alpha had whimpered down the bond that you weren’t home, pouting and whispering all the things had dreamt of doing to you. 

Azriel, thank the Gods, had only quirked an eyebrow at you when he’d noticed the change in scent. 

Only a promise to be back soon had quelled your mate’s incessant pleading for you to come home, at least for a good couple hours. You’d been perched precariously on the palace rooftop, listening to a conversation through an open window when the mental pathway between you and your mate had flown open and a thousand dirty images blasted against your shields. You’d nearly tumbled off the roof for one thing! And the distraction had caused you to miss the key piece of intel you were waiting all day for, for another. 

You toe off your boots with a huff, as an image of you riding your mate, nails scraping down his sweat slick chest drags itself back through your consciousness. This seems to be his favorite card to play today. 

The squeak of the worn springs of the mattress in your room echoes off the walls as you climb the stairs, ready to give the belligerent Alpha a piece of your mind. If he thinks you’re going to have sex after this he’s sorely mistaken. The fact that he’s still in bed only makes your mood worsen; does he really think he can fuck up one of your most important missions to date and just have you jump right back into bed with him?

Your teeth are flashing as you push the door open. “You have some fucking nerve-” you start, but the sight before you makes the words catch in your throat. 

Rhys had thrown open the windows sometime earlier, letting in a harsh winter breeze that has done nothing to offset the heavy sheen of sweat clinging to his bronze skin. He’s always slept naked, that’s exactly how you’d left him this morning, but the sheets tangle around his legs and waist now, like he’s been thrashing around for hours. The heavy scent in the air, clawing its way up your nose and into your lungs--musky and salty with the underlying hint of citrus and jasmine that always pulls you in like a moth to flame--tells you he has been doing just that for hours. Because he hasn’t been in a mood because we woke to find you gone, but because he woke to an early rut.

You shut the door gently behind you as you step slowly towards the bed. His eyes open slowly, a groan tearing its way out his throat. 

“‘Mega,” he whimpers.

Damn you, but that always hits you low in your stomach; makes a little shiver run up your spine as your base instincts flare to life. ‘Cause for all your fire, you are still his omega. And those instincts will win out 9 out of 10 times. 

“You should have told me, I would have come home earlier,” you chastise.

His eyes are so dark there’s only the thinnest ring of violet. “‘M sorry,” his voice is a deep rumble in his chest, deliciously smooth as it floats past his lips. “We needed this mission to work out, I wasn’t trying to distract you.”

You get one knee on the edge of the bed before he pounces, strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you down on top of his chest as he crashes his lips against yours. It's all tongue and teeth, hours worth of desperation making it by far the messiest kiss you’ve ever shared. His heartbeat is a statico against your palm as you catch yourself on his heaving chest, a whimper crawling its way out his throat.

He usually syncs up with your heat, but you still have a couple weeks until then, whatever triggered it hit him hard and fast.

“I was so close, Rhys,” you say, trying to pull away to catch your breath. His reasoning is understandable, you know he couldn’t help it, but that doesn’t change your disappointment in the situation. 

His hands tangle in your hair, pulling you back with a growl you know isn’t intentional. The fire beneath his skin can only be quelled with your touch, your kiss; it’s always a heady understanding to know that only your body can get him like this, only yours can provide him the relief he needs. 

Plump lips drag over yours, damp and hungry and every kiss feels like he’s trying to meld himself into your body. The sheats, tangled around him as they are, aren’t enough to hide just how hard he is as he rocks his hips into yours. Violet eyes squeeze shut, trying to not lose himself to even the faintest shred of relief he gets from the friction. 

“Need you,” he groans. “Make it up to you later, I promise.”

He might say just about anything to be inside you right now and you know it, but you’ll hold him to it once he comes out of this, once his head is clear.

“Yes, you will.”

He rocks his hips upward, hands leaving your hair to hold your hips and drag you down the hard length of him. The heat of his body seeps through your leathers, core tightening against the added stimulation. 

“Please,” the words tear out of him in a hoarse whisper. “Feel so good. Need you, please, ‘mega.”

You plant your palm in the center of his tattooed chest, pushing his sweat slicked body back into the mattress, intentionally giving your hips a roll. His eyes nearly roll back into his head at your movements and you take the opportunity to use your other hand to work on the ties of your chestpiece. 

The leathers get tossed somewhere behind you as you lean over him, brushing your chest against his on the way to place a gentle kiss on his plush, pink lips. Gods he’s already so flushed and you haven’t even done anything to him, lips kiss swollen, cheeks dusted pink from the heat. 

“Don’t tease,” he begs. 

You laugh against his mouth, “I’ll remember this during my heat, Rhysand.”

“It was one time,” he protests. “Just needed a little taste of you first.”

You trail your nose over his chin, taking in his scent on the way to the claiming mark you’d left on his throat, the skin no longer pink and swollen like it had been in the early days, because as soon as you’d had permission to claim him, you’d made sure to sink your teeth in over and over again, so everyone would know that this Alpha was yours. You lave your tongue over the scar and the bond ripples with such desperate need you think you might be able to make him cum just like this. 

The next roll of your hips has his hands jumping off your body to fist the sheets, nearly tearing through the mattress pad as his whole body arches into you with a groan that rattles the windows. 

“Poor, Alpha,” you coo into his neck, teeth lightly scraping against the scar and his full body shudders beneath you. “Left all alone all day, nothing to fuck into.”

With a growl, he flips you over onto your back, teeth clashing as he goes in for another desperate kiss.

You laugh despite the heat building between your legs. Your body preens under the attention, under his heady scent that now covers you. “Tell me,” you whisper in his ear, hands trailing down his shoulders and back. 

One of his hands desperately fumbles with the ties on your pants, the other keeps him balanced against the headboard. His chest heaves like he can���t get enough air, maybe he could if he didn’t keep diving in for kiss after deeper kiss. 

“Did you touch yourself to thoughts of me, while I was gone?”

He literally rips your pants trying to get them off you in a rush. “No.”

You shift your hips and spread your legs with a grin; there are few greater gifts than watching a male this feral get absolutely enraptured with the sight of your dripping core. He runs his tongue over his lips, debating if he has the resolve to taste you first. 

You know he doesn’t. His hard and aching against his abdomen, tip absolutely dripping with pre-cum. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t knot you on the first thrust. 

“Didn’t-” he shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but you know he’s already so far gone he’s going to struggle to even form a sentence. 

You didn’t agree to not tease him, which very well could mean you’ll find yourself in the opposite position come your heat, but you can’t help it. You love it when he’s this wild; when there’s absolutely nothing that can hold him back. You drag a finger between your legs, parting yourself further for him to see. All trace of violet disappears completely from his eyes. 

“Didn’t want anything but you,” he rasps.

“You have me,” you promise and the words are barely out before he pounces. 

It’s your turn to groan, to gasp and whimper as he slides himself into the hilt in one hard thrust. Your nails card down the sharp contours of his spine hard enough to leave marks, but it only makes him nip at the scar on your own throat in earnest. 

He’s everywhere, kissing and nipping and whimpering how good you feel in your ear until the heat of his skin seeps into yours. It becomes impossible to tell where you end and he begins as he rocks impossibly deeper into you, stars swirling across your vision. 

“Love you so much,” he murmurs into your throat. “Take me so well. So perfect. Made just for me.” 

The swell of his knot comes as quickly as you anticipated it would, but even knowing it would be quick doesn’t prepare you for the feeling of it catching inside you. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s filled you, nothing feels like the white hot pleasure that shoots so hard and fast up our spine your vision blurs, body arching off the bed. Nonsense and noises you have no control over slip past your lips, whispered into his claiming mark as you bury your head in his shoulder and whisper his name amid the white noise bouncing around your skull. This only spurs him further, rocking his hips harder, teeth scratching against your shoulder as he ensures his knot fully takes.

His breath is as hot as his body as he pants and murmurs into your skin. “Just like that, love. Gonna fill you up nice and full, yeah?”

The bed creaks and groans as the headboard strikes the wall over and over again. You’re grateful you don’t have neighbors. Or a landlord to complain about the paint the movement is chipping off the wall. 

“Take me so well,” he praises, fingers trailing down your body to find that perfect spot between your legs. He knows, like he always does, that you’re not as close to the edge as you should be, that he’s going to finish first and you’re too nice to mention it, too focused on letting him find the relief he needs in your body.

Rhys grunts, teeth clamping down harder on your shoulder as his thrusts get sloppier, harder. “Come with me,” he begs, voice desperate, holding back best he can.

You roll your hips instead, clenching tighter around his knot as it fully locks in place, sending him careening over the edge with a shout, body jerking forward so fast the headboard slams into the wall and cracks. He shudders as he spills over and over again, body trembling atop yours and you make the same soothing noises he makes to you in your heat as your card your fingers through his damp hair. 

“Fuck,” he whimpers into your skin.

Your body feels like a livewire beneath him, every nerve still on edge from your own lack of release. It will cool eventually, you’re content knowing that you’d taken care of your Alpha. It’s enough, at least, for you.

“You didn’t finish,” he growls, lips still pressed into your throat, trying to calm himself with your scent. His temperature has only gone down a little, cock still semi-hard where he’s locked inside your dripping core. There will be plenty of time to rectify the situation. One missed orgasm won’t kill you.

It might just kill him though.

With a grunt, he rolls you both back over, so you’re now on top. The new angle has the swell of his knot brushing up against your cervix, his release dripping down your thighs and over his waist. 

Your eyes roll back into your skull, nails digging into the hard muscle of his pectorals to try and ground yourself. “‘M fine. Wanted…” shit you’re so close, that glorious edge rising back up to meet you in a rush. “Wanted to take care of you.”

Deft fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit with skilled precision. “Unacceptable,” he snarls. “I’m your Alpha, I’m supposed to take care of you.”

Your hips roll on their own accord, chasing the friction, even as it draws a hiss of pain from him. He’s hardening again by the second, knot spasming inside your tight heat. You wonder, distantly, if you can make him cum a second time just from the stimulation alone. 

The hand not between your legs grabs your chin and tilts your head down to look at him. 

“It’s ok, really, Rhys-”

“I’ve waited all day to hear you make those pretty sounds for me,” he interjects. “To watch the way your eyes roll back when I hit that spot you like.” Despite the over-stimulation he feels, despite the way his teeth clench with the movement, he plants himself firmly against the mattress and shifts his hips so he can do just that. 

Your nails scratch down his chest inadvertently, the coil in your stomach tight as a bowstring. There’s no stopping the moan that tears itself out your throat. 

“I have tried to keep myself occupied all morning, imagining all the ways I could please you, all the ways I want to fill you up. It has been agony, waiting, but do you know what has been the worst torture?” The hand gripping your chin drags down your body to give your nipple a squeeze. 

It’s too much stimulation at once, his knot, so swollen and hot trying to bully it’s way deeper inside you, fingers swirling and tugging in motions that make stars blur across your vision, and the faintest flash of pain before he leans over to cool the sting with his tongue around your nipple. You’re not totally sure how you lost your control here, how, despite the rut taking over, he’s still managed to focus on you and your pleasure. Cauldron knows you’ve never had that clear a mind during your heats. 

“Not having the satisfaction of feeling you fall apart all over my cock.”

That does you in, release tearing through you like water tearing through a damn. 

The bastard chuckles as he releases your nipple with a pop and you fall against his damp chest to catch your breath. “That’s better.” His hands soothe down your back, once again the attentive, gentle Alpha only you get to know. 

The day’s disappointment falls away as you cling to each other, the bond humming with approval. 

“Feel better now?” You ask as the aftershocks subside. The answer is pretty obvious, considering how hard he is inside you again, but you ask anyway.

His breath is warm on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as he whispers in your ear, “I’m just getting started, Darling. We have all day to make up for.”

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some talk of traumatic injury

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.2k words

At five thirty in the morning, you send Sirius a text. 

Be on time, and there’s a caramel latte in your future. If you’re late I’m giving it to Marcello. 

Marcello is the guy who comes in early every morning to resurface the ice. You actually ordered a drink for him, too, but Sirius doesn’t need to know that. 

The morning air is cool and refreshing, sweeping across your cheeks in the self-made breeze of your brisk steps. You can only have one hand in your pocket with the other holding the drink carrier, but you don’t mind the bite of cold on your fingers. You’ve always loved the sharp, clean feel of winter weather. Though Sirius complains this time of year about leaving practice just to encounter yet more cold outside, the chilly air has always made you feel alive, invigorated. It wakes you up as you walk to the rink. 

Marcello leaves the staff door open for you every morning so that you can practice early. He’s still out on the Zamboni, so you leave his drink on the front desk where he’ll see it. You know you’re not the first person to the rink, but it surprises you that you’re not the second. 

It surprises you even more to find your new coach in the off-ice room. 

Remus is lying on the floor, one knee bent and the other ankle crossed over it in a stretch you recognize. His eyes are closed and his expression pinched. His chest rises and falls with deep, measured breaths. 

“Hi.” 

You try to announce your presence softly, but Remus' eyes fly open like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. You find yourself taking a step back as though to avoid frightening him. 

“Sorry,” you say automatically, and automatically, Sirius’ For what, doll? sounds in your head like an overplayed song. You set your shoulders back and walk over to Remus, crouching to set his drink beside him on the floor. You’ve wagered your bets on a plain tea; he seems like the no-nonsense sort. “I didn’t expect anyone else here this early, but this is for you.” 

“Thanks.” Remus grunts quietly as he sits up, and you pretend you don’t hear. He takes a tentative sip from his cup. You deduce that you’ve wagered correctly when his eyes close blissfully. “I can go if you want the room to stretch.” 

“That’s alright. Plenty of room for both of us,” you say awkwardly. 

But as soon as you set your foot up on the ballet bar, you second-guess yourself. Is it difficult for him, watching you do things he can no longer do himself? You knew about Remus’ injury—everyone does—but seeing his face creased in pain doing such a simple stretch is another thing entirely. 

You watch him covertly as you bend over your leg, feeling the pleasant strain in your muscles, but Remus’ expression doesn’t change. He only stands, taking his ankle in one hand and wrapping the other around the bar as he stretches his quads. 

Remus has long fingers, you’ve noticed. Pianist’s fingers. They make you think of every routine of his you’ve seen a million times, arms and hands always outstretched to emphasize the facile grace of his movements. He was art in motion, in his day. Now you’re not sure what he is. Still lovely, but something else. 

“I wanted to apologize.” 

Remus’ voice breaks into your reverie so gently that at first you think you’ve imagined it. You look up at him, bemused, and his gaze is steady on yours. It’s that skater’s poise. Quiet, resolute. 

“I didn’t mean to shout at you yesterday,” he says. “I was frustrated because I feel like you really could get past that jump with just a tiny adjustment—” his face tenses as some of that frustration seeps back into his voice now, but Remus quells it “—but I shouldn’t have raised my voice. Sirius was right, I wasn’t telling you in a way that was helpful.” 

“It’s okay.” Your voice comes out smaller than you mean for it to, but the air in the room feels thick and awkward. You’re not used to needing to have these conversations with people on your team. You, Sirius, and your coach used to be a unit. There was no need for shouting matches and make-ups. You had years of history together; you knew how to handle each other. You miss that ease terribly now. 

“What I should have said,” Remus goes on, “is that I’ve noticed you hesitating before a lot of higher difficulty jumps. You’ll be about to go into it, and then you second-guess yourself and under-rotate. That doesn’t work on the ice.” 

You drop your gaze, nodding. “I know,” you say as you swap legs on the bar. “I’ll try to stop.” 

“We’ll work on it.” Remus’ voice softens, and you glance up to find a sheepish sort of kindness in his eyes. One corner of his mouth lifts tentatively. “And I’ll work on giving better feedback the first time around.” 

You return his smile, a heavy load in your chest lifting just slightly. It feels like the return of your cautious optimism from before yesterday’s practice, like flirting with the possibility of everything being all right after all. Maybe you can salvage the season after all. 

Sirius practically stomps into the room, dark circles under both eyes and looking like he hates the world and everyone in it. Remus’ almost-smile evaporates. 

“Here you are.” You pass Sirius his coffee magnanimously. “Thank you for being on time.” 

He takes a long sip. Once he’s finished, he says gravely, “This can’t continue.” 

“You’ll get used to it,” you promise as Remus lets his foot drop and steps away from the bar to make room for Sirius. 

“Ten minutes of stretching,” your coach says gruffly. You feel your lips purse dissatisfiedly; you take this to mean that although he’s apologized to you, he’s not over his tiff with Sirius from the day before. Remus turns from the room. “I’ll see you out there.” 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You manage to get through practice without bloodshed. Remus is short and businesslike, but while his pointers don’t leave much room for conversation he does take the time to make sure you understand him and he praises you when you improve. Sirius doesn’t spare many words for your new coach, though you know him saying little is likely an improvement over what he’d have to say if he did speak up. Still, he’s not exactly thorough in making sure Remus doesn’t see the smirks and derisive looks he sends your way every time your coach’s voice reaches you across the ice. The other boy pretends not to notice. 

It doesn’t escape you either that Remus has far less critiques for Sirius than for you. Sirius is more likely to get ahead of himself so that he falls out of sync with you, whereas you’re more likely to fall in general. 

You didn’t used to be like this. Just a handful of weeks ago you and Sirius were an equal match, but recent events have planted an anxiety in you that makes you bail out of your risker jumps and sabotages your routine. Remus is right; you’re hesitant. Sirius throws himself into every move, full-bodied and artful, but you just can’t do the same. Until you can catch up and get back to where you were, you’re a liability. 

You land most of your jumps, fall on more than usual, and by the time practice wraps up you know you’ll be bruised all over. If Remus is frustrated with you again, he’s better at hiding it. He only instructs you to work on whatever mental block is hindering you, promises to see you both tomorrow, and goes. 

Then Sirius can’t contain himself any longer. 

“God, what a prick,” he fumes as he puts guards on his skates. He starts undoing his laces, nails cut short for the season but still painted a shimmery black. “I hate that stupid line he gets between his eyebrows right before he lays into us. He’s like a sixty-year-old schoolteacher stuck in a twenty-something body.” 

You look down to hide a smile. “He was nicer today, though. That’s something.” 

Sirius scoffs. “Yeah, so was I. Did you lay into him, too?” 

“Didn’t have to,” you say complacently. “He apologized himself. You know, like adults do.” 

“Don’t be daft. He’s not taking the high road, he just doesn’t want to lose his job.” 

You turn to give Sirius an exasperated look, only he’s looking back at you with a similar expression. 

You know Sirius thinks you’re being too trusting of your new coach. He only wants to protect you, both of you, but something he’s never been able to grasp is that optimism doesn’t have to be blind. You can be wary of Remus, can have that same desire to protect the team you and Sirius have built together, and at the same time be hopeful that he really will be the thing you need. You’re desperate to make this work for the both of you. You’re a pair in repair, and though it was your former coach that broke you, if there’s a chance that Remus could fix things you’re ready to welcome him with open arms. 

Peter was Sirius’ friend before he was yours. He fell into coaching you both almost by accident, it felt so natural. Both you and Sirius had coaches throughout your childhoods, but it was nice to have someone around your own age, who viewed skating through the same lens as you did and could talk to you on a more personal level. Peter was your friend in a way your other coaches hadn’t been. That made his betrayal sting all the worse. 

There had been a hearing, when Peter’s texts came out. The International Skating Union had gotten involved. He’d been sharing things—tips, secrets, videos of your entire routine from start to finish—with another team. It felt odd, reading about it in the news. Almost invasive. It felt like something you should be discussing back at Sirius’, the three of you sat in your usual places around his living room, hashing it out the way you always did. But you weren’t a unit anymore. 

Sirius didn’t want another coach at all after that. You could keep each other in check, he said, and realistically anyone you hired would know all about your recent disaster with Peter. Your names were attached to one of the largest figure skating scandals the community had had in years. You saw the logic in your partner’s reluctance, but you still thought you needed an outside perspective to tell you when you both were going wrong. You needed a real coach. Then, you’d thought of Remus. 

You wish you could say it was Remus’ illustrious figure skating career that drew you to him. He was the golden boy of the sport for nearly a decade, shooting up into stardom at an unprecedented age. He earned enough medals to likely break whatever shelf his family tried to put them on, and he took home gold for Britain at just seventeen. But truthfully, it was his isolation that appealed to you. 

Remus Lupin left the figure skating community entirely after his injury. He’d returned to his hometown in Wales, reportedly to be with his family but more likely to heal—physically and mentally, from the hip dislocation that cost him Worlds and then the rest of his career. By all accounts, he would have been the last person to follow your hearing or any of the ensuing gossip everyone else you spoke to seemed to take as gospel. You had to fight tooth and nail to get Sirius to let you hire Remus, and even still he’s resistant to the addition to your team. But it’s in Sirius’ nature to expect people to hurt him; you have to be the opposite to compensate. 

“He said you were right,” you say lightly. 

Sirius blinks. “Pardon?” 

You shrug, feigning insouciance. “I don’t think it’s likely he’ll ever say it to your face, but this morning Remus told me that you were right, and he does need to communicate his feedback better. He seemed better about it today, right? I think it’s sweet that he’s trying.” 

Sirius scowls, standing while you finish packing up. “He’s kissing your ass because he knows you were the one who wanted him. He doesn’t give a shit about us.” 

“I didn’t mention anything,” you reply. “And he may not, but he definitely gives a shit about skating. I walked in on him stretching in the off-ice room this morning. It was…sad.” A small part of you feels wrong for sharing this, even with Sirius; it felt like a private moment you’d intruded on, although Remus had been stretching in a public place. “You can tell he really misses it, you know?” 

Sirius is quiet for a beat, and when you look over he’s sucking his teeth. Peering at you in that way of his, like he’s got you all figured out. 

“You should have a heart-to-heart with him about it,” he says blankly. “He seems like the sort of bloke who really enjoys a pity party.” 

“Prick.” You stand, bumping your shoulder into his roughly. Sirius wraps an arm around them to bind you to his side, walking you towards the exit. “We’re stopping for donuts on our way home. You owe me after I bought your coffee.” 

“Oi, bribery’s no good if I have to pay it back. And what would your new favorite coach say about us eating those during the season?” 

“The same as any coach; nothing, because we’re not gonna tell him.”

[hotch33tos22]

Shigaraki x Barista Reader

“Your Number.” (Fluff)

Danm it...

DANM IT!.

it was you again... the same woman who'd always be working in the coffee shop. your usual 9 to 4 shift,Saturdays to Wednesdays to where on Thursday, to Saturday youd do your daily chores, errands or relaxing...

There you were again... and again... every morning handing Tomura his usual Plain coffee with two sugar packets and you could never forget his stirring stick.

Once again in a repeated schedule Tomura would go every morning only during the days when you work at 10 am for his coffee, 9 was too early to see you.. he didn't seem THAT desperate for your attention but later on he had to things... 10... well.. 10 was perfect.

This had been his routine now, to get this coffee and see you behind that counter... the place was nearly always empty when Tomura was there but he didn't mind that at all...

He was here just for you after all...

He'd always have his snarky yet bold attitude towards you... yet you never minded?

He couldn't help to wonder why...did he hate it? Maybe... Maybe not?

Even when he wasn't in his best moods and was acting all cocky and harsh you'd still be nice.

It'd been pissing him off for quite awhile now... his anger with your kindness, your niceness towards his bullshit... you never called him out, never insulted him, never made any bad remarks or said anything rude. Just the same

'good morning!',

'what can I get for you?' bullshit. What did you think of him? Really... Did you even think he was attractive, or cool... or funny? Or was he just like some rude customer you put up with... what the hell were you thinking...?

It was driving him nuts, his mind racing... he just had to know what you were thinking... maybe you thought he was attractive, maybe you even found him attractive and cute, or at the least charming... it's not like he was some hideous creature or anything... his thoughts started to become more and more lewd and intrusive as his eyes slowly traced your body from behind the counter... damn it... His eyes started wandering down your body, thinking about what you looked like underneath your uniform, your skirt and your top and... dammit all-

He began to feel a slight heat rising to his face, quickly covering his reddening cheeks with his hand, scratching his cheek with his long, bitten back nails. This was a bad habit of his when he got nervous.

“Damnit... no no no...” he mumbled, rubbing his fingers over his rough neck, trying to quell the intrusive thoughts that we're growing more and more prominent in his head. He was getting all worked up over a woman just because she was nice to him, and she was attractive... he let out a low, exasperated sigh, his eyes remaining fixated on you the entire time while you prepared his coffee.

He continued to stare at you from where he stood, letting his eyes travel up and down your form, tracing every detail of your figure. He found himself becoming increasingly distracted, trying (and failing) to control his thoughts.

It's all your fault... you were too damn nice, too nice to a person like him, and that was just encouraging the thoughts he was having about you...

His scratching suddenly became more intense as he became more and more agitated... he felt trapped. Trapped in this seemingly endless cycle of infatuation and desire, unable to escape the hold you had over him. He needed to say something, anything, to break the silence between the both of you. Taking a deep breath, he hesitantly looked back up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of frustration and something else he wouldn't admit.

As he continued to stare he couldn't help but to wonder... would you be into him?

He could have sworn you Knew he was a villain. The moment where one day he had accident let down his mask in front if you as you stood in shock but quickly composed yourself to continue on and take his order.

He knew he wasn't the typical ideal type, He was too much of a dick, too standoffish with an attitude that didn't help much at all with making him approachable. He was awkward, he knew that much, his awkwardness could be endearing in some ways... but it would probably be a major turn off for most people.

His thoughts continued to race as he tried to figure you out.

'Fuck it.' Was all that rang in his mind as he subconsciously moved his body towards you.

'wait... wait..! Stop-... stop moving-!' His mind panicked as he stood infront of the counter as you looked up at him with a tilting head of confusion

"Do you need something sir?" You curiously asked

Dammit... he cursed himself, internally facepalming as he realised what he was doing, his eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment.

Why was it so damn hard to just ask... you...

It's was as if something was holding him back, like something inside him was keeping him from spitting it out. He felt pathetic, standing in front of you like a shy teenager with a crush.

As he heard you speak, he suddenly became acutely aware of the way you addressed him.

Sir? Why was it 'sir...' he was only twenty for Christ sake...

He scratched his neck again, trying to hide his reddened cheeks.

"I'd... like your number..." he mumbled, trying to sound as disinterested as possible as he forced himself to look up into your face, his eyes avoiding direct eye contact, instead focusing on the counter.

He knew it was a direct request and maybe a little bit sudden... but it had been gnawing at him for months now and he just... he just couldn't keep it in anymore.

"I'm sorry?" You furrowed your brows in confusion you didn’t hear him through his mumbles, you leaned over the counter to hear him better. He leaned forwards, his hands gripping the edge of the counter as he repeated himself a bit more clearly.

"I asked for your number..."

He was so close, the only thing separating them was the counter top itself. He could smell the faint scent of pertume on you, as well as faint traces of coffee that clung to your clothing and skin.

Number? Like your employee number?….

"Is there a complaint you'd like to do?" You looked up at him with worry. Did your services not satisfy him? Was it a complain?

He let out an annoyed grunt, rolling his eyes at your confusion.

"No, no... there's no complaint... I just..." he paused, his mind running in circles trying to find the words to say.

"I just, I-" he was getting flustered again, his heart racing in his chest as he looked at you. He had come all this way, he was so close to asking... so why did he feel so damn nervous?

Your eyes furrowed deeply as you tried to understand his stuttered words.

He cursed internally, frustrated by his inability to express himself properly. He knew he probably looked like a complete idiot right now, standing there and stammering like an imbecile, but he just couldn't push the words out.

This was so damn frustrating...

He knew what he wanted, he knew what to ask for but his damn mind and mouth just weren't cooperating.

He took a deep breath and tried again.

"just-" he started, still refusing to make eye contact with you. His fingers dug into the edge of the counter as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

"Just... give me your number... please..." Please? he thought in disbelief. He rarely used please... hell, he hardly ever said please. But somehow it just slipped out without him realising.

His heart beat faster as he waited for your response, mentally preparing himself for the possibility of rejection...

"M-m-my number?" You stuttered out as your cheeks rose red, as you began to realize he wanted your number. sure you'd get asked for your number not often but time to time by a couple of different men. But during work? With a customer you Knew was a villain? You wanted to decline but danm it you've been crushing on him for what? The longest he's ever came to the shop?

He couldn't help but notice the way your cheeks became flushed, a slight blush spreading across your face. For some reason that made his gut twist in a way he wasn't quite used to...

He leaned a bit further forwards, his eyes darting from the counter, to your face and back again, hoping that his intense look wasn't too off putting.

"Yes... your number..." he repeated, the words leaving his mouth a bit more firmly this time. He was nervous, anxious even, but he was determined to get what he came for.

"O-oh...o-okay um.." you nervously shuffled through the counter to find a pen and paper

He couldn't believe it. You were actually... agreeing? That was unexpected.

He'd thought you'd turn him down, maybe say your weren't interested, or that it was against policy for employees to give out their personal information to customers...

He watched you intently as you searched through the storage underneath the counter, his heart thumping in his chest.

He couldn't stop himself from scratching at his neck again...

"Hurry up..." he mumbled, his impatience growing with every second that passed.

He wanted your number, he needed your number as soon as possible.

He glanced around, noticing how some of the other customers were shooting him weird looks from their seats, probably wondering why he was leaned over the counter so much.

He grumbled under his breath, wishing they would mind there own damn business...

You finally found a pen and ripped an empty recipe paper nervously writing down your number as you bit the inside your your cheek.

He watched as you hastily scribbled your number down, his eyes eagerly following the movement of your hand.

His heart rate was increasing by the second, the anxiousness and anticipation was almost too much for him to handle.

He leaned himself forwards even further, his arms pressing against the counter as he craned his neck to get a better view of the number you were putting down.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you stopped writing, ripping the piece of paper from the recipe book and holding it out to him.

He stared at it for a moment, his eyes fixed on the numbers you had written on it.

This was it. Your number... he could finally have a direct way of communicating with you...

He quickly snatched the piece of paper out of your hand, holding it between his fingers as if it was the most precious thing in the world.

He could feel the excitement building inside of him, his pulse racing as he folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

He looked back up at you, and for a split second, he almost felt like he was on cloud nine. But just as quickly as the feeling came, the reality of what he had just done hit him like a truck.

He'd just gotten the number of a woman he had zero chances of actually getting, and he didn't even know how to talk to women. He was in way over his head already.

He quickly attempted to school his expression, trying to maintain his usual bored and nonchalant expression, not wanting to let on how much this interaction had affected him.

But as he stared at your nervous expression and flushed cheeks, he realised he was failing miserably. He could feel his own face heating up, the tips of his ears feeling warm as the realisation hit him. He cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself before speaking.

"Thanks..." he mumbled, his voice coming out more gruffly than he had intended.

He knew he should probably say something else, anything else, but he was tongue tied.

His mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to think of something to say to make this situation less awkward. He fidgeted with the paper in his pocket, his fingers tracing over the numbers written on it.

"U-um-…T-thank you..." you softly spoke as you looked at his hidden features. Your ears were dusted with a hue of red as you looked up at him with the most loving eyes. He couldn't help but notice the way your eyes softened as you spoke, the look of admiration and affection in your gaze making his heart skip a beat.

He felt a sudden rush of heat to his cheeks, his body reacting involuntarily to your look.

He quickly looked away, desperately trying to hide the effect you were having on him.

"Whatever..." he mumbled, attempting to sound disinterested and unbothered but failing miserably.

He dug his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, his fingers gripping the piece of paper that held your number. He knew he should probably leave now, he had gotten what he came for, after all... but something was stopping him from walking out the door.

He glanced back at you, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment too long before he spoke up again. "I..uh, I should get going..."

"Y-yeah um-" you cleared your throat before continuing

"yea... thank you for...coming,"

He nodded in response, his heart beating a little faster as he realised that this was it, he was actually leaving.

"Yeah, no problem...thanks..for your number ..again." he mumbled, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

He started to slowly back away from the counter, his eyes still fixed on you. He didn't want to leave, he wanted to stay here and talk to you, but he knew he couldn't.

"I'll..see you around..." he finally managed to say, giving you one last glance before turning and making his way towards the door.

“Y-yeah..”

As you watched him leave you felt your heart flutter with nervousness... excitement...happiness..., you held on to your chest with quivered lips as you watched him leave.

He pushed the doors open, stepping out into the bustling mall. He could feel his heart beating faster than usual, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He put his hands in his pockets again, his fingers automatically tracing over the piece of paper that had your number.

He could still smell the faint scent of perfume and coffee lingering in his nostrils, a constant reminder of just how close he had been to you.

As he walked through the mall, he couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief.

He, a villain, had just gotten the number of a cute, innocent worker. He smirked, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he thought about the whole interaction. It was so cliché, so movie-like, he felt like a damn fool. He had acted like a bumbling idiot almost the whole time, stuttering and blushing like a preteen boy with a crush.

He shook his head, trying to snap himself out of his thoughts. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't forget the way you looked at him.

It replayed over and over in his mind, a never ending loop of your soft eyes and flushed cheeks.

As he continued to walk, he suddenly realised something.He had no idea what to do with your number.Sure, he had it now, but what was he supposed to do with it? Text you? Call you? He wasn't even sure if you'd actually respond.

He cursed under his breath, shoving his hands further into his pockets as he tried to figure out his next move. He considered just throwing the piece of paper away, it would probably save him a lot of trouble in the long run...

But as much as he tried to convince himself, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The thought of letting go of your number, of losing the only direct way he had of communicating with you, was too much for him to bear.

He needed that number, he had to have it. It was like some kind of sick obsession, the need to have this small piece of paper was driving him insane.

He grumbled to himself, frustrated by the conflicting emotions coursing through him. He didn't understand it, he didn't understand why he felt so drawn to you, why he felt this intense desire to have your attention. He had never felt like this before, not for anyone. It was like you had a hold on him, a power over him that he couldn't break free from.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted to break free, that's what worried him. He was becoming too attached to you, too obsessed...

As he continued walking, he suddenly caught sight of his reflection in a store window.

He looked a mess, his hair was sticking up at odd angles, his eyes were wide and dilated, and his cheeks were flushed red.

He quickly looked away, cursing under his breath again. Why did he look so damn flushed? Why was he acting like some love sick fool?

He gritted his teeth, feeling a wave of self loathing wash over him. It was pathetic, it was... embarrassing. He couldn't let anyone know how he was acting, they'd think he was weak, soft. It was bad enough that you had probably noticed his odd behaviour, if anyone else found out he'd never hear the end of it.

He had been walking for what felt like forever, his mind a tangled mess of thoughts and feelings. He was becoming frustrated, irritated at himself for being such a coward.

He had you number, he could text you right now if he wanted to... but he didn't know what to say.

He didn't want to come across as too forceful or inappropriate...

He let out an annoyed sigh, pulling the piece of paper out of his pocket again and staring down at the numbers scrawled on it.

He could feel the paper crumpling under his grip, his fist clenching subconsciously as he looked at it. as he stared down at the paper, reading the numbers over and over again, he knew it was pointless to try and deny it.

He was obsessed with you, completely and utterly obsessed. He couldn't go an hour without thinking about you, wondering what you were doing, if you were thinking about him...

He was a goner, and he knew it.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, quickly unlocking it placing in your number, opening up the messaging app.

He stared at the screen, watching the cursor blink silently as he tried to gather his thoughts.

What did he say? Should he be direct and straight to the point? Should he try to be casual and charismatic? Should he text you right away or wait until later?

He groaned in frustration, his fingers hovering over the keyboard but unable to type anything.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He had to do this, he had to send you a message. It didn't matter what it said, as long as he got the chance to talk to you.

He started a new message, staring at the blinking cursor again.

"Hey" he typed, then immediately deleting it. No, that was too casual. Too generic. He needed something more unique, something that would grab your attention.

He tried again, his fingers moving furiously over the keys.

"Sup?" No, that was too casual. Too dismissive. He didn't want to sound disinterested.

He backspaced again, trying a different approach.

"Hello." No, that was too formal. Too abrupt. It would make him sound like a creep.

He cursed under his breath, struggling to find the right words to say.

He didn't want to come across as too desperate or too casual. He had to find the sweet spot, the perfect message that would get your attention without sounding clingy or creepy.

He tried again, his fingers trembling as he typed.

"Hey, it's me..." he typed, then quickly deleted it. No, that was too vague. That would make you question who he was.

He grumbled to himself, getting more and more frustrated by the second.

He knew he was overthinking this, making a mountain out of a molehill...

But something about you just made his brain turn to mush.

He took another deep breath, trying to steady his nerves.

He had to just bite the bullet and type something, anything. It didn't matter what, as long as it got the conversation started.

He typed quickly, before he had a chance to second guess himself.

‘It's Tomura.’ he wrote, then quickly typed another message.

‘The guy who came into the coffee store earlier.’

'Black hoodie and blueish hair?’ You replied in a instant.

He chuckled at your description, his heart fluttering a bit at the fact that you remembered what he was wearing.

'Yeah, that's me.' he typed, a small, barely noticeable smile gracing his lips.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ wanna see what's under that attitude

chapter summary: The kids try scaring Logan but fail at every turn. You come up with a new binder.

word count: 8.1k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: like last chapter, this is pretty much mostly fluff. next chapter is where we ramp things up a bit :)

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, slight angst, brief mentions of sex, slight scott slander (in a playful way...?)

series masterlist - chapter 10 → chapter 12

It was part infuriating and part upsetting. It’s not that the two of you never fought, you did, but it was usually about stupid things like Logan keeping his boots in the middle of the walkway, or you staying up late to finish grading papers.

After going to Jean’s lab to help her with a project, you went back to your classroom and found a cup of tea and a note.

“Sorry. Can I make it up to you? Love, your idiot husband.”

The note stayed on your desk longer than you intended. You read it again—Logan’s familiar scrawl, the self-deprecating humor tucked into his words. It was sweet, yes, but it didn’t entirely quell the lingering frustration from the fight last night.

Not that you could exactly pinpoint what the fight was about. It had started small, like they usually did, and spiraled into something heated before either of you realized it. Logan had been snappish, you’d been stubborn, and by the time the argument ended, you’d retreated to your classroom to prep for today’s lessons while Logan stomped off somewhere else.

Still, the tea on your desk—your favorite blend—was warm when you found it. And the note? It was peak Logan. Gruff but apologetic, with enough charm to make you start forgiving him before he even said the words.

You tucked the note into the front pocket of your notebook before starting class.

---

The rest of the day went smoothly enough. Your students were engaged, a few even managed to crack a joke that earned more than a polite smile from you. By the time the last class ended, you felt lighter, the earlier tension fading.

When you returned to your shared room, the sight stopped you in your tracks.

Logan had cleaned.

The scattered boots, flannel shirts, and that one stubborn pair of jeans that he left draped over the chair for weeks were all gone. The bed was made, the surfaces were wiped, and you could smell the faint scent of lemon from the cleaner he must have used.

You bit back a smile, crossing to your desk where even your papers had been neatly stacked. A small bouquet of wildflowers sat in a glass jar next to your lamp. They weren’t extravagant—just blooms he must’ve picked from the garden—but the thought behind them made your chest ache in the best way.

---

Dinner wasn’t just dinner—it was dessert.

When Jean intercepted you on your way to the kitchen, she barely contained her grin. “Don’t go in there yet,” she said, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

“Why not?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Jean just tilted her head, smirking. “Let’s call it a peace offering. Logan roped me into supervising.”

Your brows furrowed, but before you could press her for more details, the kitchen door swung open. Logan stood there, holding a tray with two small plates of molten chocolate cake. The edges were slightly uneven, but the rich scent of chocolate and caramel made your stomach flip.

“Dinner’s still cookin’,” he said, nodding toward the plates. “Figured this’d keep you happy ‘til then.”

Jean winked at you before slipping past Logan and disappearing down the hall.

You accepted the plate he handed you, raising an eyebrow. “You made this?”

“Well, Jean stopped me from burnin’ the place down, but yeah,” he admitted, smirking slightly.

You took a bite, the warm, gooey center melting on your tongue. “This is actually good,” you said after swallowing, and Logan chuckled.

“High praise, comin’ from you,” he teased, but there was no edge to his words.

---

Later that evening, you curled up in your favorite chair with a book, the day’s tension completely gone. Logan had been uncharacteristically subdued all evening, watching you with a quiet intensity that made you wonder if he was still waiting for you to forgive him fully.

When he finally approached, it wasn’t with words. He slipped the book from your hands and pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist as he nuzzled into your shoulder.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and soft.

You turned slightly to look at him, your fingers brushing the side of his face. “For what?”

“For bein’ an idiot,” he said, smirking faintly.

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “I can’t even remember what the fight was about.”

Logan’s brows furrowed. “Somethin’ stupid, I’m sure.”

“Definitely stupid,” you agreed, a smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest, and you felt it down to your bones. “Still. Shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.”

“You’re forgiven,” you said simply, leaning in to kiss him softly.

When you pulled back, his smirk returned, softer this time. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t forget it,” you teased, and the two of you laughed, the fight already forgotten as you melted into his embrace.

---

The two of you turned a corner as Theresa and Jones let out a “boo!” that startled you, making you yelp and grab Logan’s arm.

Logan, as always, didn’t have a reaction.

“Tess!”

The girl giggled, “sorry, Y/N! We were tryin’ to scare Logan.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.”

You shot a glance at Logan, who was, as always, unbothered by the kids’ antics. It wasn’t surprising—after all, he’d been through far worse than a couple of kids trying to scare him.

Theresa and Jones gave each other a glance and high-fived, clearly proud of their latest attempt. You, on the other hand, just rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t deny that their efforts did keep things interesting.

Kitty, Rogue, and Bobby weren’t far behind, each trying their own version of a surprise attack on Logan over the next few days. The thing was, Logan always managed to stay calm, unflinching. It was as if nothing phased him—not even the most elaborate scare attempts.

Kitty tried jumping out of a closet one afternoon, “Boo!” she yelled. Logan barely blinked.

“I’ll get you one of these days, Logan,” she muttered, walking off, her pride wounded.

Later, Bobby had hidden in the shadows near the kitchen, armed with a bucket of cold water. His grin was smug as he prepared for the perfect ambush.

But Logan never gave him the chance. As soon as Bobby moved to tip the bucket, Logan had already pivoted, his heightened senses picking up on his every move. A simple swipe of his hand sent the bucket flying, and Bobby got drenched.

“Next time, freeze yourself, Bobby,” Logan muttered, walking past him with a casual shrug. Bobby was too wet and too stunned to reply.

But it was Rogue who seemed most determined. She set up a whole contraption in the hallway, a series of loud noises, ropes, and traps designed to rattle Logan. The thing was, she had underestimated one key detail: Logan had been through far worse. Nothing in this mansion could surprise him anymore.

By the end of the week, you’d had enough of the spectacle. You overheard them planning yet another attempt—a clever one this time, involving wires, an old airhorn, and some poorly executed timing. It wasn’t exactly foolproof, but they seemed hopeful.

Curious, you made your way to the common room, hearing their hushed voices as you approached.

“We’re gonna get him this time. For sure,” Jones was saying, his voice filled with excitement.

“You just gotta set up the wires right, Bobby,” Rogue added, sounding slightly exasperated. “And remember, we hit the airhorn before he steps through the door. We time it perfectly, and he’ll jump outta his skin.”

Kitty added, “Yeah, and don’t forget the confetti—it's gotta be a show.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, catching their attention. “Really?”

They froze, like deer caught in headlights, before Bobby awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh... yeah. We’re... we’re gonna scare Logan.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’ll handle it.”

Jean, who had been nearby and overheard the conversation, gave you a look. “You? You’re gonna scare him?”

You shot her a playful smile. “You’ve all tried and failed, right? It’s my turn.”

The kids exchanged skeptical looks. “Okay, but if this goes horribly wrong—” Bobby began.

You just waved him off. “It won’t. Trust me.”

---

That night, you set your plan into motion. It wasn’t anything big or flashy—no confetti cannons or dramatic airhorns. Instead, it was something subtle but effective. You weren’t trying to make a scene; you just wanted to prove a point. If anyone could catch Logan off guard, it was you.

Logan was in the kitchen, rummaging in the fridge for a beer. His flannel was rolled up at the sleeves, and his usual gruff muttering filled the space as he searched. You leaned casually against the far wall, glasses perched on your nose, watching him.

With a quick glance over your shoulder to ensure that the kids were watching, you exhaled and concentrated. Time slowed, the air thickening like molasses, until the faint hum of the fridge faded to silence. You stepped lightly across the room, weaving through the paused world, until you were standing right behind Logan.

Unfreezing time with a soft snap, you waited.

“Need help finding someth—”

Logan whipped around so fast he nearly knocked the beer he’d just grabbed from the shelf. His eyes were wide, and for the briefest moment, you saw the flicker of instinct—the readiness for a fight.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N!” he growled, clutching the bottle like it might ground him. “What the hell?”

You crossed your arms, fighting back a grin. “What?”

“Where the hell did you come from?” He narrowed his eyes, scanning the room as if trying to piece together what he’d missed.

“I was here the whole time,” you said, feigning innocence.

Logan huffed, stepping back to give you a once-over. “Don’t lie to me, darlin’. You weren’t there a second ago.”

“Maybe you’re just not as sharp as you think,” you teased, tilting your head.

His scowl deepened, but there was something else behind it—a flicker of realization. “You froze time, didn’t you?”

You shrugged. “Prove it.”

Before Logan could respond, a burst of laughter erupted from the doorway. You turned to see Bobby, Kitty, and Rogue peeking in, their faces lit up with glee.

“We saw that!” Bobby crowed, doubling over. “You actually got him!”

Kitty clapped her hands, practically bouncing. “I can’t believe it! Logan never gets startled!”

Rogue leaned against the doorframe, smirking. “Guess the big bad Wolverine ain’t so unshakable after all.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re all a damn pain in my ass.”

“Oh, come on, Logan,” you said, patting his arm. “It’s not every day we get to see you speechless.”

“You think this is funny?” He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it.

“A little,” you admitted, biting back a smile.

The kids continued laughing as Logan shot them a look that could’ve melted steel. “You’ve had your fun. Now get lost before I make you regret it.”

Bobby snickered but wisely ducked out, dragging Kitty and Rogue with him. “Totally worth it,” he muttered as they disappeared down the hall.

When they were gone, Logan turned back to you, his expression softening. “You know I’m gonna get you back for this, right?”

“Good luck,” you said, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You’ll need it.”

He grunted, shaking his head with a smirk. “You’re somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

“Don’t forget it,” you said, grabbing the beer from his hand and taking a sip before walking off, leaving Logan standing there, muttering about how he’d never live this down.

---

The heat in the mansion quit working due to an ‘accident’ caused by Scott and Hank. This was the third day it was out, and everyone was freezing. Well, almost everyone.

Logan always ran hot, during the summer it was a curse to sleep in the same bed with him, tucked into his chest, but right now? Yeah, you can forgive him for holding you close when you were sweating in the summer nights.

The two of you were on the couch in the common area, with some of the other kids and adults trying to watch a movie and feel the heat from the small fireplace.

Your arms were wrapped around Logan’s waist under his jacket, and your face was pressed into his side, glasses sitting awkwardly on the bridge of your nose. His body heat was a gift, radiating through the layers of your clothes. You tilted your head slightly, looking up at him.

“You’re like a space heater,” you mumbled, voice muffled against his side.

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, his arm tightening around you. “Guess I’m good for somethin’, huh?”

Across the room, Scott was poking at the fireplace with a long iron rod, trying to coax the flames higher. Jean sat on the arm of the couch, balancing a mug of cocoa, while Bobby was busy freezing the edges of a blanket to stop Rogue from stealing it.

“Hey, Logan,” Bobby called, his breath visible in the cold air. “Why don’t you share some of that heat? You’re hogging it all.”

Logan shot him a glare, the kind that wasn’t entirely serious but still made Bobby hesitate. “Get your own,” he growled. “Ain’t my fault you can’t keep warm.”

“You’re so generous,” you teased, your breath making a small cloud as you spoke.

“Don’t start with me, sweetheart,” Logan muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched. His hand rubbed small circles on your back, an unconscious gesture that made you sink deeper into his side.

Jean’s gaze shifted between the two of you, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. “You two look cozy.”

“Warmer than you,” you shot back without looking at her.

“Oh, absolutely,” she agreed, holding up her mug. “But at least I’ve got this.”

“You could just sit closer to the fire,” Logan suggested, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

Jean raised an eyebrow. “And give up my prime seat for Scott’s endless fire-poking? No, thanks.”

Scott glanced over his shoulder, shaking his head. “It’s called keeping the fire alive, Jean.”

“It’s called annoying everyone within a ten-foot radius,” she countered with a grin.

You snorted softly, adjusting your glasses. The banter between the two of them was as familiar as Logan’s steady heartbeat under your cheek. Moments like this—small, quiet pockets of normalcy—were what you’d come to cherish most.

---

After another day of the cold, you had had enough. If Scott and Hank couldn’t fix their mess, you were going to have to do it yourself. You had layered on five thick layers of clothing, along with your gloves, beanie, and earmuffs. You weren't letting the freezing temperatures keep you from being warm and comfortable any longer.

The hallways in the mansion were unusually silent, and the only sound was the crunch of your boots on the frozen floor as you made your way to the furnace room. You were fully prepared to face this head-on, especially after Scott and Hank’s continued "lack of action" over the last few days. You weren’t sure what the problem was—Hank had said something about a malfunction and Scott was apparently trying to do some sort of "maintenance," but neither of them seemed to be getting anywhere.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to step in and fix things—especially when it came to Scott. Sure, he had his good qualities, but there were times when he’d just... drag his feet on the simplest things, and you had no patience for it.

As you rounded the corner, there was Scott himself, bundled in a thick parka, kneeling on the ground next to the furnace. You sighed, already knowing exactly what he was going to say.

"Scott," you called, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow, "you still haven't fixed this thing?"

He looked up, eyes wide behind his glasses. "Well, I—"

"You said you were going to fix it yesterday, and the day before that," you interrupted, a little too sharply. "It's been three days! You can't just keep poking at it and hoping it will magically work."

He immediately sat back on his heels, clearly taken aback by the annoyance in your tone. "I was going to get to it," he mumbled, but you could see the guilt on his face.

"Yeah, well, I’m tired of freezing my ass off," you snapped, though there was no real malice behind the words. "You know what? I’ll do it myself."

Before Scott could respond, you got to work. You could tell he wanted to argue, to defend himself, but this wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position. And at this point, it seemed like you were the only one who actually cared enough to do something.

A few minutes into working, you heard footsteps behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see Logan and Jean standing there, both clearly curious.

"What’s going on?" Logan asked, his eyes narrowing as he saw you kneeling by the furnace with a wrench in hand.

"I’m fixing this," you said simply, still focused on the task at hand.

Jean grinned. "You mean Scott’s not doing it?"

"Looks like it," you said dryly, giving Scott a pointed look. "He’s been staring at it for three days."

Scott shot you a defensive look, but you weren’t having it. "I’ve been trying," he muttered.

"Trying, or pretending?" you retorted, twisting the wrench harder.

Logan stepped closer, his arms crossed over his chest, his usual smirk making an appearance. "You know, sweetheart," he said, glancing at Scott with an amused glint in his eyes. "I think it’s better you’re handling this. At least you won’t take three days to get it done."

You huffed a laugh, then rolled your eyes at Scott’s defeated expression. "You’re lucky I’m even doing this. You know, I was going to let you do it, but it seems like that would take a lot longer than I have patience for."

Scott sighed dramatically. "I was going to fix it!"

"Yeah, in another year or two," you muttered, now tightening the last bolt.

"How much longer is this going to take?" Jean asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by the little scene unfolding.

"Five more minutes," you said, your tone flat as you focused on finishing up.

"Should’ve just let her handle it from the start," Logan teased, looking at Scott. "But hey, now you’ve learned something for next time, right?"

Scott grumbled something under his breath, but said nothing more.

Finally, you stood up, wiping your hands on your thick layers, a small sense of pride swelling inside you. "There. Done. You’re welcome."

Jean raised her cup, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Nice job, Y/N. But did you have to do it like this?"

You shot her a sidelong glance, lifting your eyebrows. "Your husband is an idiot. You should really do something about that."

Scott groaned, rubbing his temples. "I was going to fix it, okay? Just... give me a break."

Logan chuckled, leaning against the wall. "You were going to fix it, huh? For someone who was going to do it, you sure did a good job of standing around."

Scott shot him a glare, but Logan was too busy enjoying the moment to care. "Don’t worry, Scott. Next time, just leave it to Y/N. She gets things done."

Jean rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness in her voice when she spoke. "You know, I’m pretty sure I told you to fix this a week ago."

"I know, I know," Scott muttered, now looking slightly embarrassed. "I’m not proud of it."

Logan chuckled again, giving you an approving look. "Well, sweetheart, it looks like you've done more in five minutes than Scott did in three days. Nice work."

You shook your head, fighting a smile. "I swear, you’re all so predictable."

Jean raised an eyebrow at Scott. "Guess I know who I’m asking next time."

Scott sighed dramatically again, as if defeated. "Yeah, yeah. You can ask Y/N next time. I get it."

You chuckled, crossing your arms as you turned to head back to the common room. "Glad I could help. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy the heat I fixed."

Logan followed you with a smirk, hands in his pockets as he watched you walk away, amused by the whole exchange. "You’re somethin’ else, darlin’. You know that?"

You shot him a side-eye, your lips curling into a grin. "Don’t forget it."

The sound of Scott and Jean’s bickering faded behind you as you walked back inside, warmth finally returning to the mansion, and with it, a slight sense of satisfaction that maybe, just maybe, you were the one who kept things running.

---

Your new binder was different than your previous ones. Instead of it being pregnancy related it was completely relationship related.

Nothing was wrong with your marriage, far from it, just sometimes you feel like you… need a little help being affectionate. Logan seems to do it effortlessly and you overthink everything.

Which is why you had spent the last 2 months researching and putting everything into your binder, complete with tabs, highlights, and annotations.

Of course it was just for you. A guide if you will.

The binder sat neatly on your nightstand, innocuous to anyone else who might happen upon it. But to you, it was a treasure trove of ideas, strategies, and research on how to show affection—subtly, purposefully, and in ways that didn’t make you overthink everything. It wasn’t that you had a problem with affection or PDA. No, you didn’t mind being close to Logan or holding his hand when others were around. The problem was initiating it. That little voice in the back of your head would second-guess every move: Does he want this? Am I overstepping? Am I doing this right?

Logan, on the other hand, was a natural. He didn’t hesitate to grab your hand or pull you into his lap during movie nights. He kissed you in front of others without a care, and when he called you those pet names it sounded like it belonged to you and only you. He made it look easy—effortless, even. You wanted to match that, to give back as much as he gave, but your shyness and tendency to overanalyze sometimes got in the way.

Hence, the binder.

It wasn’t just any binder—it was meticulously organized. Each section was labeled with a handwritten tab: "Physical Touch," "Words of Affirmation," "Small Gestures," and even "Spontaneity." You’d spent weeks filling it with ideas, things you’d read, and even notes on what Logan liked. It was your secret weapon, and while you hadn’t exactly put it to the test yet, you felt more prepared.

---

Logan knew about the binder. How could he not? You weren’t completely subtle—leaving tabs open on your laptop, jotting notes in the margins of books he’d catch you reading, or the one time you left the binder wide open on the bed after getting distracted by a shower.

That day, Logan had walked into the room, ready to drop onto the bed after a long training session with the kids, only to stop short at the sight of your meticulously organized binder. Curiosity won out over respect for your privacy as he glanced at the open page.

At first glance, he thought it was one of your usual hyper-organized projects—another guide like the one you’d made for his motorcycle a while back. That one had been impressive, filled with diagrams, troubleshooting steps, and even a list of tools he might need. It had been so thorough it almost made him laugh, but he’d appreciated it. You always had a knack for diving deep into anything you set your mind to, and it showed in the way you approached every problem or idea.

But this binder was different. The tabs caught his attention first: Physical Touch, Words of Affirmation, Small Gestures, and Spontaneity. He frowned slightly, curiosity getting the better of him as his eyes skimmed the open page.

It only took a few seconds for him to realize what it was. A guide. For him. Well, not exactly for him—more like for you. A guide on how to be affectionate.

At first, it made him smirk. The idea of you, you, needing a manual to show affection seemed almost ridiculous. From where he stood, you were already the most thoughtful, caring person he’d ever met. You didn’t need a binder to prove that.

But as he looked closer, the smirk faded. The notes scrawled in the margins, the careful highlights, and the tiny hearts here and there—this wasn’t some casual project. This was you, trying your hardest to give as much as you thought he gave to you. And that hit him right in the chest.

Logan sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, the binder still in front of him. He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

You didn’t need to try so hard. Hell, you didn’t need to try at all.

The truth was, he’d seen you make gestures more meaningful than any grand romantic moment he could think of. The whiskey you gave him for your anniversary, aged for five years because you thought that far ahead. The way you’d ask, shy and hesitant, if you could trim his hair or beard, like it wasn’t the most intimate thing in the world. Or how you’d spend hours in the kitchen, making him dinner or baking something sweet, even though you never made a big deal about it.

You were affectionate. You just didn’t see it.

Logan closed the binder carefully and set it back on the nightstand. He leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirring.

Later that evening, when you walked into the room, Logan was sitting in his usual spot on the bed, a book in one hand. He glanced up as you entered, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” you said, giving him a small smile as you slipped off your shoes.

“Hey, darlin’.” He set the book down, watching you move around the room. You seemed oblivious to the fact that he’d seen your binder earlier.

After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’.”

You froze slightly, looking at him with wide eyes. “What is it?”

Logan’s grin softened. “That binder you’ve been workin’ on…”

Your face went pale. “What binder?”

“The one with all the tabs and notes,” he said casually, leaning back against the headboard. “The one about… affection.”

You groaned, pressing your hands to your face. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Too late,” he said, chuckling. He reached out, catching one of your wrists and tugging you gently toward him. “Come here.”

Reluctantly, you let him pull you into his lap, your cheeks still burning. “It’s not what you think,” you mumbled.

“Uh-huh,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. “You made a damn binder about us, sweetheart. I think I know exactly what it is.”

You squirmed slightly, trying to hide your embarrassment, but he held you steady, his arms wrapping around you. “Listen,” he said, his tone softening. “You don’t need a guide for this stuff.”

You looked up at him, your brows furrowed. “I just… I overthink everything. You’re so good at it—being affectionate, I mean. It’s easy for you.”

Logan tilted his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You think I don’t overthink things? Darlin’, half the time, I’m just wingin’ it.”

You blinked, surprised. “You are?”

“Yeah,” he said, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “But you? You do things that blow me away without even tryin’. Like that whiskey you gave me. Or when you ask to trim my beard—do you know how much I look forward to that?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a kiss, his lips lingering against yours for a moment before he pulled back. “You don’t need to try so hard. I already know how much you care.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, your heart full and your cheeks warm. “You really mean that?”

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips. “I mean it. But if you wanna keep the binder, I won’t stop ya. But maybe you could do some research on… something else.”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you looked away, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Logan…”

“Hm?” His fingers lightly drummed against your hip as he leaned back, his gaze fixed on you with an amused glint.

You avoided his eyes, focusing intently on the fabric between your fingers. “I, uh…” you mumbled, barely audible, “had to put it in another binder.”

Logan stilled for a moment before a low chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Another binder?” His smirk widened, and you could feel it without even looking at him. “Well, now you’ve got me curious, darlin’.”

Before you could stop him, Logan reached over toward your nightstand.

“Logan, wait!” You grabbed his wrist, your voice more desperate than you intended.

His head tilted, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Unless what, sweetheart?”

You sighed, your face burning as you kept your hold on his wrist. “Unless… unless you’d rather not know,” you mumbled.

“Oh, now that’s just cruel,” Logan teased, leaning closer until you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His voice dropped lower, gravelly and teasing. “You’ve been hidin’ a second binder from me? I’m startin’ to feel left out.”

“Logan…” You groaned again, burying your face in his chest.

He laughed, wrapping his arms around you as he leaned back against the headboard. “C’mon, Y/N. I ain’t gonna bite. Unless you want me to,” he added with a wink, making you swat at him lightly.

“It’s not—it’s not what you’re thinking,” you said quickly.

“Oh, yeah? Then what is it?”

You hesitated, your face still pressed against him. “Just… research. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Logan drawled, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. “Research about…?”

You stayed silent, your fingers gripping his shirt tightly.

Logan leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmured, “Darlin’, you know I’m not lettin’ this go.”

You groaned again, reluctantly pulling back just enough to look up at him. “It’s about… you know what it’s about!”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Darlin’, if I knew, I wouldn’t be askin’. Now spit it out before I get the wrong idea.”

“It’s—it’s personal, okay?” You pushed your glasses further up your nose and squirmed slightly in his lap, the mortification nearly unbearable. “It’s just research. For us. About…” You sighed, the words dying in your throat.

Logan’s teasing grin softened as he studied you. “About what?”

He wasn’t letting this go—not because he was trying to embarrass you, but because he wanted to know. Logan didn’t pry unless it mattered. And right now, it mattered to him.

“About… that,” you whispered, motioning vaguely at him with one hand.

Logan tilted his head, the dots connecting in an instant. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That, huh? We’re talkin’ about sex?”

You groaned again, burying your face in his shoulder. “Yes, Logan,” you mumbled against his flannel, “we’re talking about sex.”

His laughter was warm, not mocking, and his hand ran comfortingly up and down your back. “Darlin’, you’ve got a binder… for sex?”

“It’s not like that!” you protested, lifting your head just enough to glare at him. “It’s not just… sex. It’s ideas, okay? And… you know… different kinds of… sex.” Your voice trailed off as if you were praying for the bed to swallow you whole.

Logan’s lips twitched, a smirk fighting to break free. His hand, still resting against your waist, gave a reassuring squeeze. “Different kinds of sex?” he repeated, his tone equal parts curious and teasing.

“Don’t make me explain it,” you mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his lap, your glasses slipping slightly down your nose. You pushed them back up, avoiding his eyes.

Logan chuckled, the sound deep and warm in his chest. “Darlin’, you made a whole damn binder about it. Kinda feels like you owe me an explanation now.”

“Logan,” you groaned, pressing a hand against his chest. “It’s not—okay, fine. It’s just… research.” You sighed in defeat, giving in to his unrelenting stare. “While I was working on the first binder—about affection—I came across all these articles. They were talking about keeping relationships… fresh or whatever.”

Logan raised a brow, his smirk widening. “Fresh, huh?”

You huffed, the words spilling out faster now. “It’s not like we need that, obviously! I just thought it was interesting. Like… there’s so much information about the benefits of intimacy and… you know… other stuff.”

Logan stayed quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Then he reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His hand lingered, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. “So, you went down a rabbit hole and decided to make a sex binder.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to hide your face again, but his grip shifted to gently cradle your jaw.

“Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “I’m not makin’ fun of you, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

You hesitated, nodding slowly. “I know.”

“I just… I gotta ask.” His tone took on a playful edge again, but his eyes were kind. “Did you highlight stuff?”

You groaned again, louder this time, and Logan’s laughter filled the room. “Stop it!”

“I’m serious!” He was grinning now, his arms pulling you closer. “Did you? Little notes in the margins, maybe a color-coded system?”

You swatted at his chest, but your lips betrayed you with the ghost of a smile. “I’m never letting you see it. Ever.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Logan said, his hands sliding down to your hips. “You’ve got me all curious now.”

“It’s not meant for you,” you insisted, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s… it’s just for me.”

Logan leaned back slightly, studying you with a mix of amusement and admiration. “You know, you don’t have to try so hard, right? With anything.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, your gaze dropping to the space between you. “It’s just how I am. I like being prepared.”

Logan’s grin softened, his eyes warm. “You’re already more than enough, Y/N. Binder or no binder.”

A warm flush crept up your neck, and you tried to shrug it off. “Maybe. But it doesn’t hurt to be extra prepared.”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Logan said with a chuckle, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But for the record, darlin’, I think we’re doin’ just fine.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you rested your forehead against his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He wrapped his arms securely around you, his voice dipping to a near whisper. “But if you wanna share any ideas from that binder, I’m all ears.”

“Logan!” Your laugh was soft but genuine as you swatted him again. He only chuckled, holding you close and dropping a kiss to your hair.

“Relax, sweetheart. I’m just teasin’,” he murmured, though there was a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Kinda.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, but the smile stayed on your face.

Logan smirked, letting you settle comfortably in his lap. “What can I say? You keep things… fresh.”

---

Logan stood behind you, his strong arms draped loosely around your shoulders as you both hovered near the bathroom counter. The soft hum of the mansion in the distance made the quiet between you even more intimate. You toyed with the pastel swirl of the bath bomb in your hand, letting its light weight roll across your palm as the faint scent of lavender and citrus teased the air.

Logan’s chin rested on top of your head as he glanced at the colorful sphere. “You’re tellin’ me this thing’s supposed to do somethin’ magical in water?”

A smile tugged at your lips, your fingers tightening slightly around the bath bomb as you tried not to laugh at his skepticism. “Not magical, just… fun. Jean gave it to me,” you murmured, tilting your head back to look up at him.

His dark eyes flicked down to meet yours, softened in a way most people never saw. “Well, if Jean says it’s good, I’m not gonna argue. You trust her taste more than I trust it.”

You laughed softly, leaning into his chest. “She said it would be relaxing,” you said. “And, to be honest… I thought you’d enjoy it too.”

One of Logan’s eyebrows quirked. “I enjoy baths, darlin’, but I ain’t ever thought about tossin’ a candy ball into one.”

You nudged him lightly, your shyness waning just a little under the bubble of his warm presence. “It’s not a candy ball! Just… watch.”

With that, you slipped out of his hold briefly to kneel by the edge of the tub. The still, warm water reflected faint ripples across the bathroom walls. You turned the bath bomb over in your hand once, the little ridges of its pastel swirl tickling your palm. Then, with one last glance back at Logan, you dropped it into the water.

The reaction was instantaneous. A quiet fizzing sound bubbled into the air as the ball began to spin, leaving a kaleidoscope trail of purple, pink, and yellow hues in its wake. A soft floral-citrus scent filled the room. You looked up at Logan, whose sharp expression had morphed into one of genuine curiosity.

“Huh,” he muttered, kneeling next to you and dipping a roughened hand into the water. “Didn’t expect all that.”

You grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “See? Magical,” you teased gently.

Logan’s smirk returned, his wet fingers brushing against your wrist. “Well, I’ve had my share of magic over the years, but this is new. You wanna take it together?” His voice held the gruff warmth that never failed to settle your nerves.

You nodded, cheeks warm as you stood. His hands ghosted to your waist to steady you as you slipped off your robe, leaving only your glasses perched delicately on your nose. Logan shed his own clothes quickly, his usual efficiency softened as he reached for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping into the colorful water before holding out a hand to help you in. “You’ve officially sold me on this… thing.”

Once the water embraced you both, you leaned back against his chest, your shy hesitance melting into the warmth of his touch and the soothing swirl of colors around you. Logan’s arms wrapped protectively around your waist, his hand finding yours underwater and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“This is nice,” he admitted after a long moment, his voice a low rumble near your ear.

You hummed in agreement, adjusting your glasses slightly as they fogged. “Told you,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

Logan’s mouth pressed to your temple, lingering there as his thumb traced lazy circles over the back of your hand. “Don’t think I ever needed bath bombs, but if it gets me this? I’ll take all the candy balls you can find.”

You laughed softly, warmth spreading through your chest, not from the bath but from the rare, unguarded tenderness in his words. For a moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself exist in the colorful, fragrant water and the strong, steady hold of the man who always remembered you.

---

It didn’t matter at this moment that you had flour on your apron, possibly on your face, or that this is your 4th attempt at making the choux correctly. You were going to win the baking contest this year.

For 4 years straight you had won the contest, a little competition that the team set up to go along with the student talent show, but the past 4 years you lost.

What made it worse was that you lost to Hank of all people last year.

And though Jean had won the other 3 years, you weren’t going to let that happen again.

Logan leaned against the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed and an amused smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you meticulously pipe custard into cream puffs. The counters were a chaotic mess of flour, powdered sugar, and tools, with a faint scent of caramel lingering in the air. Your glasses slid down the bridge of your nose, but you didn’t stop to adjust them, too focused on perfecting the next puff.

“You know,” Logan drawled, his gravelly voice cutting through the soft hum of the radio, “I’ve seen you in a lot of situations over the years. Didn’t think I’d ever see this side of you.”

You glanced up briefly, brushing a strand of hair away with the back of your hand. “What side is that?” you asked, your tone a mix of distracted and determined.

“The cutthroat competitor,” he replied, pushing off the doorway and stepping closer. “You’re actin’ like you’re tryin’ to win the damn Olympics, not a bake-off.”

You let out a soft laugh, finally pausing to push your glasses up your nose. “It’s not just a bake-off,” you said, your voice tinged with mock offense. “It’s the bake-off. I’ve lost four years in a row, Logan. Four. And Hank beat me last year. Hank!”

Logan chuckled, shaking his head. “So what’s the plan, darlin’? Intimidate ‘em with your… what is this thing called again?”

“Croquembouche,” you said, your tone proud. “It’s a French dessert. A tower of cream puffs held together with caramel. It’s supposed to look impressive.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning on the counter to peer at your progress. “Impressive, huh? Looks like a lot of work for somethin’ that’s just gonna get eaten.”

You shot him a playful glare. “It’s not just about eating it. It’s about presentation, creativity, skill—”

“And your pride,” Logan interrupted with a teasing smirk.

You sighed, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. “Fine, maybe a little bit. But it’s more than that. Jean’s won three times, and I love her, but I’m not letting her win again.”

Logan leaned closer, his smirk softening into a fond smile. “Didn’t know you had this much fight in you about somethin’ like this. You’re usually so…” He hesitated, searching for the right word.

“So what?” you prompted, turning to face him fully, your hands resting on your flour-dusted apron.

“Calm. Reserved,” he said with a shrug. “Not the type to get worked up over a contest.”

You tilted your head, feeling your cheeks warm under his gaze. “Well, maybe it’s because I know I can win this. I just… haven’t yet.”

Logan reached out, brushing a stray bit of flour from your cheek with his thumb. “I like seein’ you like this. Fire in your belly suits you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you quickly turned back to your cream puffs to hide your flustered expression. “If you’re not here to help, you’re just in the way,” you said, trying to sound stern but failing to hide the smile in your voice.

Logan chuckled, moving to stand beside you. “Alright, tell me what to do. But if you make me use one of those fancy piping bags, I’m out.”

You handed him a small saucepan instead. “You can stir the caramel. Just… don’t let it burn.”

He took the pan and nodded, his expression serious. “Got it, boss.”

As the two of you worked side by side, the tension in your shoulders eased, replaced by the familiar comfort of Logan’s presence. He didn’t tease you much after that, instead offering quiet support as you assembled the tower, his large hands steadying the base while you carefully added each cream puff.

When the croquembouche was finally complete, you stepped back to admire your work. The golden caramel glistened under the kitchen lights, holding the delicate tower together with intricate threads.

“Well?” you asked, glancing at Logan. “What do you think?”

He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if appraising a fine piece of art. “Looks like a winner to me, darlin’.”

You smiled, the warmth in his voice melting away any lingering doubt. “Thanks, Logan.”

He reached out, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “Don’t need some contest to know you’re the best, but I’ll admit… this thing’s pretty damn impressive.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. “I’m glad you think so. Now, let’s hope the judges agree.”

Logan pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his voice soft. “They’d better. Otherwise, they’re gonna have to answer to me.”

---

The judges were seated at a long, makeshift panel in the mansion’s common room, where the baking contest had been set up. Charles, as always, presided over the event with an air of calm authority. Beside him, Rogue and Bobby whispered back and forth, clearly enjoying themselves, while Scott sat at the far end, arms crossed but watching intently. A whiteboard behind them displayed the competitors’ names—Jean, Hank, Ororo, and you—with empty spaces awaiting scores.

You stood near your carefully crafted croquembouche, nerves buzzing. The caramel-glazed tower gleamed under the room's lights, every puff perfectly placed. Logan lingered just behind you, arms crossed, his presence grounding despite the mischief in his smirk.

“Alright, who’s up first?” Charles asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he glanced at the assembled desserts.

“I’ll go,” Jean volunteered, her tone casual but confident. She wheeled forward a stunning cake decorated with delicate sugar flowers. It was classic Jean—graceful and precise.

You exchanged a glance with Logan. “Of course she’d make something perfect,” you murmured, adjusting your glasses nervously.

Logan leaned closer, his voice low. “Perfect’s overrated, darlin’. Ain’t got half the heart yours does.”

You shot him a grateful smile, feeling your cheeks warm. Jean finished her presentation, earning nods of approval from the judges. Then it was Hank’s turn. He unveiled a surprisingly elegant chocolate soufflé, its rich aroma wafting through the room.

“Hank,” you muttered under your breath, watching him with narrowed eyes. “Where was that finesse last year?”

Logan chuckled. “He’s tryin’ to rattle you. Don’t let him.”

Ororo went next, presenting a tray of intricately decorated éclairs that practically sparkled under the lights. By the time it was your turn, your nerves were frayed, but Logan’s hand briefly brushed your back, steadying you.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured.

You stepped forward, your croquembouche balanced on a cake stand. “This is a croquembouche,” you began, clearing your throat. “It’s a traditional French dessert made of cream puffs and caramel. I, uh, thought it’d be... memorable.”

Bobby leaned forward, eyes wide. “Whoa, did you make all those little puffs yourself?”

You nodded, pushing your glasses up your nose. “Every single one.”

Rogue whistled softly. “Looks like a lot of work.”

“It was,” you admitted, glancing at Logan, who gave you an encouraging nod. “But I wanted to challenge myself.”

Charles smiled warmly. “Well, it’s certainly impressive. Let’s see how it tastes.”

You carefully dismantled part of the tower, handing plates of cream puffs to the judges. Logan stood just behind you, his presence steady and reassuring. As the judges sampled your work, you held your breath.

“This is incredible,” Rogue said, her voice muffled by a mouthful of pastry.

Scott, ever the critic, nodded slowly. “The caramel’s a little sticky, but the flavor’s perfect.”

Bobby gave you a thumbs-up. “Best one so far.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, turning to Logan. “Think that’s enough to beat Hank?”

Logan smirked, leaning down to whisper, “Not even a contest, sweetheart.”

When the scores were tallied, your croquembouche stood victorious. The room erupted in applause, and you felt a wave of pride wash over you. Jean clapped you on the shoulder, her smile warm. “Guess I’ll have to step up my game next year.”

Hank grumbled good-naturedly. “I demand a rematch.”

Logan pulled you into a brief hug, his voice low in your ear. “Told you you’d win.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “Thanks for being my sous chef.”

“Anytime, darlin’,” he said, his eyes full of warmth. “But next year, you’re on your own with those candy balls.”

i kinda messed up the timeline a bit here so this is part 2011/part 2012

[evermarch]

y’all i really think sid abernathy is intellectually and/or developmentally disabled. idk if this is a common belief or not, but after the audio excerpt i’m more convinced than ever. here’s why:

1. sid’s dialogue and behavior

“you said be your rooster. you said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.”

“haymitch!” wails sid. “the sun’s coming up!”

sid’s language and cadence suggest a young child. which makes sense; he’s 10, which is a young child. so it’s consistent that haymitch would tell sid to be his “rooster,” which is, of course, a callback to “tuck your tail in, little duck.” however, while katniss’ pet name for prim is humorous and light-hearted, her intention in using it is to make prim feel better facing the imminent reaping.

sid’s joy on reaping day, especially the reaping day of the second quarter quell, suggests sid is at best aware but unconcerned about the day’s proceedings, but realistically, that he doesn’t know or understand whatsoever what will occur. as far as he’s concerned, the most important event of the day is haymitch’s birthday.

granted, sid is 10, and prim, at 12, is reaping age. but there’s no way he can avoid the truth about the games or reaping day at school. and haymitch “resistance is not an option” abernathy would not indulge such wanton disregard for the dangers of the day. acting like the reaping isn’t happening is insolence in and of itself. unless, of course, sid’s behavior is not disregard, but true ignorance. and the only way he’d be ignorant of the reaping is if he is, at least in the eyes of haymitch and his mother, incapable of understanding it.

2. sid needing an explanation about the reaping

“i wonder whether it'll be me or ma who sits him down beforehand and explains about his role in the reaping, how he had to look nice and keep his mouth shut and not cause any trouble. even if the unthinkable happens and his name gets drawn, he's got to suck it up, put on the bravest face he can muster and climb onto that stage, because resistance is not an option.”

as implied by sid’s happy attitude in the excerpt, and now confirmed by the audio clip, sid will need to have the reaping explained to him when he turns 12. but in his worry about sid’s first reaping, haymitch is concerned with telling sid step-by-step what to do. and it’s not just about where to stand or the proceedings themselves. he will have to explain to sid that he needs to be quiet and docile.

no kid in district 12 would need it explained to them how to act on reaping day by age 12. that is, unless the normal district 12 peacekeepers would otherwise know that the kid means no harm in stepping out of line. on reaping day, with peacekeeper reinforcements and cameras, the same lenience would not apply. an intellectual disability would explain not only that, but why haymitch and their mother intend to keep sid in his happy ignorance as long as they can.

3. sid’s death within two weeks of haymitch’s defiance

the most common question about snow’s punishment of haymitch is why he didn’t have sid or lenore dove reaped. on lenore dove, it would be too obvious to reap haymitch’s girl just a year or two after haymitch’s games. that’s especially true if haymitch’s insolence is so egregious as to warrant a punishment as severe as the death of all his loved ones. after a year or two lenore dove would be aged out. to create some plausible deniability for the capitol citizens, the only realistic option for snow to reap would be sid.

with sid, he would have nine years to choose exactly the right moment to punish haymitch in this way. if sid is anything like prim, he’d be beloved in the capitol during haymitch’s games, largely for his youth and innocence. but katniss herself considers prim to be reaped. that’s a particularly strong possibility once prim was older, and thus less angelic and harmless in the eyes of the capitol. even still, rue is evidence that age is not reason enough for the capitol to grow sour at the idea of any tribute’s reaping.

so why wouldn’t snow wait it out for sid? i’m sure we’ll get plenty of reasons in the book, but the best explanation is that it would create blowback for snow if sid was reaped, regardless of his age or how beloved he is in the capitol. the most realistic scenario why that would be true is if sid is too naive and “simple” to be a threat, even as an older teen in a strong, adult-like body.

that’s not to say the capitol is “above” reaping a disabled child (see: the boy from 10 in the 75th and wovey in the 10th). but a beloved younger brother of a quarter quell victor who is ALSO developmentally disabled? the optics would be terrible for snow. that’s especially true if the capitol’s attitude toward people with mental disabilities is anything as patronizing as that of the people of district 12 (see: the people at the hob treating greasy sae’s granddaughter like a pet out of ignorance rather than malice).

4. it’s great device to explain the games to the audience without too much info-dumping

we’re going to spend much of the games in haymitch’s head. even in the midst of a battle royale, that can get boring really fast. that issue was avoided in tbosas by snow’s narration, since the boring bits of lucy’s gray’s time in the games were easily supplemented by snow’s life in the capitol.

with katniss, the quiet parts of the games were broken up with flashbacks. the flashbacks served double duty of keeping things interesting AND creating character development/worldbuilding. we saw katniss’ father’s death, her interaction with peeta, her friendship with gale, and her life at home with her mother and prim. her father’s death explained her character, the bread incident her feelings about peeta, her friendship with gale her worldview, and prim/her mother the inter-12 seam/town tensions as well as katniss’ motivations.

unlike with katniss, though, we know a lot about who haymitch is and what happened to him. we don’t need as much basic worldbuilding (and i doubt he’d have much more information than katniss does at this point, anyway), so the only things left are his family and district 12. for haymitch’s family, which is 100% seam in a way katniss’ is not, we’re going to need a new lens through which to view 12. it can’t *just* be typical single-mother seam life; we got most of that through katniss and gale. haymitch’s story has to provide a new angle.

i think that additional layer *has* to be sid. haymitch, unlike katniss, was himself reaped—what is motivating his survival? what makes him different than all the others in the seam, who are reaped to an inevitable death? a clear explanation could be that sid is incapable of surviving if haymitch dies. even with their mother working, everyone has to contribute. and if haymitch doesn’t have a gale, sid’s protection is even less guaranteed.

sure, haymitch might just have the same maternal instinct katniss has for prim, but that’s one of the key distinctions between them in the trilogy. haymitch loves peeta and katniss like they’re his own, and yet he lies to and betrays them in a way that katniss considers unconscionable. and, imo, if it’s as simple as haymitch wanting to protect sid’s innocence like katniss wants to protect prim’s, the similarities between them become less parallels and more replicas. what’s the point of sid’s death if katniss and haymitch are so similar that the loss of their siblings conveys the same message?

[d4n1elll4]

───〃𖹭 FINNICK ODAIR

“It takes 10 times longer to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart.”

NAVIGATION ⋮ MASTERLIST

𖹭 A DARLING AND A VIRGIN by wife-of-all-dilfs [ONESHOT] [6.8K]

⇢ You are a victor from district four, having just ended your first victory tour. After being confronted by president Snow, you have no choice but to lose your virginity. Luckily, your previous mentor is willing to provide some guidance.

𖹭 A LITTLE LESS DREADFUL by feelingdozy [DRABBLE] [0.4K]

⇢ You and Finnick see each other one day at a Capitol gathering. You two have some alone time and bask in each other’s company.

𖹭 AWAY FROM YOUR COLD LUST by leviathanspain [ONESHOT] [1.1K]

⇢ Finnick Odair and you have a long history, but can you forgive his mistakes?

𖹭 BREATHTAKING | PT.2 by ilguna [TWOSHOT] [3.5K]

⇢ You thought that you were going to go into the arena without ever meeting your soulmate. Little did you know, he’s been next to you the whole time.

𖹭 CLUELESS by ilguna [ONESHOT] [1.9K]

⇢ With the help of his ex-girlfriend, Finnick realizes that the girl he’s been wanting has been the one supporting him.

𖹭 CROWNED by ilguna [ONESHOT] [2.6K]

⇢ You were the one to crown Finnick ten years ago, and now he’s back in the games.

𖹭 DEVOTION by leviathanspain [DRABBLE] [0.6K]

⇢ You would’ve died without him, and now he’s all you can think of.

𖹭 FATE | PT.2 by ilguna [TWOSHOT] [2.7K]

⇢ “Well this is unfortunate.”

𖹭 FAVORS | PEEL AWAY by http-finnick [TWOSHOT] [0.8K]

⇢ As finnick sneaks back into your cart during the victory tour, you start to pity him as he wraps his arms around you, knowing that this is all for the captiol and none of it is true...at least not for you.

𖹭 WHAT THEY MADE US by a-aexotic [ONESHOT] [2.4K]

⇢ “It’s okay baby i got you.” Finnick and you were young, deadly, and beloved by the Capitol. But behind the glitz was a nightmare neither of you could escape—until you decided to fight back.

𖹭 HEAR MY SONG by ilguna [ONESHOT] [2K]

⇢ You want the first man that falls victim to your song, not knowing that he would end up being thrown overboard by his own crew.

𖹭 HIGH OUT OF YOUR MIND by http-finnick [DRABBLE] [0.6K]

⇢ As you sit in the cold hospital room of finnick odair in 13, you hear him talk about his one true love, and everything clicks.

𖹭 HIS EMBRACE by leviathanspain [DRABBLE] [0.8K]

⇢ Finnick Odair, capitol sweetheart and the thorn in your side.

𖹭* I WAS ALL OVER HER by leviathanspain [ONESHOT] [1.6K]

⇢ The night you and Finnick spent together. NOTE: Connected to Away From Your Cold Lust.

𖹭* INTO IT by andvys [DRABBLE] [0.9K]

⇢ You loved teasing him more than anything. Watching him take in a shaky breath as he grips your hips tightly while looking into your eyes so intently. A smirk tugging at his lips, acting as though your action doesn’t leave him with a desperate feeling, wanting even more.

𖹭 MISSING by http-finnick [ONESHOT] [1.5K]

⇢ After the war, your whereabouts are a mystery left with missing next to it. Finnick’s days are gloomy without his love as jealous friends burden him.

𖹭 OUR SECRET by ilguna [ONESHOT] [2.7K]

⇢ You missed your chance to tell Finnick that you loved him before the games, so you have to tell him when you get the chance.

𖹭 PERFECTLY TIMED | PT.2 by ilguna [TWOSHOT] [21.7K]

⇢ When you figure out that the arena’s a clock, Finnick promises that he’ll be your bodyguard from then on, and he doesn’t take that responsibility lightly.

𖹭 POISON | PT.2 | PT.3 by ilguna [MULTI-PART] [7.2K]

⇢ Finnick had hoped that it wouldn’t be you who was reaped. But in the end, he knows that it was right for you to volunteer.

𖹭 REMEMBER THE MEADOWS by http-finick [DRABBLE] [0.6K]

⇢ A shy finnick confessing his feelings to you after the war.

𖹭 RIGHT HERE WAITING by bartxnhood [DRABBLE] [0.8K]

⇢ After the quarter quell you vanish, no sign, no trace. You left behind your boyfriend, Finnick, who could just not wrap his head around your disappearance. What happened?

𖹭* SABER TOOTH | FULLY CHARGED by murdrdocs [TWOSHOT] [9.1K]

⇢ Just two days out from the Games, your mentor and best friend, Finnick Odair, comes to your room late at night in a mutual fit of insomnia to fulfill your (potentially) dying wish.

𖹭 SHE’S GETTING ON MY NERVES by http-finnick [DRABBLE] [0.3K]

⇢ You have to make a love story for the capitol with a clueless Finnick, but how do you do that when he can’t stop talking about her?

𖹭 SIREN’S SONG by http-finnick [DRABBLE] [0.9K]

⇢ As the soft waves hit Finnicks boat, he hears a lully song that pulls him deeper into the waters.

𖹭 SKIN TO SKIN by http-finnick [DRABBLE] [0.3K]

⇢ Another night without sleep as your boyfriend lays limp on top of you, you watch the sunrise and curse your insomnia for the waking of Finnick.

𖹭 STAY by http-finnick [DRABBLE] [0.1K]

⇢ Finnick comforts you after a breakup.

𖹭* THE DROUGHT OF AN OCEAN by thewordswewrite [SERIES] [51.3K+]

⇢ Finnick Odair was the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games but that didn’t earn him respect as a mentor, at least not until she came along. When a dejected volunteer from District 4 puts her life on the line, Finnick will do anything he can to protect her.

𖹭 THE WATER HEALS OUR WOUNDS by ilguna [ONESHOT] [5.3K]

⇢ Finnick was beginning to believe that the damage done on you was permanent, but he had to try one more idea.

𖹭 THEY WEREN’T THE FIRST | PT.2 by fakescenarios-tohelpyousleep [TWOSHOT] [3K]

⇢ After the jabberjays it’s revealed that Peeta and Katniss weren’t the first pair to make it out of an arena alive.

𖹭 TRICK QUESTION | PT.2 by ilguna [TWOSHOT] [1.9K]

⇢ Finnick admitted you were his celebrity crush in his last interview, this year, he has something to reveal.

𖹭 TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN by ilguna [ONESHOT] [2.5K]

⇢ “Well, don’t you look glittering and gorgeous.” Finnick purrs. You scoff, raising an eyebrow, “You wish you could afford me, Odair.”

𖹭 UTTERLY IRRESISTIBLE by ilguna [ONESHOT] [2.8K]

⇢ Finnick’s been flirting with you nonstop since he’s seen you in the Capitol, and you’ve finally had enough.

𖹭 WEAVE by http-finnick [DRABBLE] [0.9K]

⇢ As you weave leaves on an empty stomach, you join finnick in hopes of getting this new group to like you. Just to find your hearing ringing and vision blurring.

[missaengg]

Because I Love You...

Pairing: Caleb x f!reader Tags: spoilers for Caleb's main route, angst, mention of drugging, yandere Caleb if you squint Word Count: 851 He'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, even if it means becoming the villain in your story. Because he loves you… A/N: Inspired by Homecoming 1-10: Heart's Crossing. Also, I play in Korean so I used oppa instead of gege!

The pills don’t take long to work.

Caleb watches you sleep from the threshold of his – now your – bedroom.

You look serene, lying there asleep in his bed.

Caleb crosses the room, the click of his boots echoing in the silence. Turning down the light, he sighs. It’s just like you to leave it on before going to bed, though he knows why you did – why he had to resort to this.

He sits beside you and pulls the blanket higher on your shoulder, as if it’s something he’s done many times before. On impulse, Caleb starts to brush a stray lock of hair from your face, but hesitates at the last moment, taking your hand instead. He cradles it gently, noting how small and delicate it feels in his large, calloused palm.

“If I kept you here with me like this… Would you think I’m being too selfish?”

He doesn’t hide the longing he feels in his voice. Caleb brings your hand to his forehead, desperate to quell the ache gouging his chest and the regret choking all the air out of his lungs.

“But it’s only us now.”

Caleb closes his eyes, nuzzling your fingers against his brow. He lingers for a moment, a fleeting respite before he returns to selling his soul. He’s not sure what he hopes to find in your touch – comfort or strength? Or, he muses, perhaps what he truly hopes to find is your forgiveness.

Caleb scoffs, a bitter chuckle escaping him, laced with self-loathing. He hates who he’s become. He hates that protecting you has led him to this, even though it was necessary.

It’s not that he thinks you’re incapable. He knows that you can handle yourself, that you’re brave and tough. But sometimes you can be so foolish and naive, it terrifies him. It shakes him to his core to know that one day, you might not make it home.

It was wrong to trick you, to pretend those sleeping pills were cold medicine. He knows, but he tried to warn you, and you wouldn’t listen. You never listened.

His foolish, headstrong princess, always running into danger without thinking of the consequences, without thinking of yourself.

He always knows when you’re lying to him. He knew when you were lying to him as a child. He knows you’re lying to him now. Like the night Viper dared to come after you, and the night you asked to meet classmates for dinner and a movie, even before he discovered your gun.

He knows you so well, that if left up to your own devices, you’d do that same reckless thing you always do – charge into a dangerous situation without a second thought, even as fever weakened your body.

It kills him to lie to you, to keep secrets, to make promises he can’t fully keep, but the truth would only hurt you. His only wish is for your happiness – a life free of pain, full of laughter and light, while you wear that brilliant smile he loves.

He lowers your joined hands from his forehead, his gaze falling on your sleeping form.

“Let’s say I had noticed these threats that were lurking around you earlier…” He narrows his eyes, anger flashing in their galaxy-colored depths. “Knowing then what I know now… none of this would’ve happened. Right?”

Beneath the storm in his gaze lies a fierce resolution.

I’ll protect you with everything I have, until my last breath. I won’t let Ever touch you. I’ll do whatever it takes – even if it means becoming a villain in your story.

A notification pops up on his wrist communicator, casting an eerie glow in the dark room.

Cleanup operations begin shortly. Awaiting Colonel’s orders.

Caleb scans the message quickly, furrowing his brow. It vanishes when he flicks his wrist. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, then turns his focus back to you, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil. With a rueful smile, he presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand.

I’m sorry…

I’m sorry I’m not the same Caleb you once knew…

I’m sorry I’m not content with just being your oppa anymore, that I want to be something more…

As your warmth lingers on his lips, Caleb makes a vow you’ll never know.

“Don’t worry. This nightmare will come to an end. I promise.”

Caleb brushes his lips against your fingers one last time before gently placing your hand back on the bed, fighting every urge to stay by your side. He stands abruptly, straightening his back and pulls on his cap in a manner befitting that of a Farspace Fleet Colonel. As he exits the room, a steely resolve burns in his cold, amethyst eyes.

He feels the distance between you grow with every step. He’s acutely aware that every decision he’s made and will make, every lie, every secret, will only push you further away, widening the chasm until he’s so far gone, he no longer deserves a place by your side.

But it’ll all be worth it, as long as you’re safe…

Because I love you…

Tag List: @william-rex

[bennysblabbering]

NSFW Headcanons

ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Shoko, Utahime

Gojo

- 9 inches, average girth

- Has no preference for bottoming or topping, he just likes to have sex lol

- Prefers to sub, but even when he does dom, he's soft and playful about it

- Pretty high libido, but since he doesn't have a whole lot of time for sex, he just has a quick jerk off session once or twice a day.

- Vocal as fuck. Earth-shattering moans and trembling legs when he cums. Has to work REALLY hard to keep his voice down if other people are around.

----------

Geto

- 8 inches, thick girth. Curves up slightly.

- Doesn't care if he's the bottom or the top but he WILL be the one in charge.

- Average libido. Masturbates every now and then just to quell the urge, but doesn't do it too much. Will occasionally have a friend with benefits or something casual, but he's picky about who he wants.

- A lot of groans and drawn-out sighs, but rarely ever straight up moans unless he's caught off guard by something (like his prostate suddenly being pressed on really hard, he loooves having his prostate played with.)

----------

Nanami

- 7.5 inches, slightly thicker than average

- Definitely prefers to top but will bottom if he really trusts his partner.

- Either service dom, or sub. He will do whatever makes his partner happy. Whether they want him to be rough and manhandle them, soft and affectionate, or completely submissive, he'll do it. He's 100% a giver.

- When not in a relationship his libido is fairly low. However, that increases to about average when he's interested in someone. (Demisexual king.)

- Mostly deep growls and heavy breathing. Does sometimes moan, though, if he's feeling really good.

----------

Choso

- 6.5 inches, average girth. Leans to the right a bit.

- Likes topping and bottoming equally. He can't choose just one.

- Prefers to sub, but will dom if he makes sure a million times over what the boundaries are. He feels good when his partner feels good, so he cares more about their pleasure than his.

- Pretty high libido. Masturbates probably at least once a day. When in a relationship he's constantly needy and will take any and all opportunities to have sex, no matter when or where.

- Vocal as hell. Moans like a damn porn star and he's not ashamed of it.

----------

Sukuna

- 10 inches, thickness of a soda can. And yes, he has two. (And they both have one black ring marking on them.)

- Always tops, always doms. No exceptions.

- Absolutely insatiable libido. Complete horn dog. Never masturbates though, he'd rather stick his cocks in a tight, whimpering sub.

- Doesn't moan much, mostly just growls. But they're incredibly intense and sexy growls.

----------

Shoko

- Prefers to top but doesn't mind bottoming, she's fine with either.

- Has no preference when it comes to dom or sub, either. She's up for anything and likes to experiment.

- Pretty low libido. Doesn't masturbate at all. Only really cares about sex and intimacy if she's dating someone. (Grey-ace queen.)

- Some quiet moans here and there, but not much. Gets slightly louder when she cums but that's it.

----------

Utahime

- Pillow princess to the max. Would never be caught dead topping.

- Would maybe consider domming but she would only want to on special occasions.

- Libido is slightly lower than average but still needs to masturbate every now and then just to keep herself in check. Only ever has sex in established relationships, simply out of choice. She doesn't want a stranger or someone she doesn't love to see intimate parts of her body.

- Very shy with her noises, mostly just quiet whimpers. Goes completely silent when she cums.

[livelaughloveluffy]

yearning - monkey d. luffy

a/n: currently in the mood to yearn tonight... its probably the fiona apple playing in the background as inspo to write.. anywho!! i wanted to start a new series about reader's pov of falling for the boys because i seriously just need to gush about how much i love and adore and want these men 😭😭😭 so i hope you guys enjoy this!!

nothing but fluff here 💗

---------------------------------------------------------------------

it was absolutely impossible to not be drawn to the captain of the straw hat pirates. luffy simply radiated joy and kindness, and while he can be extremely straight-forward, trusting to a fault, and at times naive, his pure love and affection for those around him is so plainly addicting to be around.

since the very first time your eyes were graced with the sight of the raven-haired boy's wide smile, your heart couldn't help but just melt and the overwhelming feeling of willing to do anything to never see it leave his face utterly consumed you.

•♡•

when the captain had asked you to join his on his journey to become the king of the pirates, you were initially shocked. what had he seen in you to view you as valuable enough to need in his crew?

it was not unknown that luffy could have some questionable taste at time, not hesitating to invite animals, zombies, or other strange creature to join the straw hats with the same wide smile he had shown you.. that's just who he was.

but nothing quelled those doubts as instantly as his wholehearted smile when he called your name.

•♡•

it was just after breakfast, a bright and sunny day on the thousand sunny, you stood outside the kitchen leaning against the wall overlooking the deck. luffy, usopp, and chopper had run out of the kitchen just 10 minutes prior, clearly in a hurry to go back to whatever fun shenanigans they had planned for the day full of travel on the open ocean.

the three laughing and chasing each other in circles on the small deck. the captain throwing his head back laughing, watching as his body began to lean with him as well, making him fall to the floor. and now his laugh can finally reach your ears, as the raven-haired boy's now trapped in a laughing fit, finding his fall absolutely hilarious.

you didn't notice the smile grow on your face, but the blonde-haired chef who had just stepped out for his post-breakfast cigarette did.

"he's definitely something special... don't you think?" sanji gently murmured, with a sly smile itching at the edge of his lips.

the blush on your cheeks didn't go unnoticed by the chef when you looked at him with wide eyes, before responding with a meek nod and a small whispered "yeah... he really is.."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

tags ♡: @dindjarins1ut ; want to join the taglist? click here!!

a/n: i was listening to "i want you to love me" on repeat in case you were wondering 😭😭 and you most definitely can tell 💀

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER SIX

06 : POTIONEER

CHPT. SUM. : Orion is furious at Sirius' sorting and demands he be resorted bringing you and Regulus with him to Hogwarts where you catch a glimpse of Remus and finally remember who Damcoles Belby is. 

LENGTH : 13.1k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; mother-son moment between Sirius and reader ; Regulus is a precious baby ; Orion is a dickhead and a big baby ; fluff ; angst ; hurt/comfort ; Marauders becoming friends ; Damocles and Ruth are couple goals ; reader gets revenge for our baby.

TRIGGER WARNINGS : child abuse ; claustraphobia 

← PREV. 05 : SIRIUS: FIRST DAY | SERIES M.LIST

3rd September 1971

The day before had gone relatively well. Sirius and the other first years in his classes were still fascinated by the castle and its magic so the tour and introductory first lessons in the afternoon went smoothly. The first years were adjusting well. 

Today will be Sirius’ first full day of lessons and, although it’s daunting, his demeanour is exuberant. Knowing that he will be sharing classes with his new group of friends made him all the more excited. The previous night was spent mostly chatting with his dorm mates, being in bed by 10 pm but not sleeping until past midnight. It meant that he was down for breakfast later than what was ideal and to avoid worrying about rushing back to get ready in his dorm, Sirius made sure to get dressed and brought his book bag to breakfast. This was entirely Remus’ idea, which the boys were incredibly thankful to him for suggesting. The soft-spoken brunette was beginning to build a reputation for having a head full of sensible ideas, making up for what the rest of the group lacked. 

Sirius was just about to finish his plateful and reach for a serving of freshly cut fruit when a shadow appeared over him. It was Argus Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts.  

“Can I help you?” Sirius asks, managing to quell his alarm and brace himself for what may come. Surely he wasn’t in trouble for anything already — there couldn’t possibly be anything he could be guilty of. James, Peter, and Remus looked up in curiosity, also having the same unanswered questions on their faces, silently seeking some sort of response to calm their startled nerves. 

“You’re needed at the Headmaster’s office,” Filch announces, his eyes gleaming with amusement at the sight of the group’s unanimous surprise and dread, although his expression remains largely dull and unimpressed. 

“…just me?” Sirius dreaded to ask. 

“Just you,”

“Why?” Sirius’ demand visibly irritates Filch but he answers nonetheless, happy to have done so when he’s rewarded with Sirius’ pale and ghostly expression — an explicit look of horror.

“Your father is here,” the edges of Filch’s lips seem to twitch but ultimately remain in a straight line, neither smirking nor frowning, “shouldn’t keep ‘im waitin’ now,” James was immediately vocal in his protests. He could tell that Sirius was petrified at the thought of his father and immediately assembled the pieces Sirius was willing to divulge the night before on his home life — his mother was supportive but his father was not. James’ bold protectiveness over Sirius was heartwarming, he never had anybody stand up for him against his father much like this. Primarily because not many were a witness to it and Sirius would like to keep it that way as much as possible. His mother protects him now but this was only recently. Before that, Sirius made sure to keep Regulus out of trouble, vowing to protect his little brother and avoid trouble for his sake alone. James’ display was refreshing and touched his heart. And it was what gave Sirius the strength to willingly go with Filch. 

Despite the bubbling dread in his stomach, Sirius keeps his chin high as he’s escorted to Dumbledore’s office. Although fearful at first, the prospect of facing his father at Hogwarts made Sirius more angry than anything else. Yes, he was shocked and, in that shock, terrified,  but for his father to behave so impudently by visiting Hogwarts was highly hypocritical when the man always demeaned Sirius and punished him whenever he behaved or spoke in a disorderly way. Their encounter was surely going to be an explosive one. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Orion was losing his patience. It wasn’t like him to act so brazenly but the current oddness of his wife had been provoking his displeasure. He’s been feeling the unpleasant bubbling for an entire month and endured it all. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that Sirius’ Gryffindor sorting finally made him blow up and throw about the house’s interior in a blind rage. Atop that, Orion had been even more disgraced but in his own home this time; his wife had ordered their filthy, useless house elf to move all her belongings into a spare bedroom. 

They no longer shared a bed. 

Imagine his surprise when, the following morning, he was greeted by his wife and son at the fireplace, ready to floo to Hogsmeade and journey to Hogwarts. 

“Regulus and I will be having breakfast at the Three Broomsticks,” you announced firmly, reminding him of the early hour. He had the open invitation to join you both but Orion refused, demanding that the matter with Sirius was urgent and that there wasn’t any need for breakfast. But he should have listened to his wife. When he charged up to Hogwarts ahead and was greeted by Dumbledore, the wistful headmaster had him wait around until he was finished with his breakfast before Sirius was finally called for, requesting that the Squib caretaker do the retrieving. Now, Orion sat in the office with an empty stomach and only his anger fuelling him. 

“I hope that your boy has had the time to eat his breakfast as well,” Orion looks at the headmaster, stopping his impatient foot tapping when he notices the mysterious gleam in the elderly wizard’s eyes, “we wouldn’t want him going to class with an empty stomach,” 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Orion was an idiot. You had an idiot for a husband. The thought made you roll your eyes and scoff irritably. Men were so pigheaded sometimes, do they even realise how annoying they can be? 

Observing Regulus as he wiped the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin was all you needed to ease your mounting irritation, however. Your sons won’t grow up unpleasantly like that; you know that your boys will be true gentlemen, naturally, with their own personal idiosyncrasies but, unlike your foolish husband, they’ll be chivalrous, well-mannered and receptive, you’ll see to that personally. Orion won’t have any influence over them. This is your new life’s mission now. 

“I’m all done now, Mother,” Regulus announces with a somewhat sheepish smile as you grin with amusement against the lip of your teacup. He knows he didn’t pay the best attention to his etiquette when devouring his plate of breakfast at The Three Broomsticks but you don’t seem to mind so maybe he’ll get away with it… Little did he know that you found him incredibly adorable and enjoyed the way he appeared more like a child his age for once. 

“That’s good, dear,” your calm demeanour and slow actions makes slight panic flash in Regulus’ eyes. He’s concerned at the lack of action, the passing of time and the idea that he won’t be there when his father and brother meet, “we will keep our promise, Regulus, I assure you,” his endearing worry is met with your kind smile, “I’m sure Sirius is enjoying his breakfast right now too,” the growing smirk on your lips begins to reflect on your youngest, who immediately catches onto your cheekiness. 

“I-I suppose father will be going without any breakfast then…” Regulus comments, taking a sip of his apple juice. 

“Darling, who are we to get in the way of your father’s demands? He was ever so insistent,” an amused giggle passes between the two of you and Regulus is finally able to relax a bit. He makes a mental note to write about your uncharacteristic mischief to Sirius in an upcoming letter. He had been meaning to write a letter congratulating Sirius on his sorting but thought it better to voice in person instead after you invited him to Hogwarts under Orion’s furious insistence.

You took some minutes to enjoy the rest of your breakfast before announcing your departure. 

“Come again soon, Mrs Black! Both you and your son are always welcome,” Madam Rosmerta shouts warmly as she waves you and Regulus off with the beer mug she had been polishing. 

“Of course, Madam Rosmerta. Until then, take care!” you call back, smiling happily at the woman. 

Unfortunately, you didn’t account for arriving at Hogwarts castle without a guide ready to escort you from the grand entrance to the Headmaster’s office. It was pure luck that you were spotted by one of your favourite characters and immediately taken to your destination. 

“The headmaster speculated you’d be arriving here,” McGonagall spoke stiffly but warmly in her distinctive Scottish intonation. Following a brief introduction of all parties, she finally begins to lead you and Regulus to the Headmaster’s office. She looked much younger than she did in the films, yet to be worn down by the mischief the marauders cause only to be succeeded by the Weasley twins, coming to wreak the same havoc and closely followed by the golden trio. It was nice to see her modelling such a reliable and tenacious character before Dumbledore manipulates her into becoming hesitant and unreliable, inconstant with her trustworthiness amongst the students. This prestigious school deserved a headmaster who cared for their pupils equally, unswayed by bias – someone fair and trustworthy, not just powerful. In your eyes, that was McGonagall. And you were going to put her in that position yourself. 

“I appreciate that, and I appreciate you coming to collect us,” you voice politely, offering a smile that she appeared taken aback by. She’s been influenced by the rumours as well. Walburga’s magisterial ways and elitism precede her. It was annoying. But, you’ll admit that it’s amusing to see the surprise on people’s faces when you distinguish all those claims personally. Not only are you making a new name for yourself but you also have the satisfaction of tarnishing the bitch in your head’s reputation. That was more fulfilling than anything.     

“It is only the correct thing to do,” 

“Are things always that black and white?” Minerva doesn’t know how to answer your sudden, cryptic comment and you have the slight mind to apologise for your loose lips. Not only was the deputy headmistress caught off guard by the question but she was dumbstruck by the question coming from you, the woman who openly expresses her abhor of muggle borns and blood ‘traitors’ — you and your bloodline were the most ‘black-and-white’ people in wizarding society. To say that McGonagall was speechless was an understatement. To her relief, you breeze past the comment entirely, “I apologise for my husband’s brash behaviour, it’s truly insufferable how audacious he is, sometimes,”  

Clearing her throat, McGonagall goes for the professional response, although she was highly tempted to agree with you, “all parents have a right to have a say in their children’s education,” 

“This goes beyond mere education, professor,” you look into her eyes and are met with agreement, “Surely, you can agree that the matter is useless kicking up such a fuss over and that my husband is entirely wrong. In this matter, I am right in saying he is being an idiot by publicly throwing a tantrum,” you tut in displeasure, “The humiliation of it all is almost unbearable,” at your side, you hear Regulus choke on his laughter and crack a smile, giving his small hand a light squeeze. Finally, McGonagall allows a smirk to stretch across her lips but before she can make any comment of agreement, you’ve already reached the gargoyle entrance to the Headmaster’s office.  

“The password is ‘Pear Drops’,” With a wave of her hand, the gargoyles reveal a spiralling staircase to the Headmaster’s office, “good luck,” she nods at you and you watch as her expression softens ever so slightly to face Regulus and bid him a soft goodbye, “hopefully, our next meeting will be a more pleasant one, down by the great hall on your first year,” Regulus smiles and nods, waving her goodbye. She offers a smile to both of you and turns with a swift swish of her thick, draping robes. McGonagall never expected you to be so warm and pleasant —it’s easy to misjudge the character of a person simply from third-party accounts and retellings. She’ll have to rethink her own prejudices and biases moving forward.  

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Sirius hadn’t arrived yet. As soon as you sat down, Orion was already gritting his teeth, the squareness of his jaw making his frustrations obvious. 

“I told you so,” you voice blankly and with an unamused face to match. Orion didn’t say a word — he couldn’t. He was already facing the consequences of his impatience as his stomach tried to eat itself from hunger. Dumbledore raises a questioning brow at the interaction but doesn’t say anything. Instead, the headmaster turns to Regulus with a kind smile and offers him the latest muggle sweet he’s grown a recent taste for, the password to his office, Pear Drops. 

“Try some, my boy, I promise they’re a delight,” Regulus looks to you, silently asking for permission. 

You smile softly and nod, “Go right ahead dear but you’ve had a rather hearty breakfast, why don’t you save it for a special treat later on?” Regulus nods and reaches for a small handful of the sweets to pocket in the meantime, however, his small, pale hand is smacked away by Orion who hisses angrily through clenched teeth. 

“No son of mine dabbles in any muggle sweets — it’s unbecoming, Regulus!” 

It was thankful that Orion was already clenching his teeth when you slapped him across the face or else he would have bitten straight through his tongue at the force of your firm hand. 

“Touch my son again, and you’ll be falling from the tower without your wand, Orion,” you threaten through clenched teeth of your own as the man stares at you in wide-eyed shock, his expression reflected onto the Headmaster. 

The reddening hand mark on your husband’s pale cheek isn’t nearly enough to contain your rage. Your shoulders and hands shake from the barely contained wrath bubbling in your veins, you don’t even register how your palm was stinging from the slap as well. Rather than divorcing the stinking pile of shit you have for a husband, you’ll end up murdering him instead. Regulus cuddling up to your side was the only thing able to extinguish the violent rage shooting through your bloodstream but seeing the reddening of his small hand from Orion was quickly reigniting the fire within you. 

“You can’t just—” You don’t know what shameless words he planned on stitching together as a poor explanation of his actions but you were having none of it.

“Shut your mouth!” you hiss once more, eyes narrowing at him, “I said he could have some so he’s having some! How dare you publicly cause a commotion like this over Sirius’ sorting andhave the cheek to harm Regulus on top of that! And over muggle sweets?! Have some decorum, Orion! How embarrassing!” Orion appears to shrink in his seat as you lean over more and more with each word. You didn’t see it but Regulus no longer had tears lining the seams of his precious, silver eyes, instead, they were filled with glittering admiration and love at the sight of you defending him. If only Sirius could see their mother like this, he would no longer have any cause for worry about being away at Hogwarts while he stays home. 

“Ahem!” All heads turn to the entrance where Sirius stares on at the scene, wide-eyed and with a delinquent smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. It isn’t until his eyes meet his father’s infuriated ones that Sirius finds the will to conceal his satisfaction. What he had just witnessed was admirable and a laugh desperately tried to push past his lips but he resisted; he was still on the chopping block for his father to rip apart. Although, knowing that you’re also here, eases Sirius’ worries.  

“Sirius,” you breathe with a smile, your expression immediately warming up at the sight of your firstborn. It hasn’t even been a full three days since you’ve last seen him but the effects of missing him were substantial enough that you were able to easily decompress from your heated exchange with Orion. 

“Get over here, boy,” Orion seethes through clenched teeth, his attention averted. Knowing that his son stood before him as a proud Gryffindor and without an ounce of regret for the shame he has befallen their family makes the patriarch clench his fist so hard that his knuckles turn a paper-white. Sirius doesn’t move, he doesn’t even spare him a glance and when Orion follows his son’s gaze, he’s surprised to note that his gaze is fixed on his mother. 

“Feel free to take any available seat,” Dumbledore offers kindly, observing the scene with a curious glint in his eyes. 

“Please come and sit with your brother and me, dear,” you barely finish your words before Sirius moves across the Headmaster’s office to sit beside Regulus, who has promptly pulled away from you to admire his brother. 

“Thank you for arriving so promptly, Sirius,” Dumbledore begins, eyeing the substantial gap between the two parents before settling his twinkling gaze over the first year, “I hope your breakfast wasn’t interrupted too terribly by the sudden meeting,”

Sirius offers polite understanding over the disruption to his morning despite it only being the third day of school. At the sight of Sirius’ clenching and unclenching fists, you can tell that seeing his father was an annoyance, however, you’re proud of his ability to school his expression. He’s already grown up so much…

Giving a slow nod, Dumbledore directs everyone’s attention to Orion, who was barely holding himself together at the unnecessary —in his eyes only — exchange of pleasantries, “Your father has some troubles over your sorting,”

Sirius pays his father no mind as the pathetic man slams his hardened fist against Dumbledore’s wooden desk, “I DEMAND THAT THE SORTING BE REDONE! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” the frightening volume of your reprehensible husband’s words makes Regulus’ shoulders shake but you and Sirius were there for him. Flanked on either side of the youngest, you were able to bring Regulus into your side for a comforting sideways embrace while Sirius reached over to console his brother by threading their fingers together and clasping his hand tightly. Regulus immediately begins to calm down and smiles to himself at the warm feeling of protection surrounding him. 

“…It cannot be done, Mr Black,” Dumbledore states matter-of-factly in a serene voice that bodes no fear for the wrath of your husband. 

“EXCUSE ME?! CLEARLY THIS WAS A MISTAKE—”

“The sorting hat makes no mistakes,” Dumbledore was so firm in his statement, that Orion was left stammering with disbelief. It makes you smirk with a sort of evil satisfaction. What will he say next? 

“That’s impossible! For that tattered old thing to have made no mistakes whatsoever?!” Orion finally has the decency to lower his voice though, not by much. 

“You are free to doubt the sorting hat as you wish Mr Black but it is indisputable and Sirius will not be resorted,”

“Of course not!” you pipe up, pinning your husband with a harsh glare, “For the sake of your own ego and pride, Orion, how could you demand such a thing? This whole fiasco is far more embarrassing than our son being sorted into the house of bravery and courage. Get over yourself. Our son will miss his lesson at this rate. I apologise, headmaster, for my husband’s shameful behaviour, I assure you that my son will behave far more gracefully,” turning away from your staggering husband and the amused headmaster, you look at Sirius with pride. Leaning over Regulus to press a kiss onto his older brother’s forehead he’s able to hear your tender whisper of pride, “I’m so proud of you, darling,”

You leave a humiliated, red-faced Orion to argue with Dumbledore, who handles the overgrown baby’s temper tantrum with grace. It was much appreciated and you were willing to applaud the old wizard if it weren’t for your existing hatred and secret plot to rid him of his position as headmaster. You’ve led Sirius and Regulus to stand quite a distance away from the two so that you could share a private moment, the attention mainly pointed towards your grinning firstborn. 

“Have you received the gift I sent you?” you ask in a whisper as you hold Sirius in a loving embrace, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he presses his nose into your loose hair — you smell like a mixture of milky vanilla, calming lavender, fruity current and flowery jasmine, it’s not like any fragrance he’s ever smelled on you but he’s grown to find comfort in it. He nods and you silently ask for the pin’s whereabouts. 

Sirius reaches into the breast pocket of his school robes, now embellished with the colours of Gryffindor, daring red and enchanting gold. He brings up his fist and unfurls his fingers to reveal the unworn pin. From the side, Regulus gasps at the beauty of such a small and intricate accessory. Smiling, you read off the personal message you engraved on the back before fastening the pin onto his grey cardigan, “A shield to protect my brave, daring and noble son,” you lean back and give him a once over. Sirius can see the visible lining of tears that gather at the edges of your waterline and his breath stills — it was one thing to read of your happiness and pride for his accomplishment at being sorted into Gryffindor but it was another thing entirely to hear the words from you firsthand and to watch as happy tears blur your vision. Sirius has never seen his mother be so happy and proud that she begins to tear up, Regulus hasn’t either and both stare at you in wonderment. Sirius feels as though he would begin to cry himself but refrains from doing so when Regulus looks at him with a bright grin and glimmering eyes of admiration. Regulus was proud and happy for him too…  

Reaching forward, you pat down the lapels of Sirius’ robes, “goodness, you look so handsome in your school robes,” you share a breathless laugh with your bashful, first-year son before bringing him into another embrace. This one feels tighter, “are you truly my son? I can’t believe it!”

“Of course, I’m your son,” Sirius pouts into your shoulder, trying to counteract his glowing grin, somehow, but it’s no use; the urge to smile from the acceptance and the happiness was too overpowering. 

“This feels like a dream…” you whisper into the air and Sirius is brought back to the time he witnessed the affectionate exchange between his mother and younger brother at the home library doorway. He remembers feeling his heart ache and clench before finally shattering into painfully sharp pieces, engulfed by spite and jealousy. But now… you were saying the same words to him…

“…a dream come true?” Sirius asks so softly and with much insecurity, you can’t help but squeeze him tighter. 

“Yes!” you’re giddy with happiness and it’s infectious, even onto Regulus who was momentarily saddened at his older brother’s innocent wants and endurance, silently suffering from that fateful day at the Library, where everything had changed. While Regulus was floating on air from the merriment, his confident, protective and loving older brother was dealt a painful blow right to the heart. He wants to reach out and hug him tight and apologise for not noticing sooner.

“A dream come true, it’s just that.” you laugh again, “I still can’t believe it — you’re my son,” Sirius smiles as you cup his cherubic face with your gentle, loving hands. He’s stuck between jumping for joy and doing a happy dance but settles for shyly avoiding your gaze and smiling down at your wrists, where he witnesses your thumbs lovingly caressing his cheekbones in his periphery. 

“I’m your son…”

“You’re my son…” you kiss his cheek and pull away. Regulus had been inching closer and closer throughout your interaction and you could practically taste his eagerness in the air, wanting to pull his older brother into a warm embrace, himself.

Happily, you allow the two to share a moment and they don’t waste any time holding one another tightly. “I can’t believe you’re a Gryffindor, Siri! Your pin looks so beautiful. Mother did a really good job with it. I wonder where she got it made and how… I hope I get one too…” Sirius, knowing the elation the pin had given him when he had first received it and even more when he read the personalised message engraved on the back, didn’t want to deprive his brother of the same feeling, not a single bit. Looking over at you, he meets your eyes and is immediately assured by the smile dancing on your lips. 

“Of course, you’ll get a pin too, baby,” you seal the promise by pressing a kiss to the back of Regulus’ head, who spins around to face you so quickly, you fear he might have gotten whiplash but the smile on his face was enough assurance. 

“Really, Mother?”

“Really really,”

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Sirius returns to the great hall with enough time to spare. His Gryffindor pin is proudly displayed on the chest of his cardigan as he finishes breakfast with his group of friends. Upon his return, they ask him the obvious questions. 

“Is everything okay?

“What happened?”

“Are you alright?” 

“What was the meeting about?” 

Sirius could hardly answer anything from the flurry of overlapping voices and questions he was being bombarded with, other students were even beginning to look at him with curiosity after witnessing his departure with Filch. However, something in the distance catches his attention. The boys follow Sirius’s distracted gaze as soon as he turns away, not having answered a single query. At the open entrance of the great hall, they witness Orion’s scowling face pass swiftly, barely casting a glance at Sirius. He can’t believe his father is being so childish but it was satisfying to watch and listen to his mother treat him like a child too — a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Behind him, Regulus appears at your side, walking at a more leisurely pace. You and his little brother take a moment to lock eyes with him from the great hall entrance. Both of you smile and give him a small wave, leaving unhurriedly when he returns the gesture. But not before you blow him a kiss with a devious smile on your lips. 

Despite the tender moment you shared in Dumbledore’s office, of course, you would still want to embarrass him in front of his friends! Sirius wasn’t mad though — it was quite reassuring to see a mischievous side to his mother.

“Th-that’s your mum?” Peter squeaks nervously. He’s heard of the ancient and noble Black family before. And he’s heard a lot about the notoriously disdainful patriarch and matriarch, Orion and Walburga Black so your uncharacteristic actions make him flounder, “I-I didn’t know your mother was capable of smiling like that…” 

“Me neither,” Sirius replies with a grin, but I’m glad I know now. 

“She’s pretty,” James comments, almost gushing as Remus nods along demurely, blushing down into his morning tea. 

“Why did she look at me like that?…” Remus whispers against the lip of his teacup. 

“What was that?” Sirius asks with a curious tilt of his head. He didn’t quite manage to catch what Remus had said but his muttering was enough to pique his interest. In his embarrassment and distracted thoughts from when you had blown him a kiss, Sirius failed to notice the way your gaze lingered on Remus, who noticed an unknown glint come to life in your eyes. “Remus?”

“—N-nothing! It was nothing… nevermind,”

4th September 1971

You can’t get over how adorable the marauders look as first years. They might as well be little babies, their cheeks still possess some youthful plumpness and they look ready to grow into their school robes with much more fullness. However, as adorable as you found them to be, you have much more important and urgent matters that need tending to. You can’t believe how you’d forgotten such an important detail until now but seeing Remus was what you needed for the pieces to finally fit together. 

Damocles Belby. Inventor of the Wolfsbane potion in the 1990s. You aren’t sure about the exact year but it definitely wasn’t invented while Remus was in Hogwarts. That was why you were drawn to his quaint potions shop and why his name has been lingering in the back of your mind since that day. 

Regulus didn’t have any classes with Peony today as it was Saturday and you weren’t entirely comfortable with leaving him alone as Orion was out on business. You didn’t hear of his departure personally, he had Kreacher come and notify you in his stead. He’s still being an overgrown baby about what happened in Hogwarts. 

Dumbledore continued to refuse on the matter of Sirius’ re-sorting and firmly refused all attempts of bribery on your husband’s part. It was an unreasonable request and you were all sent out soon after so that Sirius could finish his breakfast and attend his lessons on time. Admittedly, it was better to receive the news from Kreacher rather than Orion. Despite the action being petty and out of anger, you were more than happy with the arrangement and you’ll be sure to return the gesture – whenever you want to relay a message to him, you’ll ask Kreacher for his assistance too. 

Your droopy house elf sees the mischief in your eyes and immediately notices the lack of offence to Orion’s backhanded pettiness when he hiccuped through the message he was sent to deliver. His mistress has changed so much… though he cannot argue that most of the change was pleasant. 

“I hope you’ll forgive me for arranging an outing so suddenly like this,” you sheepishly apologise, helping Regulus with his suspenders before he pulls his cardigan over his neatly pressed shirt. 

“It’s okay, Mother,” he flashes you a precious grin, “I enjoy spending time with you like this,”

It was hard to resist his sweet words and you’re immediately pulling him into an embrace, pressing light kisses onto his face. Regulus flushes a bright pink when you squeal about how ‘sweet’ and ‘precious’ and ‘charming’ he was. You’ve become so much more affectionate and, even though it’s not an unpleasant change, Regulus still finds it hard to adapt to. However, he can’t say he wants to forget or take for granted the feeling of elation and warmth that floods his chest whenever you act lovingly — he’s always dreamed of receiving affection from his mother like this. 

“Please never grow up my darling,” you sigh, already knowing the truth as you lead him to the fireplace where you’ll floo to Diagon Alley together, “but I suppose you’ll always be my little boy, so growing up won’t be too bad,” Regulus doesn’t openly admit that he wouldn’t mind being the way he is forever so long as you continue being such a wonderful mother. 

“Where will we be going, Mother?” Regulus looks up at you with curious eyes upon exiting the fireplace soot-free. He’s already reaching for your hand so you don’t lose each other in the crowds. 

“We’ll be visiting Mr Belby,” you smile fondly at the grin Regulus flashes you. He surely remembers the lovely couple owning the potion shop from when you went first-year shopping for Sirius. 

“I know where that is,” he pipes up when you look around curiously, trying to map out your journey. 

“Oh? Then do you mind leading me the way there, darling?”

“Of course, Mother, this way,” he steps forward and begins leading you along the cobblestone paths. Belby’s Potions and Ingredients was quite reserved compared to the other shops, which made it hard to distinguish, especially when it’s the weekend and more people are out and about.

“You’re so clever, thank you, darling,” you press a kiss onto the crown of Regulus’ head when he leads you beneath the hanging sign of the shop. 

Regulus grins and his chest puffs out ever so slightly, “you’re welcome, Mother,”

Observing the shop in front of you, your brows furrow with worry, “why does it look closed?” despite the observation, you knock on the door while squinting through the empty shop windows. Their sign states they’re open from Monday to Friday between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm. “They should still be open, it’s only 11 o’clock in the morning…” you knock again with more insistence and shout through the door, worried for the couple. Regulus observes your panic with anxious eyes and begins to feel the distress melting into his thoughts and feelings. The Belby couple were lovely, they were good people that no misfortune should ever try to pollute so he dreads to think they’re in any trouble. Your knocks sound as if you were determined to break their door down just to get inside, you were tempted to cast ‘alohamora’ but there would be no use for that, you’ll be arrested for trying to commit ‘breaking and entering’ in broad daylight.  

It wasn’t until Damocles himself seemingly appeared out of nowhere, looking dishevelled and sleep-deprived that you finally stopped knocking, “Madam Black,” Damocles acknowledges as soon as he opens the door to you and Regulus, “I’m afraid we’re closed for today,” to emphasise his point, he presses the closed sign onto the window of his shop’s door.

“Mr Belby, I apologise for being so demanding but this is urgent,” you try to argue, feeling the distant press of Regulus against your legs, his arms circling your waist for comfort. He doesn’t know what’s happening but to see his mother and the kind Mr Belby interact in such a state of distress made him nervous. This was so opposite to their first interaction at the shop. 

“I-I’m afraid I have far more urgent matters to attend to as of this moment,” he reasons breathlessly, trying to close the door shut but you’re determined. Your mind has been set — not only were you going to help Sirius and Regulus but you were going to be there for Remus too. 

“I insist that what I have to say to you is very important as well!”

Damocles incessantly shakes his head, his lips pressed into a thin line as his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping his shop’s door handle, “my dearest Ruth is my top priority right now and she’s terribly sick at the moment, please — I’m sure this can wait!” with that, he slams the door shut, causing you and Regulus to flinch at the harsh sound. You didn’t want to hold off on the situation but you know when a line is drawn and Damocles’ insistent refusal of your entry was more than enough to tell you to back away. 

His behaviour was rather odd, however. When you first met the man and his wife, they were beyond lovely. Both were incredibly welcoming and warm, looking down at Regulus, you see the confusion in his clear, steel-grey eyes also. 

“Let's try again on Monday, darling,” Regulus nods at your suggestion. His small brows were furrowed with concern and he seemed hesitant to look away from you despite the smile of reassurance you give him. It warmed your heart seeing how troubled he was over your predicament with Mr Belby; you couldn’t resist kissing away the wrinkle between his brows, “don’t worry, my dear, patience is key when it comes to things like this,” 

Giving one last lingering glance at Belby’s Potions and Ingredients, you redirect Regulus to Gringotts. It rose higher than any of the other buildings in Diagon Alley so it was relatively easy to spot and head towards. Before heading home for the day, you had one more errand to take care of. 

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Filgus was easy to spot, he was the goblin you immediately walked to upon entering the opulent establishment. His sharp, angular features help hold up a monocle over his right eye as a gold chain trails down to the breast pocket of his smart, black suit, though he wears no tie. His healthy head of silver hair is pushed back and tied into a small ponytail at the base of his neck. He looks much younger than his colleagues from the largely less wrinkled visage of his countenance, it was no wonder that entertained your previous request. 

“Madam Black,” Filgus smiles at you, content with your polite, formal greeting. He smiles at Regulus too, who mirrors the goblin greeting at your side, “How may I help you?” he smirks beneath his long and pointed nose. Past the reflections of his monocle, you catch a faint gleam in his eyes, though you can’t comprehend exactly what emotion stands behind it. Was it excitement? Curiosity? Something else entirely, perhaps… “Will you be requesting another commission for our services?” you smile, finally understanding the look in his black, black eyes. 

“Although I highly commend your metalsmith expertise, I am here for a different affair,“ your words pique Regulus’ interest and he begins to speculate whether you had the goblins make Sirius’ Gryffindor pin – it would be an incredible feat if you did, "I only hope to open two new vaults today,” your request eases Filgus’ posture and his action to lean back make you realise the full extent of his previous excitement. It almost makes you want to apologise for not meeting his expectations. 

The first time you had come to him for a commission request, he had been surprised and you suppose he had been able to conceal his delight well but now his disappointment was more obvious. It made you want to giggle but you didn’t want to accidentally offend him or any of the other goblins nearby so you kept your amusement to yourself. 

“That’s simple enough,”

“I want both vaults to have the same precautions and safeguards as the Black family vaults,” his quill stops momentarily as he makes a point of raising a brow at your specifications. A beat passes and he finishes off what he was writing. 

“Who will these vaults be for?”

“They will be for my sons. One for Sirius Orion Black the third,” you reach over to wrap your arm around Regulus’ small shoulders, “and the other for Regulus Arcturus Black,” 

“Unusual,” Filgus comments under his breath but makes his notes regardless of the uncommon application from the Black family matriarch herself. This was not tradition for ancient, noble wizarding families to create a separate vault entirely when they all simply shared one vault. The only reason for something like this to happen would be when someone was disowned by their family and are forced to start from a completely empty vault. Filgus looks up from the parchment he was writing on, only to meet eyes with Regulus who looks white as a ghost and frozen with fear. The sight makes the goblin chuckle under his breath and shakes his head subtly. Even if he wanted to, he had no words of comfort to offer the young wizard. 

“I want the vaults for my sons to be entirely separate from the Black family vaults — nowhere near it,”

“Consider it done. The keys and paperwork will be delivered to you soon enough,”

“Thank you very much, Filgus,” you nod with a smile, “and I assure you that I will be back to request another commission soon enough,” he smirks beneath his pointed nose and his black eyes seem to light up despite their soulless darkness. He says nothing more as you lead Regulus out of Gringotts for the journey home.  

Beside you, Regulus is filled with dread to the point that he feels sick. Getting a separate vault means only one thing and the realisation makes his eyes sting with globulous tears. Looking up at you, his mind flashes with all the happy memories you’ve shared with him and Sirius the past month or so — was that all just a lie? Were you such a good actor that you managed to babble that prideful speech to Sirius at Hogwarts on the spot? Did you always mean to disown them? But then why did you put so much effort into bonding with them like this? It’s too cruel…

“Darling!” you panic at the river of tears running down Regulus’ flushed cheeks. Stepping out of Gringotts, you were just about to ask Regulus if he’d fancy stopping by a sweet shop to bring something yummy home to indulge in and maybe get something for Kreacher too, only to be met by the pitiful image of your youngest sobbing and clinging onto the draping silhouette of your dress skirt. You sweep him up into your arms and move to a bench placed in a, somewhat, secluded location so that you can have a modicum of privacy. “Oh, sweetheart…” you coo and gently brush back his hair with your fingers, “please tell me what’s the matter so that I can help you feel better…” he mutters something incoherent under his breath and in between his hiccups but you ask him to repeat it as you couldn’t hear the first time.  

“Y-you’re going to disown me and Sirius…“ he sobs before throwing himself at your lap and crying into your skirt, “Please don’t disown us, we’ll be good, I promise!” you couldn’t take hearing his tearful cries any longer and you scoop him up again so you could hug him tightly as he wraps his arms over your shoulders to sob into your neck, his legs wrapping around your waist. 

‘Openly crying in public?! HOW DISGRACEFUL! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO MY SONS YOU WRETCHED THING!’ Walburga screeches in your head but you’re quick to hush her up, completely ignoring her piggish squealing to focus on comforting Regulus. ‘THEY COULD HAVE BEEN TRAINED AND DISCIPLINED INTO HONOURABLE SONS BEFORE YOUR INFLUENCE BUT NOW IT’S COMPLETELY HOPELESS!’ She can rant and squeal and screech as much as she wants, you’re not responding to a single thing. Regulus was much more important right now. 

You sit there with him, softly shushing his sobs and patting his back comfortingly as he cries and cries until his eyes run dry. In his panic and distress, Regulus wasn’t in the right headspace to listen to any consoling words you had to say so you waited. It wasn’t until the neckline of your black dress was made damp with Regulus’ tears that you finally whispered your consolation, he had managed to quiet down to small hiccups and shy sniffles. 

“There is no way on earth that I would ever ever disown you or Sirius, let alone both of you,” you press a kiss to Regulus’ temple, blinking back your tears at the intense display of sadness from your usually mild-mannered son. 

“B-but,” Regulus protests, pulling away to look at you with wide, swollen eyes, “you’ve created a separate vault for me and Sirius, that can only mean one thing…” he explains, making you realise your careless actions. 

“Oh darling, I’m not disowning you at all…” you wipe your thumbs beneath his eyes, offering a sad, apologetic smile for having conveyed such confusing intentions, “I only wanted to make sure you and your brother had something to put your belongings in and have a place for your savings that nobody else can touch,” he tilts his head curiously at you, “it’s to set you and your brother up well for the future. These vaults are for your and your brother’s possessions only, nobody else’s. For now, I’ll have your keys and help you save up some galleons until you’re old enough. I know that we’re a very rich family but there’s no harm in having your own vaults so that you and your brother can start adulthood on a good foundation,”

“…th-that’s all?”

“That’s all,” you nuzzle his nose with your own and kiss his forehead, making him giggle — such a beautiful sound. 

He throws his arms over your shoulders and gives you a tight squeeze, “Thank you, Mother,” you can hear the relief dripping from his voice and it makes your heart clench. 

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, darling,” 

“It’s okay…” he whispers shyly, not wanting to pull away so you could witness the flush of embarrassment dusting his cheeks. 

“Next time you’re worried about something, please talk to me, okay? I don’t want you to worry needlessly,”

Regulus nods and pulls away to grin brightly at you, “Okay!” you bought him a lot of sweets at the shops after that. 

11th September 1971 

You visited Belby’s Potions and Ingredients every day for the next week and it was always closed. After some time, you take the trips without Regulus, opting for going by yourself while he’s being tutored by Peony. Usually, you’d make your way home after realising there would be no signs of the couple appearing any time soon. There wasn’t a single light on behind the shop’s windows. Its interior was motionless, like a space suspended in time — nothing was out of place, it was merely still… and it stayed like that for an entire week.

An unhealthy amount of concern was beginning to build up in the pit of your stomach for the couple — perhaps Ruth’s illness the previous week was truly debilitating and when you remember your insensitivity, dominated by desperation, your chest constricts with shame atop the mounting anxiety. After your visit with Regulus, you had purchased a moon calendar and discovered that Remus would be experiencing his first transformation the following night and you suppose that realisation didn’t help your anxiety over the issue. He was going to be experiencing his first transformation so quickly, he barely would have settled into Hogwarts. For that sweet, kind and anxious boy, you were willing to do anything atop all the things you were already planning to do for Sirius and Regulus. 

Belby’s Potions and Ingredients was just ahead now, the muscle memory of the journey there easily guiding your feet and allowing your mind to wonder about the young lycanthrope attending Hogwarts with your firstborn. You were anticipating another uneventful but worrisome visit, however, the sight of an ‘open’ sign hanging on the door made your heart stop. For a moment, you paused, frozen in place and took the time to digest what you were seeing in front of you. You have to confirm that it wasn’t a dream or an illusion that your mind conjured up in its noxious mixture of fret and despair. 

No, this was real! 

Pushing open the door, you rush inside and immediately call out to the potioneer, “Mr Belby! Mr Belby!” you meet the bearded man at his designated station behind the front counter. Beneath his eyes are the faintest trace of dark circles but he manages to smile at your bright demeanour. 

“Good morning, Madam Black,” he greets, somewhat, cheerfully, “how may I help you today?”

With warmth in your eyes, you redirect his statement, “Actually, I was hoping to help you today…” as eager as you were to offer your aide and investment in the brilliant potioneer’s talents, his appearance was a sharp contrast to your first meeting that you were swamped with worry. Damocles gives an inquisitive look at your statement and prompts you for an explanation but it falls on deaf ears when you remember his words the previous week. “How is Ruth?” guilt tugs at your heartstrings and the emotion easily shows on your features, “Is she feeling better?”

Happy to divert from your earlier words in favour of his wife, Damocles smiles rather grimly and nods, “She has quite the weak constitution, especially after an episode,” he’s careful with his words and expertly continues despite his true emotions pleading to take control of his expressions. At times there’s an odd quirk in his smile or a misplaced dullness in his eyes — gone was the man you greeted at your first encounter. He looked poorly. Dishevelled and weighed down by something heavy. Someone so kind, loving and passionate about his work didn’t deserve such troubles. 

“And it’s lasted an entire week?” you’re saddened by his confirming nod and hum, “Is she here? At the shop?” you don’t wait until he confirms nor denies; you’re already stepping towards an isolated but well-loved corner of the quaint shop. 

“Madam Black…” a weak, melodious voice greets you. Approaching Ruth in her rocking chair, you offer a kind smile, happy to see her in, somewhat, good health. “I apologise that my illness has deprived the business of my husband,” she is humbly sheepish and her radiant countenance almost distracts you from her trembling hands. It isn’t a secret how devitalised she is but to still attempt her embroidery in her eroded state makes your chest tighten.

“I’m just happy you’re doing better,” you try to forget the careless words you had desperately shouted the week previous. It wasn’t your intention to be so insensitive and you wouldn’t dare wish any ill-will towards Ruth. The Belby couple are incredibly pleasant people and a treasure to have for company. You suppose that your eagerness to help Remus with his lycanthropy was too strong to resist – not only can you help Sirius and Regulus, but you can help many more of your beloved characters too. 

“Thank you, Madam Black,” Ruth has the loveliest smile, it breaks your heart to know that she’s suffering from such a debilitating, chronic illness. 

“I can’t imagine being as lovely as you despite needing a week to recover from an episode—” You pause and look upon Ruth with searching eyes. Aside from her face, she is covered head-to-toe in clothing. Leaning on the wall was a simple cane within her reach. And, if you weren’t mistaken, exactly a week before today, was a full moon…

“Ruth, my dear, your potion,” Damocles gently reminds, pulling out a phial of the iconic magenta healing potion. You recognise it immediately. It’s the same healing potion you’ve been forced to endure because of the degenerate bitch stuck in your head causing you to faint multiple times. 

“Darling, you’re a wonderful potioneer but I’d rather not consume another healing potion right now. I’ll be sick, otherwise,” Ruth politely declines. Her attentive husband directly goes to protest but you’re quick to interfere. 

“Mr Belby, when did you say Ruth had her episode?” 

“Last week,” he answers nonchalantly, still entirely focused on his wife, who continues to resist his resolute demands of needing to drink the potion. 

“That was a full moon…” the couple pause and a stillness consumes the space. It’s as if you’re suddenly in a vacuum, where time doesn’t exist and everything is at a standstill. “Is Ruth suffering from Lycanthropy?” you take care to keep any form of judgement out of your voice, your tone is neutral, your volume levelled and there isn’t a trace of disdain in your eyes. To avoid causing a huge stir, you try to keep neutral but a warm sadness and soft compassion manages to sneak onto your countenance. 

“Ruth’s illness is not your concern, Madam Black,” Damocles’ voice is strong, commanding and protective. His firm stance as he partially stands in the way of his wife demands that you pull back and stay at a distance. 

“Are you trying to find a cure?” you ask, completely impartial now and, almost, chillingly stoic. Damocles doesn’t answer. You glimpse their connected hands, their grip on each other is as strong as a tightly wound knot; it would be a struggle to pry them apart. “If you are, there isn’t a cure—” 

“I WON’T STAND FOR ANY VERBALLY DEMEANING REMARKS AGAINST MY WIFE! GET OUT! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!”

“I haven’t said anything of the sort to Ruth…” you smile kindly at the potioneer and reach out your hand, “I want to help you,”

“HYPOCRITE!” his loud volume makes you immediately retract your hand. From her seat, Ruth places a gentle hand on her husband’s forearm, a silent plea to give you a chance. Damocles doesn’t fully yield his anger but, in respect of his wife, lowers his voice slightly, "You just denied that a cure could be made!” he can’t trust you. You are a Black, the matriarch, in fact — your entire family despise dark creatures, even those that were afflicted without their consent, much like his dearest. He won’t let you lay a finger on his wife. 

“I said that only because that goal is too ambitious for the moment.” your comment makes Damocles pause, shocked but thoughtful, “I can’t encourage you to make a cure right away but I will support you in the endeavour to create a potion that will relieve the symptoms of Lycanthropy,”

“Support, how?” 

“Funding?” you suggest, “I can help you get expensive ingredients. Or maybe I can help you with research? Or I can keep Ruth company while you focus on your work entirely? I can do all of that and more if you will only let me,” 

The couple look at each other with curious eyes that also fill with fear and hope. 

“…what do you hope to gain from this?” Damocles needed to know. He just couldn’t fathom that someone of such high standing in the wizarding world, who was infamous for her intolerance of dark creatures, muggles, half-bloods and everything that didn’t reflect her skewedimage of ‘pure’ was in favour of helping him, the husband to a lycanthrope.

“I have no ulterior motives… I only wish to turn over a new leaf and help those that I can,” 

“I don’t believe you,” Damocles looks at you with suspicious eyes, narrowed and sharp. He is a contrasting image to the kind and warm man you first met at the counter on Sirius’ Hogwarts shopping day. 

“Then believe that I also have someone…” you look at Ruth, meeting her gentle eyes with a soft stare, “Believe that I have someone I deeply care about and wish to help with their Lycanthropy too,” you’re unable to break eye contact with Ruth; she can comprehend the deep sorrow in your eyes along with a determination that cannot be rivalled. It connects with her deep down, making her heart ache with feelings of desperation and painful hope.  

Damocles is torn. Ever since meeting his current wife, he has wanted nothing more than to use his expertise in potions to help her condition. It was an ambition he had been doing alone largely due to the prejudicial opinions surrounding Lycanthropy. It’s been years and his progress has barely been noticeable. All he’s been able to achieve are potions that barely have an effect. His recent potion was the most progress he’s ever made, where he was able to reduce her anxieties during the transformation. It was only thanks to the powdered moonstone he had managed to get a hold of. If he can have easy access to such valuable ingredients, his progression on the potion will be exponential. But he resists. He’s getting carried away by the excitement of possibilities, not only will he be helping his wife but he will have the opportunity to work with high-quality, precious ingredients again. He was a potioneer, not a businessman so his shop is barely keeping him and his wife afloat, their heads barely above the water of bills and necessities.

Ruth looks at her husband’s thoughtful countenance. She feels such guilt for burdening him with her condition but she doesn’t regret marrying him and promising to share the rest of her life with the kind man. Damocles makes the effort to always support her and assure her that he loves her regardless of her condition and affiliated insecurities. He loves her for her smile, her beautiful eyes, her delicious cooking, her kind heart, her precious love of books, her talent for embroidery, her loving words and the fact that he feels whole with her. The moment he said his vows and uttered the words ‘I do’, he had pledged to take care of her wholeheartedly and he intends to keep that promise, in the same fashion she does.    

“Sweetheart…” Ruth pleads with her eyes, staring up at her husband as tears well up in their eyes. They don’t know your full intentions but they’re willing to do whatever it takes. 

‘I want to take care of her,’

‘I want to be good to him’

“…alright, it’s a deal,”

You leave the store with the promise of visiting the Belby couple again soon, where you plan on catching up with Damocles’ progress and discuss future endeavours with the confidential project. The buzz and thrill pulse through your arterial system like an effusive river, unable to stop and eager to run its course all the way to its estuary but you don’t have one so the rush will have to calm on its own. 

This was a step forward in helping Remus and Ruth as well as many more werewolves across the country. The week you were shut out of the shop because of Damocles’ absence, you’ve been relentlessly planning your future tactics. It’s led to further elaborations on your other plans as well as the inclusion of other entirely new plots. You not only have the power and insight to help your darling sons but a myriad of other characters as well. There wasn’t going to be a chance of you doing one without the other now. Everything is interconnected in this universe; if you help Remus, you’ll also be helping Sirius and Regulus. Everything connects to your beautiful sons — you weren’t going to neglect a single path forward. It’s ambitious but when has a challenge ever stopped you from moving forward somehow? Never. 

Entering 12 Grimmauld Place, you were met with an eerie quietness. Searching for the time on the grandfather clock down the hall, you realise that Regulus would have finished his lesson a little while ago, nearing half an hour. The realisation jumpstarts your nerves and you’re rushing up the stairs to greet him at the Library; that’s where he usually goes to consolidate his lesson notes. You can vividly imagine him bent over a desk, carefully skimming over inky parchment as a plate of snacks and a cup of tea sit within arms reach of him, courtesy of Kreacher. When you peek into the Library, however, there isn’t a trace of Regulus anywhere. Where could he be? Regulus is fond of his routines and doesn’t normally stray from them, especially when it comes to his workflow study habits. 

Why do I have a bad feeling?... You think to yourself, placing a trembling hand over your thundering heart. The silence around you is deafening now and you have to hold back on rampaging through the house. Orion is home… In situations like this, you must stay calm. If Orion has done something to Regulus, it’ll be best if he doesn’t know you’ve come home yet. 

“Mistress! Mistress!” Kreacher appears out of thin air, tugging anxiously at his ears with eyes as wide as saucers. The panic in his watery gaze sets your own heart racing with apprehension. You already know what may be happening.

“Where is Regulus?”

“The vault, Mistress! The vault!”

You’ve never been in the very upper levels of the house before. It never felt worthy of exploration when you wanted to focus on your boys and the plans you’re slowly beginning to implement for them and the universe. 

The uppermost floor of the house was an attic space that had the far end shut off as a separate room. This area must be due to some space-warping magic because the roof was flat from the outside but the ceiling of this large room had the typical triangular roof shape. Boxes and other miscellaneous items litter about the, otherwise, sparse area, providing plenty of nooks and crannies for spiders and other creepy-crawlies to make a home in. Kreacher stays by the skirt of your dress, trembling from restlessness as you lean further into the room. He informed you that Regulus was forcibly dragged up here by Orion as soon as he saw off Peony at the fireplace. Orion had been peacefully reading The Daily Prophet in an armchair in the corner of the living room. Regulus was jumped by his own father. The old dirtbag must still be incensed by Sirius’ sorting ceremony and what had occurred at the Headmaster’s office. 

Narrowing your gaze, you focus on Orion, who leans against the locked door of the attic’s separate room. The iron wall that sectioned it off blended into the metal door that was firmly shut. From within that small, hollow, metal room came desperate banging, presumably from Regulus hitting the walls with his closed fists. The thought makes your hand clench around your wand tightly. This pathetic bastard has a death wish…

“If your brother had been sorted into Slytherin this wouldn’t be happening Regulus! How big of a disappointment the both of you are!”

“Father! I’m sorry!” Regulus’ pleading comes out muffled through the metal walls and door, you can barely hear him. It makes you want to hollow out your chest with the way your heart is relentlessly clenching down on itself.

“When you turn eleven and enter Hogwarts, you better be sorted into Slytherin OR ELSE YOU WILL BE IN FOR A WORLD OF PAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“…n-no father…” 

“WHAT WAS THAT?!!! REGULUS?!!!” Orion’s angry shout was met with silence and he punches the mental door in anger, the force making the structure shake, “ANSWER ME, BOY!”

“Flippendo!”you utter angrily under your breath with your wand raised at Orion’s turned back. The spell sends him flying forward with a startled scream. His head hits the metal door and he’s immediately knocked unconscious. You don’t wait a second further to rush forward and unlock the metal door. It takes a great amount of effort to pull open with its heftiness but maternal instincts make it as simple as opening any normal door. 

“Mother!” Regulus cries at the sight of you from where he’s seated directly behind the door. The enclosed space was incredibly dark, there wasn’t a window anywhere. With the light filtering in past your silhouette, you looked like an angel sent to rescue him. 

“Let's get you out of this horrid room, darling,” it’s hard to relax or temper your anger when you’re looking upon your trembling son who should only ever be smiling. You don’t want him spending a second longer in this horrible attic so you quickly lift him into your arms and rush him down to his room as he cries freely from relief. 

You weren’t in a hurry to get Regulus settled beneath his blankets and tucked in; having him in your arms was a firm reassurance that he’s with you, safe and sound so you’re reluctant to let him go. Nevertheless, you get him settle him down and sit at his bedside before flicking your wand up. The gesture draws back the curtains to their furthest limits and opens up the windows to allow in some fresh air. 

“You’re okay, darling. Mother’s here now…” you whisper, gently petting his forehead and combing back his inky curls. Beneath the covers, Regulus can’t seem to stop himself from shaking but enjoys the sunlight pouring in through the windows and the cooling breeze that caresses his pale, tear-streaked cheeks. He hasn’t said a single word and neither have you. His gaze remains transfixed on the open window where the blue skies are decorated with floating clouds. You watch as his anxious expression gradually loosens, unfurling into one without emotion. “My love?…” the tension in Regulus’ small shoulders and tight limbs melts away when your voice finally breaks through the ringing in his ears. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to leave you home alone…”

His eyes flicker up to hold your gaze. He watches as tears gather at your waterline before spilling over in a cascade of glittering diamonds, created under the mounted pressure that was your love and panic for him and his wellbeing.

“Mother is so incredibly sorry,” you cradle his small hand in your own before pressing his palm against your tearful cheek. “Please forgive me, I promise I won’t let this happen ever again,”

You had nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault. Regulus was frightened and shaken up by his father’s aggressive and malicious expression of contempt, you had done nothing. Regulus would willingly go through that all over again if it meant his father didn’t get to touch Sirius. For the longest time, Sirius had been his only protector and now he has you too. He can bear anything if it means keeping his older brother safe the same way he kept Regulus safe before you came to protect both of them. For the longest time, it felt as if they were the only two people who truly understood each other — it still largely feels that way — and that they were the only ones who knew how to protect each other properly. But that wasn’t the case anymore because they have you now. Beautiful, amazing, motherly you. 

Oftentimes, Regulus would remember the day you had such a drastic personality change. It started normal despite the odd behaviour you had been partaking in leading up to that moment, spending more time in the private quarters meant only for the ladies of the Black family. It had been happening for weeks and the behaviour was odd but since it’s led to such a change of heart in you, the two brothers didn’t question it. 

Here you are now, apologising for his father’s abuse and tearfully pleading for his forgiveness. Regulus never would have imagined witnessing the beautiful image of his mother expressing such sincere sorrow and guilt over his ailing form. The youngest Black thinks he could be dreaming, still back in that claustrophobic attic vault and conjuring up a hallucination to save himself from the mental turmoil the small space puts him through. Sirius had nothing to worry about when he left for Hogwarts because, no matter what, you’ll be there for him and Regulus, even if it means going against Orion. 

“It’s okay, Mother,” Regulus softly smiles up at you, his brows furrowing slightly when his words make your tears pour out in more globulous amounts. 

“This won’t happen again, I swear it,” you press a kiss against his small palm. 

“I know,” the trust and belief Regulus has in you shines through in the glimmer of his eyes, catching the sunlight pouring in from his windows. With your heart stuttering in your chest, you pause before opening your arms and leaning forward to embrace his form through the blankets. “NO!”with a loud shout, Regulus pushes you away and presses his eyes tightly closed.

When Regulus opens his eyes again, you’re frozen in place with wide, shocked eyes. You don’t know what to do. In your chest, your heart breaks at the notion that Regulus doesn’t want to be touched by you but there’s a side of you that reassures his reaction is natural considering what he had just gone through. The conflicting emotions freeze up your limbs and leave you motionless, vulnerable to be swayed onto either side.

Realisation dawns on the youngest Black brother and a frightened gasp escapes him before he’s apologising profusely. Tears reappear at his waterline and threaten to spill over at the thought of pushing you away when all you wanted to do was comfort him. He needs to explain! He has to explain! 

Please don’t hate me! Please don’t hate me! Pleasedon’thateme!

“I’m sorry, Mother!” Regulus reaches for your hand and squeezes it in between his own, “I-I don’t feel comfortable in tight spaces, I don’t want to be h-hugged right now,” you have reminded him and Sirius multiple times that they have the right to communicate their emotions, wants and needs. The important thing you always emphasised was that you would never be angry at them for doing that – Regulus is holding you to your word but waits with bated breath for your response.  

His words were all the confirmation you needed to relax. Of course, that was what he was worried about most. How stupid and selfish of you to make this situation about yourself when Regulus had gone through something so traumatising. 

“Don’t worry, my love, I should have been more considerate of you,” you carefully shush him and wipe away his silent tears, resisting the urge to lean in and take up more of his personal space, “please don’t cry, you have nothing to be sorry for…if you don’t feel comfortable with anything please tell me right away. I promise I won’t get angry or take offence,” you look into his eyes earnestly, reiterating the words you always reminded him and his brother of. It makes Regulus smile softly; you kept your word, “I only want you to be comfortable and happy, always, okay?”

Regulus calms down and nods affirmatively, his smile growing. You agree to hold his hand in silence while he falls asleep and relish being allowed to stay close despite what happened to him earlier. His hand is small but his grip is strong, he doesn’t seem to want to let go of your hand, even in his sleep. You will protect him forever and always. 

While Regulus rests peacefully in his room, you carefully slip away from his hold to make dinner. His favourite. So is dessert. He’ll be eating all of his favourites for the next week and he’s getting spoiled rotten. As usual, Kreacher accompanies you and ambles about the kitchen under your precise instructions, however, you have a special task for him tonight. 

“Is Orion still unconscious in the attic, Kreacher?” you ask monotonously. 

“Y-yes mistress,“

“Good,” you chirp cheerfully, “Please move him to the bottom of the third staircase,” Kreacher gives you a curious look but doesn’t question your intentions. 

“And then, mistress?”

“Leave him there,” in a blink, Kreacher had disappeared to do your bidding. The house elf doesn’t know what you have planned for the patriarch but knows it would be to avenge the young master. That was enough for Kreacher. 

When Kreacher rejoins you in the kitchen to finish preparing Regulus’ dinner, you proceed to tell him that he move Orion to bed as soon as he wakes up. But only when he wakes up. 

“Whatever the mistress says,” Kreacher nods. 

When you bring up the trays for Regulus, he’s still peacefully asleep in bed so you place his food at his bedside and ask Kreacher to keep the meal warm by putting a spell on the plates like he often does with yours and the boys’ tea. It’s then that the wrinkly elf perks up and alerts you that Orion has awoken. Nodding briefly at him, he disappears with a snap of his fingers and you immediately know he’s gone to do as you’ve asked earlier on. While he does that, you fetch Orion’s dinner as well, which is simple tomato soup with garlic bread — it’s more than he deserves. 

As soon as you enter the room with the food tray, you hear Orion muttering to himself bitterly as he sits up in bed, “Useless house elf, leaving me at the bottom of the stairs,”

“I told Kreacher to leave you there,” you explain gently as you approach his bedside. 

“WHAT?!”

“Calm down, Orion, you’ll only hurt yourself more if you act so excited after just waking up,” as if on cue, Orion groans and falls back with a hand pressed against his temple, “See? Here, I’ve made dinner to help you feel better, eat it at your own pace,” it hurts you to smile at him after what he’s done to your sweet, precious Regulus but you have to be patient. You’ll bring the axe down on his neck soon. You can’t believe you were willing to settle for divorce alone but that’s not enough for someone like him. Now, you have something much more fitting in mind.

“Why did you tell Kreacher to leave me there?” Orion doesn’t take the food right away, only giving it a brief side-ways glance before trying to figure out what happened. 

“It was for your safety. It looked like you hit your head and that’s a very sensitive place, I was worried that if he moved you, he’d end up carelessly hurting you even more and we don’t want that…”

With a huff, he deems your explanation decent enough and finally sits up again, reaching for his food. You smile even more, eagerly anticipating his replenishment on your home-cooked meal when he stops to ask something, “Did you have something to do with this?…” He gestures to his temple subtly, referring to his injury. 

“Of course, I did,” you answer simply, ignoring the blend of shock and fury that consumes his expression, “I made sure your meal was very nutritious so you can heal properly,”

“That’s not what I—… never mind,” Orion sighs in defeat and slowly begins to eat in bed. He gives an occasional groan of protest, reaching up and making it obvious how uncomfortable his temple is, silently asking for additional attention and care. He’s not getting any of that from you. Rather, you quite enjoy his uncomfortable musings. You won’t take initiative, instead, you’ll wait until he explicitly asks for a healing potion before finally giving him one. You’ll ensure that Kreacher is informed of this too. He’s a mere house elf, after all, your stupid husband can’t expect Kreacher to make any helpful suggestions. 

“Make sure to eat everything, it’s to help with your health, okay?” you leave him to finish off his meal alone, smiling all the way to Regulus’ room. 

‘YOU PUT SOMETHING IN MY HUSBAND’S FOOD! I SAW IT!’ Walburga screeches in your head. For once, it comes out as music to your ears. The laxatives were from a muggle store so she has no clue what you’ve done.

‘Now, now Walburga,’ you inwardly voice in a patient and gentle tone, ‘Orion was very naughty doing that to Regulus while I was away. So kindly SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ENJOY THE SHOW YOU FOUL, EMACIATED, UGLY BITCH!’ that shuts her up nicely just as you’re about to enter Regulus’ bedroom again, smirking to yourself at Orion’s imminent doom.  

‘Enjoy the explosive diarrhoea you disgusting prick,' 

You also manage to bring up a second helping of food so you can eat together with Regulus when he finally wakes and has the appetite for dinner. In the meantime, you brought your notebook of plans to continue your scheming at Regulus’ desk. You had spent some time admiring his layout and the way he organises his stationery. He has quite a mature system in place for someone so young but it was something you admired — you can tell how incredibly bright his future is going to be just from seeing how he sets up his workplace. Truthfully, the set-up helped motivate you more, you want to preserve your youngest son’s hopes, dreams, happiness and everything about him so that he can live a fulfilled life — not even his desk will be touched by those with malicious intent or anyone that wanted to drag him down. 

Your specific plans for tonight focus solely on the wolfsbane potion and trying to remember everything about it in your universe. From the corner of your eye, you have the perfect image of Regulus peacefully sleeping in bed, tucked up and cosy. There isn’t a single sign of terror to agitate his precious features, rather, he looks completely at peace. This is how he should always look. The image encourages you to push forward, trying to remember any bit of helpful information from your previous life as a Harry Potter fan. Even if the clue may seem unhelpful or completely made up, you write it down regardless. 

‘All this and for what?!’ the nagging voice in the back of your head makes another appearance but you simply roll your eyes. If you give her more attention than she deserves, you’ll only spur her on more, ‘not only is my son part of that foolish house but you’re making such efforts for disgusting half-breeds! Ridiculous! Have you no shame?!’she screeches unpleasantly to the point of making your inner ears ache. However, it was at that moment that a thought occurred to you. It’s strange…very strange. Orion made his displeasure of Sirius’ sorting known the instant he heard the news but Walburga only voices her dissatisfaction now. 

‘When I think about it… you didn’t freak out half as much as Orion when letters gossiping of Sirius’ sorting came. I was fully predicting a meltdown that would put me in a coma for a day or two,’ you internally voice, passing it off as an innocuous comment in the hopes that it leaves her naive to your true intentions. 

‘Your sickening plans for that pin were too much of a distraction!’Walburga excuses as you keep quiet. If you interrupt her ramblings, you won’t be able to pick up on the reasoning behind her actions. It’s best to let her get ahead of herself, the fool, ‘Typical for a soft-hearted, feeble muggle like you! Celebrating such a dishonourable sorting ceremony result! It’s simply humiliating! Rather than that revolting pin, I sent that no good son of mine a howler the day after his sorting. Useless child! He’s no Black, he’s a no-good, mud-blood-loving, blood-traitor who likes to engage with half-breeds and is an utter disgrace to his family! Associating himself with that ‘light’ Potter family, engaging with filthy mudbloods and blood traitors — dirty! The lot of them! Regulus is my only good child, if only he hadn’t gotten himself killed trying to leave the organisation, he would have been my perfect son!’

‘H— How do you know that?…and how do you know about his ‘half-breed’ friend you vile piece of shit?’ as always, her disgusting attitude makes your blood boil on Remus’ and Ruth’s behalf. How dare she act so high and mighty when she’s the most unpleasant person to ever exist? She doesn’t answer your question, instead, she becomes eerily quiet once more. Scoffing at her cowardly departure from the conversation, you make an urgent annotation in your notebook. Hopefully, this will lead to some answers. 

‘Investigate the first room you woke up in’

SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 07 : INVESTIGATIONS →

A/N : This was longer than I intended but a lot has happened so I hope you enjoy the read regardless. I'm sorry for what happened to our baby but we'll be there for him as you were able to see. No way are we letting that slide nor are we going to let that happen any longer. 

Thank you again to all the darlings who always show their love and support of this series, even though I adore writing it and planning future chapters, it's also really time-consuming and exhausting to keep up at points so it really means a lot when I see that you darlings enjoy the read and look forward to series updates. 

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

[dovveri]

matching wounds

synopsis: 2 victors are brought back as mentors for the 58th hunger games. you don’t understand how your fellow victor nayeon seems so okay after everything that happened in the arena.

warnings: angst! sleep issues, trauma, death, killings, blood, weapons, mentions of sex trafficking, suggestive at times, all the trigger warnings that come w the hunger games ig…

w/c: 13.3k

a/n: got this idea post conan concert listening to the exit and being thrown back to this one hunger games edit to the exit and this was born! its mostly just them dealing w their trauma and talking and being there for each other </3

»┼)➝

the train ride to the capitol is it's usual flamboyant, boastful lie. you scowl, looking out the window as you pass the countryside at rapid speed. a year was not nearly enough to recover from the trauma of winning the infamous hunger games. you still remember very clearly, the absolute dread you felt sitting on this train a year ago, praying to all the deities and gods you had never bothered learning the names of in your limited education in district 9.

your attention is drawn over to the carriage door when it slides open. your accompaniment, the only other victor alive in district 9, walks in briskly. she doesn't seem to take notice of you slinking around in the corner of the carriage. im nayeon was something else. she was your mentor when you were in the games last year. she had won her games not too long before you, reaped at the very young age of 14 for the 49th hunger games. you guessed you could consider yourself lucky in that sense. your name was picked out last year when you were already 18, so you already had the build and experience from working out in the fields all day to help you win. nayeon's games didn't make too big of a splash because the next year was the quarter quell and haymitch abernathy from district 12 stole the win to the surprise of much of the capitol and the districts. he was all everyone could talk about and people easily forgot the winner of the games the year before his.

you don't remember watching her games on television either, you were only 10 at the time, and your family was too poor to afford something as luxurious as a screen. you saw no sense in watching the games when you could be out working the fields to bring home food for your family instead, that was the first year you were trusted with heavier tasks after all.

as a mentor, nayeon was surprisingly bright and enthusiastic. she was a little awkward when she first met you, but when she found out you actually had potential, she poured her all into preparing you for your games. and with that bright charm she enticed capitol citizens easily, getting you sponsors left and right despite coming from such a poor district. your male counterpart was a little less lucky, he was killed in the initial bloodbath at the cornucopia, it was a shame but everyone expected it. you think he was one of the ones in your district that was worse off, he looked skinny as a stick, and when you sparred during training you had him flat on his face within seconds.

you'll never forget the face nayeon made when you came out of that arena, bloodied and barely conscious after killing the other final contestant, but nayeon was the first face you recognised. she hovered over you, eyebrows creased, hand over her mouth, tears falling uncontrollably, dripping onto your face.

you were the only other victor district 9 produced. it must have meant a lot to her that you survived after she sent kids off each year knowing they'll most likely die. it was the first time you had seen her break, the first time she wasn't putting on a mask for the kids she lead to their deaths.

because your district didn't have a male victor, you were asked to come back as a mentor this year instead. the kids reaped were scrawnier than ever, you had asked the staff to instruct them to take a shower first before meeting you and nayeon. you remember when you were escorted onto the lavish train for the first time you felt so disgusted with your grime and dust you felt too bad to eat all of the food that would be laid out, thinking you were much less than presentable, especially in front of nayeon.

you continue sulking in your chair, watching nayeon move around the room effortlessly. although you had moved yourself and your whole family into the victor's village, you still didn't see much of the older woman despite practically being neighbours.

you got to know her mom and her sister a little better but found out her dad was killed in a small uprising when she was only a little girl. not long after, her younger sister was born and she had to practically raise her while her mom was out trying to find as much work as she could to support all of them. nayeon grew up to be strong-willed and caring, winning her games with her cunning and natural ability to draw people into her and make them trust her. back home though, she spent most of her time away from home, no one, not even her family knows where she goes.

the carriage door slides open a second time, and this time the tributes for this year walk in shyly.

nayeon turns immediately with a smile, the same one she presented to you when you first walked in.

"hi! come in! please help yourself to all of the food here. it's a fairly long train ride into the capitol so it's important to bulk you guys up as much as we can before the games start."

the contestants flinch at the reminder of the games, looking at each other in uncertainty.

you step up then, "it's okay. everything's safe to eat. i had the same worry last year because i heard the story of that boy winning one of the early games by poisoning everyone on the train on the way to the capitol so all the other tributes were already dead or weakened by the time they stepped into the arena. security has upped considerably since the early games so it's safe to eat. you should eat, it'll help you get strong before you go in."

nayeon's gaze flicks over to you when you step out of the shadows, a curious look settling over her face.

the male contestant lurches forward at the reassurance, immediately stuffing his face with all he can reach, never having seen this much food in his life.

the girl also steps forward watching her counterpart, gingerly picking up a scone and biting in, her eyes light up at the texture.

you smile, moving towards them, "here. add this, it's called jam. it'll make it taste even better." you grab a scone for yourself and show her how to apply the jam, watching her take a bite and grin, mumbling her thanks around a mouthful of food.

nayeon slides in next to you, sitting across from the contestants with a kind smile.

"good right? after only eating plain bread and wheat for so long it's almost otherworldly."

the contestants hum and nod, still more focused on the food than the two of you.

"what were your names again?"

the boy finishes his mouthful of scrambled eggs, "julian. my family mainly works in transportation of wheat. so i've had a little experience hauling heavy things and lugging them around."

nayeon nods, "that can come in useful. there are always weapons that are included for heavyweights like you." she turns to the girl next, prompting her to reply.

"adeline. i don't have a lot of experience doing much of anything." she replies shyly.

you speak up, "that's okay! i'm sure we'll be able to find something once training starts."

you don't ask any further questions, nayeon and you in mutual silent agreement to let them eat until they were full. you send them off to explore the rest of the train and have a look outside, getting accustomed to the rapid change of pace from grueling farming work under the hot sun everyday, to air-conditioned velvet cushions and endless food and drink.

nayeon excuses herself as well, saying she was going to ask the train conductors exactly how long it would take to get there.

you wave goodbye, the permanent smile etched onto her face unnerved you.

when she was your mentor, you just thought she was encouraging. but now… now you know how she feels to be the last one standing in the arena. and you don’t understand how she can possibly smile or act as if everything was okay, not when the people you killed and betrayed haunt you in your nightmares every night, not when your senses are constantly on alert, terrified someone would jump out from around a corner to try and kill you, not when you felt like you had never left the arena.

it felt like you and nayeon had matching wounds, but yours were still black and bruised, and hers were perfectly fine. leaving the arena and trying to live life after the trauma it put on you, and being forcefully reminded of it every year afterwards, it was like you buried something that never died. how could she live with herself?

you spend the rest of the day moping around, wallowing in despair and wondering just how you were going to survive the next few weeks.

»┼)➝

a jolt of the train wakes you up. not that you could ever sleep well anyway. the first few nights after the arena you barely slept an hour a day. if you weren’t paranoid someone would attack you in your sleep, you’d be woken by the voices of the ones you killed.

you sigh, sliding out of bed and stepping outside your room. you wouldn’t be able to sleep for any longer so may as well rise early.

you pad down the hallways lightly, rubbing your eyes and wandering around aimlessly. you had gotten used to waking up at ungodly hours and usually chose to be productive when you were awake, cleaning, gardening, knitting, learning whatever you couldn't learn when you were living in poverty and didn't have the opportunity to learn. anything to get your mind off the ghosts that haunted you.

you find yourself at the back of the train, in the last carriage where half the carriage's ceiling and back wall is practically clear, allowing you to see the terrain the train was passing through.

what you don't expect is another figure, curled up at the end of the carriage sitting on the ledge and looking out at the landscape. nayeon.

she's got one knee up on the ledge, the other stretched out dangling over the edge, arms perched on her knee, head rested on her arms. you approach slowly, unsure if she was awake or not.

it seems her senses never really dulled at all either though. she noticed you when she walked into the food carriage earlier in the day, she just chose to let you think and brood, she noticed you now as you tread towards her slowly. this time she turns her head to not scare you, letting you know she was awake. her eyes are crinkled in a softer smile, heavy and tired.

"hey y/n."

you reach her quietly, she gestures for you to sit opposite her on the ledge, shuffling around so you have the space to sit up and lean back against the window.

"hi... did you sleep?"

nayeon hums, "a little."

it's silent for a few minutes, the churn of the train and the soft breaths the two of you let out are the only sounds you can hear. you look out towards the horizon as well, the fields and forests the train rapidly passes blur into mixes of brown and dark green. it's getting brighter, slowly but surely, the sun was lazily making its way up, signifying another day you were alive.

your eyes eventually drift over to nayeon. (they always do.) she was like a mystery someone would dedicate their life to uncovering. you trace over the lines on her face, noticing the little mole under her left eyebrow for the first time, the small array of freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her heart-shaped lips full and-

you catch yourself, eyes flicking up to hers again to make sure she wasn't watching you. you breathe out a sigh of relief, she was still entranced by the slowly rising sun.

"are you always up this early?" she speaks up at last, breaking the silence that settled over you calmly, although it wasn't an unwelcome break, like a raindrop disturbing the peace of a still lake.

"sometimes. i haven't really slept well ever since i left the arena." you realise this is the first time you're speaking about your experience in the arena with her. the first time speaking about your experience period. you had closed the memories off, pushing them down deep inside you so they could only haunt you in your unguarded sleep. and your family knew better than to ask, they saw what you went through on the big screens, there was no need to remind you of the trauma more than you already were reminded of it everyday.

nayeon lets out a dry chuckle, "that never changes."

your eyebrow raises, you knew close to nothing about the older woman. she never talked about herself or her games, when she was your mentor she was solely focused on helping you survive. and you had never asked.

"... you always seem so... fine though. i don't know how you do it to be honest."

she looks at you then, a sarcastic sort of glint in her eye, "is that what you think of me?"

you gulp, suddenly nervous for whatever reason, "i think that's what most people think of you. i didn't think much of it until i stepped out of that arena too. most people think we can just leave it all behind, enjoy the riches, bringing our families out of poverty, not having to live on scraps of grain everyday, they'd think we'd all look like you. but i'm not."

"i'm not either y'know. i have to put on this face. so that my family doesn't ask how i am. so that the kids i send to die every year think they have a chance of getting out and being as happy as i look."

"even faking it though... it must take so much. i can barely look at the kids without being thrown right back into that arena."

"you never get used to it. y'know the first year after i won, i was so optimistic. i thought, if i could do it, there's no reason anyone else can't do it from our district. and i thought that year they had better chances than me. i was only 15 y'know, when i first started mentoring, not to mention it was the quarter quell so there were twice the tributes i was in charge of. the tributes that year were all 16 or 17, i thought they were older than me, fitter than me, they could win, they really stood a chance. and then i watched them all be cut down in the first few seconds of the cornucopia bloodbath. four people. just like that. dead."

"...i'm sorry."

"don't be. that's just the world we live in right? the only way to survive is to think like the people in the capitol. when you view them as objects, as items of entertainment instead of real, tangible lives, it's a hell of a lot easier to watch them die." there's a somber pause, your mind racing, sorting all this new information you're getting out of her, "not you though." and then your mind's quiet, senses hyperfocused on what nayeon says next.

she sighs, looking back out at the soft orange and yellow hues that start to fill the early morning sky, "i couldn't do it. i couldn't look at you like that. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't- i don't know. you were different. eight years sending 18 kids to die, but you came back."

"i couldn't have done it without you."

her lips turn upwards, just a little, but you catch it, "no. you brought it out of me. turns out when you actually care about who's in the arena instead of treating them like your next poker piece, you work a little harder to make sure they survive."

"but then what if they don't?"

her smile drops again, "i think you'll answer that for yourself after this year's games."

she sighs, standing up, about to leave, but you catch her hand, not even sure what compelled you to grab it. the contact makes both your eyes widen, looking down at where you're touching.

"wait..."

she waits. cocks her head, hand closing around yours in reciprocation.

you struggle to form the thoughts in your mind, too much information for your cognitive load to handle, but eventually one thing comes to the forefront.

"i care about you too."

nayeon smiles, a real smile this time, you can tell because her eyes crinkle, her nose scrunches, cheeks blush, perfect teeth show. you suddenly pull a memory from the depths of your brain, the first time you saw her, when her name was called out at her reaping. she was a small little thing, obviously young and frail, but her smile was just as practiced. except back then she had two large front teeth, it gave the appearance of a freshly born rabbit. you don't question where they've gone, her time in the capitol right before her games likely had her stylists 'fix' her teeth so she was objectively prettier and would attract more sponsors on screen. like cleaning the pigs before sending them to the slaughterhouse. what a broken world you lived in.

»┼)➝

you spend the next few days on the train leading up to the capitol getting to know julian and adeline better, trying to tease out parts of their personality that could be used to appeal to the public, as well as putting them on a basic exercise and meal regime to get them fitter and healthier for the games.

you also spent a lot more time with nayeon, working together to come up with the best plans and routines to put the tributes into, staying up late and studying all you can know about the other contestants that would be in the games, coming up with strategies that could be used once they were in the arena.

the outlandish extravagance of the capitol will never cease to amaze you. and judging by the look on nayeon’s face as you pull in, it seems no matter how many times you return, you will always be reminded of their power and riches over the districts.

you’ve been getting to learn nayeon’s expressions. right now, she’s sporting her fakest, most exaggerated smile for the capitol viewers. you know better though, the anger and disgust in her eyes only able to be interpreted by someone who came from the districts.

she turns to you then, and you blush, feeling caught staring, but she doesn't comment on it, instead brushing her hand past yours lightly, behind the peacekeepers stationed out front for your protection (or to keep you in line), and interlock your fingers where no one else can see. she squeezes gently in reassurance, leaning in to whisper into your ear, "smile y/n. you're the most recent victor, the one they'll remember best, the one they'll be most curious about since her games ended, their attention on you can help bring attention to our tributes who would never normally get this much of a crowd."

she was right. you didn't have time to wallow in the self-pity and hate you held for the capitol when you remember your two mentees from back home, likely terrified and completely overstimulated from their first sight of the capitol, the people coming to welcome them not even looking like they belonged to the same species, all dressed up in absurd colours and materials people in the districts probably slaved days away to manufacture.

you squeeze her hand in return, looking out to the crowd and smiling.

"look for the red dots. those are signs that cameras are currently recording for the rest of the capitol to see."

you follow nayeon's instructions, spotting the small blinking dots and smiling directly at them, waving and trying your best to remove yourself from your body, going into autopilot to not feel the utter abhorrence at being paraded around like a circus monkey.

the crowd becomes impossibly louder at your actions. when you can tell everyone's eyes are on you, you point to your tributes who are standing next to you, looking like newborn foals learning to walk, redirecting their attention.

nayeon gives you a little nod of approval, her hand not leaving yours while you slowly step off the train and follow the peacekeepers towards your transport to the training facilities while making your way through the welcome crowd.

by the time you finally arrive, it's already sundown and you can feel the exhaustion of having put on a face for so long. the tributes are taken away from you to meet their stylists for the first time. you're too tired to offer them any advice but nayeon steps in, still as energetic as she was when the day started.

"do everything the stylists tell you to do. it's gonna feel weird at first and they may even want you to do some things that you won't be comfortable with, but it's all gonna be for your benefit. just remember that they're on your side. they want to make you look like the best version of yourself for the rest of the capitol, and beauty sells. trust me i know."

they nod, thanking you both and being led off by peacekeepers.

you and nayeon are led to your floor where you'll be staying for the remainder of the games. as soon as you're inside you slump down onto the couch, waving off the avoxes that look at each other a little concerned.

"she's okay. just tired. you guys can leave us, we'll call you if we need anything." nayeon offers a polite smile, sitting down much more elegantly next to you.

the avoxes nod their acknowledgement and wander off. poor things.

when you hear that they're gone, you roll over to look at nayeon who's finally taken off her smile, folding her jacket neatly and placing it off to the side.

"you're really good at that."

she looks at you, tilts her head in question.

"you fooled me too. the whole happy polite princess thing you have going on. and you know you're way around. this is my first time back to the capitol since the games. i never thought i'd be back here."

something comes over her eyes, but she brushes it off, smiling at you, a little pained, but before she can reply, one of the avoxes comes back and whispers something into nayeon's ear. her face darkens, and she nods, standing back up.

"i have to go y/n. rest well." it's curt, she doesn't even look you in the eyes, and then she's gone.

you’re left blinking after her, confused at what just happened. did you say something wrong?

»┼)➝

nayeon isn't back even by dinner time. neither are your tributes, although they probably wouldn't be back until the next day, or even the day after. you remember the amount of procedures you'd gone through when you'd arrived. the preparations for the opening ceremony were extremely important for first impressions and they didn't have that much time to fix all the issues you'd grown up with. major plastic surgery was normally the way to go.

so you push the abundance of food around on your plate, thinking about how at home the amount of food you're eating could feed a family of 10. it sickens you. it's the first time since you'd left home that you were really alone. not counting the avoxes positioned behind you that had to attend to your every need. it was almost like you missed nayeon. she was always able to brighten your moods, playing around, even when things were serious she'd make sure nothing ever got too overwhelming for you or for the tributes. she was a veteran.

you sigh, pushing your food away, apetite gone. with nothing else to do, you retire to bed after a shower. maybe the soft mattresses and expensive fabrics designed particularly for sleep would finally grant you a night of good sleep.

it did the exact opposite. the fabric rubs your skin the wrong way, and you're tossing and turning in bed, playing around with the different settings of the window, shuffling your pillows around. you just couldn't find peace.

you yawn, giving up and sliding out of bed. you pad outside your room, intending to get some fresh air. on the train you didn't have that luxury, but you could still see the countryside while it passed. at least now you had a balcony in the main living room. it was caged off in case any of the tributes tried to commit suicide before the actual games, but it was still fresh air.

the cool tiles of the floor feel foreign on the skin of your feet. before you make it to the balcony door, you hear the front door clicking open.

your heart stops, sweat immediately building up on your brow, your body being thrown back into the arena, terrified someone was here to kill you.

your movements are quick, crouching and scrambling towards the couch in silence, grabbing the closest thing you can, the couch blanket. you'd learnt anything can be fashioned into a weapon with the right mindset. the blanket could be used to choke the intruder if it really came to it.

you peek to the side of the couch, holding your breath as soft footsteps pad towards the living room, the only light available is the one in the entry way, overcasting a shadow moving its way closer and closer.

but as soon as it's about to turn the corner, it stops.

you curse internally. did they notice you?

you don't get to form a second thought before a pin is whizzing your way, impaling itself into the couch. you barely have enough time to scramble backwards, the cushion of the couch saving you, but the person is leaping forwards, pushing you down into the floor. you react automatically, struggling against the figure, using the blanket you're clutching onto to latch onto a leg, yanking so they lose their balance, toppling over. you take the opportunity to quickly clamber over them, pulling the blanket to wrap around their neck.

their hands come up immediately, trying to create space between the fabric pulled tight at their throat, gasping in effort.

you finally can assess the intruder. she's wearing a short dress, pale skin exposed, hair pinned up in a clean updo with the same pins that she must have used to throw at you once she noticed your presence. and then suddenly, with horror you realise it's nayeon.

you quickly let her go, scrambling back until your back hits the couch, staring at her as she coughs, trying to catch her breath.

"nayeon!"

she groans, turning, eyes adjusting to the dark, "y/n?"

"oh fuck i'm so sorry i didn't- i thought there was an intruder-"

she massages her throat, letting out a little chuckle when she realises what's happened, "it's okay y/n. i thought the same. sorry for almost impaling you with a hairpin."

you stare at her, still in shock. "what- where have you been- jesus i almost killed you-"

"don't get cocky now. i could've gotten out of that."

you roll your eyes, "i'm serious nayeon. what are you wearing? i'm sorry too." your words are flying out, too many thoughts coming up too fast, but mainly, you're just glad it wasn't some assassin sent to kill you.

she looks down at herself, like she was just remembering she was dressed up. "ugh never mind that. are you okay? you're not hurt are you?"

you shake your head, "you?"

"i'm good don't worry your pretty little self. anyway i'm gonna go take a shower. you should go back to sleep y/n."

you tilt your head, standing up when she does, "but where have you been?"

she starts towards the bedrooms, turning on the hallway light so you can finally see each other, "out." she doesn't look at you when she replies, pulling her dress down so it covers more of herself. you catch a glimpse of the scar on her right thigh right before she covers it, the one she got in her games when someone had slashed her leg. her face is made up, but you notice the mascara running down her face in tear streaks. it's such a surprise it stops you in your tracks. you hadn't seen nayeon cry since that time you were barely conscious and just out of the arena.

"nayeon..."

she pauses, but doesn't turn back to look at you, "what is it?"

"i... you... are you okay?"

nayeon lets out a dry laugh, "i'm fine y/n. you aren't that strong. i just feel really gross and i need to shower. i'll see you in the morning."

before you can stop her she's stepping into her room and closing the door. you frown, she was obviously lying, something had happened while she was out and she wasn't telling you. it was fine if she didn't want to tell you, you just... you cared about her. you owe your life to her. you want to do anything you can to repay her.

so you sit outside her room, it's not like you were going to be able to get any sleep anyway, you'd wait for her to finish her shower and talk to you.

»┼)➝

it's almost an hour before she leaves her room. you sit fiddling your thumbs, thinking up scenarios of what could have possibly happened. nayeon was too good at hiding herself. you wished she'd open herself up. if not to her family, to you, someone who understood what it feels like to be in her position. you were one of a kind, there weren't going to be many district 9 victors after you, there certainly weren't any before her.

when she finally opens her door you scramble up.

she looks down at you surprised, her hands wringing out her hair in a towel, face bare. you're reminded of just how young she was. despite her experience and knowledge of everything, you remember she was just a girl.

she smiles. you're practiced enough that you can tell it's fake.

"what are you doing here y/n?"

"waiting for you."

"i told you to go to sleep."

"i couldn't sleep anyway."

her smile stays as she steps past you, you follow quietly. she turns the kitchen lights on, rummaging around in the fridge for something to eat.

"have you not eaten yet?"

her hands stop moving for a second, "no. not yet."

"where were you?"

she sighs, taking out a takeaway box and moving to the microwave. "i was out y/n. i told you. please stop asking me."

"but why can't you tell me?"

"it's classified."

"what?"

"i can't tell anyone."

"but why?"

"i can't tell you that."

the microwave rings.

"do you not trust me?"

"it's not that."

"then why?"

she sighs again, ripping off the lid of her takeaway box a little roughly, "i just can't tell you y/n. you'll probably find out after this year's games end anyway."

"what is that supposed to mean?"

she whips around then, eyes red, eyebrows furrowed, she's raw and genuine for the first time, too tired to keep concealing herself. "you're not stupid y/n. you're an attractive victor. what do you think happens to attractive victors? where do you think i go when we're back home and i have to leave? i'm certainly not out farming or doing all the regular jobs people back home do."

that takes you back, the pure hurt in her eyes, the way she cowers into herself in just her thin sleeping clothes and bare face. she's so much younger, so much more human without all the flashy smiles and outfits she wears for the capitol.

"i- i don't- i just thought-"

"no. you weren't thinking. you're naïve y/n. you think we have to live with just our traumas from the games. you think there's an end to it all. that once you get over what happened in the arena you'll be able to live a normal life. the life. the life they promised us when they said we'd win the games. well i'm sure living it!" she chuckles darkly, arms flailing out and raising her voice to the ceiling.

"it never ends y/n. all they do is take and take until we're as bare and barren as the farms we take care of."

you blink stupidly, the reality of what she's saying settling in.

"you admire me for how well i lie." she spits the word out, mouth dripping venom and eyes furious, "i lie to survive. everyone does. the capitol lies to us, promising us riches and glory for winning the games. that's why districts like 1 and 2 exist right? why careers fight to volunteer to kill other kids in the arena? i wonder if they'd go back in time and do the same thing once they realise what winning actually means. we're not real to them y/n. we're not humans. we're products. expensive, dolled up, murderers they have on a leash."

she sighs heavily, both hands coming to rake her hair backwards. "i'm sorry. i was meant to be your mentor. i was meant to prepare you for all of this." her voice cracks, you stare at her, mouth agape, processing all this new information, "but i couldn't. i just couldn't. i was so happy when you won. i thought i could protect you from it all."

"w-what do you mean protect me?"

she slumps, her posture giving out, you've never seen her so broken. "they wanted to start you off last year. because you were already 18 when you won." she scoffs, "not that it stopped them from starting me when i was 15. i convinced them to give you a year. i wanted you to know what it felt like to win. to be free of it all, to have your belly full, to be with your family, to be able to live without the fear of not waking up the next day."

you gawk at her in horror, "what did you do nayeon?"

she chuckles darkly again, "i said i'd take your customers. until your year was over."

"you- what?!"

she wipes at her eyes angrily, picking up a spoon and stabbing it into her food, "it's fine y/n. it's not a big deal."

"wha- nayeon- it is a big deal! this- you can't- i'll kill-"

suddenly she's got a hand clamped over your mouth, so close you can see the redness of her eyes, the small freckles that dot her skin. "don't say something you'll regret. they have ears everywhere."

you gulp, nodding, wide-eyed as she lets you go.

"w-what about what you said?"

"i didn't say anything explicit. and you were going to find out soon anyway. your year is almost up."

"what- why haven't you fought back? why have you gone along with this for so long?"

she laughs thickly, "careful. that's rebellion you're talking about."

"but it's not fair! the deal was once we won we won! the only thing we should have to do is become mentors! and even doing that is cruel enough being forced to relive the games each year!"

"there are no limits to how cruel humans can be y/n."

"i- but- but still!"

"i have family. so do you. what do you think happens to them if you say no?"

that makes you pause, thinking back to your parents who worked so hard to bring you and your siblings up. who kept you alive until you were 18. lots of kids weren't that fortunate. many died from starvation, or of the unhygienic circumstances back home.

you collect yourself, taking a breath, nayeon was still inches away from you, studying your reactions. "do they know?" you ask softly.

she sighs, shaking her head, "my mother went through enough when my dad died. even more when i was reaped for the games. she thinks my trips away are just meeting people in the capitol for business ventures or whatever. it makes sense because i always bring back large sums of money. and my sister... i never want her to find out how cruel this world is. it's enough she still has to be entered into the reapings at least once a year, but that'll stop soon when she turns 18. and then i hope to just give her a normal life. she'll never have to worry over me again."

"nayeon..."

she sniffles, "it's fine y/n. worry about yourself. i can't look after you anymore. i'm sorry."

"are you kidding?! nayeon please... i don't- do you not understand what you mean to me? i owe you my life. and now i find out you've been doing this for me for the past year. you don't have to protect me. i can protect myself. i won my games didn't i?" you try for a smile, she gives you a teary one back.

"i just- i never knew nayeon i'm sorry. i'm sorry i didn't know you were going through all this on your own. i wished you'd told me. i wished you wouldn't shoulder all this on your own. we know you're strong. we all saw your games, we know you're capable of survivng. you don't have to keep proving that. you can rely on others every once in a while."

"others like you?" she jokes, smiling up at you.

"yeah. like me. i'm the only other one that can relate. that can understand. i want to be there for you. i told you, i owe you my life, my family's lives. that's a debt i'll never be able to repay. i want to do as much as i can in this lifetime to be there for you."

"you don't have to do that y/n-"

"yes. yes i do. you've been there for me this entire time, without me even knowing. when will you let me do the same for you?"

that gives her pause, she hides under wisps of hair that have fallen down over her forehead.

you ache to brush them away, to cup her cheeks, to see those eyes again.

your wish is granted when she looks up after a second, pupils glassy. and then without another word she's burying herself in the crevice of your neck, arms coming up to wrap around you, taking a shaky inhale. you react just like you had when she had thrown that pin at you, immediately reciprocating, pushing your cheek against hers and circling your arms around her waist.

you stay there for an immeasurable amount of time. unsaid words drifting between you, sharing emotions, pain. nayeon finally feels like she's not alone for the first time since she'd won her games 9 years ago. and you finally feel at peace in her arms, the ghosts that haunted you gone for the moment.

the both of you wound up in nayeon's bed that night. it wasn't awkward, the complete opposite. you naturally gravitated towards her after she finishes eating, and she lets you cling to her. when you fall asleep, limbs entangled and hearts beating in tandem, you'll realise in the morning, it's the first time the both of you will have had a full night's rest without any of your regrets invading your dreams.

»┼)➝

the horn sounds. you grip nayeon's hand as the competitors rush forwards, you try taking in as much of the arena as you could, as if you were standing on the platforms in the arena for the first time again. you were lucky in your games to have been granted fields of tall grass. it obstructed all of the other competitors’ vision and would prove very difficult to hide in, but you were practiced in moving around between blades of wheat that grew up to 2m tall back home without making a sound. this year it seems they took a more traditional approach, the cornucopia is in the middle of the arena as always, plain desert and beating sun the only thing visible. you can make out sand dunes on the far right of the arena. it would be hard to find a water source. your eyes lock onto your tributes, praying they make it through the initial bloodbath. they're not placed in a position they can see each other, in this scenario, you and nayeon had instructed them to run for it. don't bother with the initial bloodbath, the first thing they'd need to find was water.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see adeline do exactly that. she makes for the dunes you spotted earlier, leaving behind the chaos of the first few minutes. but then the camera pans to julian, seemingly frozen on his platform, completely petrified as he watches the girl from district 8 fall to her knees after someone launches a javelin at her.

"move!" you're extremely tense watching the scene, trying to maintain your composure as you knew you were still in public, the opening of the games was always a big spectacle, all the mentors were situated up in viewing boxes while the capitol watched along on massive screens.

nayeon grips your hand tighter, a warning not to be too loud, to keep on that mask.

you spare a glance at her, her features are tight in concentration, eyes glued to the little figures on the screen.

your head whips back when the crowd suddenly howls. it seems the career pack has formed and has just taken down both the tributes from district 12. it disgusts you how these people can cheer over the deaths of children.

julian has finally started moving though. he leaps off the platform and runs forward.

no. no no no. he needs to run away from the cornucopia. you grit your teeth, he must have seen the deaths of the district 12 tributes and thought the careers would be distracted.

the camera follows as he crouches and dips past ongoing fights, he manages to grab a sword, but that's where his luck ends. the girl from district four is wielding a nasty trident, charging straight for him. he tries to fend her off with his sword, catching it in one of the prongs of the trident, but then with horror, his feet catch on the sand. he hasn't gotten used to the terrain yet. he must have known running on sand was much more difficult than running on regular ground or the concrete of the training grounds. the girl takes the opportunity to yank her trident back, and then jabs it straight into him, all three prongs go through his chest and out the other side. you can see him cough up blood in shock, hands coming up to rest on the handle of the trident, she pushes him down and steps on his stomach to yank her weapon back out, already on the lookout for her next victim.

you can't believe what just happened. you had knew him. you had spoken to him. you had just seen and touched him this morning before he was flown off to the arena. it's completely unreal. the crowd roars with glee.

your mind can't keep up with your eyes. there's no way he was dead. the sounds, senses of the crowd drown out, you stare blankly at the main screen, watching other kids be cut down left and right, kids smaller than your youngest siblings, all while people dressed up in nauseating colours and patterns placed bets and had their children play fight with toy swords and weapons imitating real life people that died for their entertainment.

"y/n- y/n... y/n!" nayeon's shaking you out of your stupor, you blink, looking down at your intertwined hands, her concerned look that's quickly masked with a smile.

"the announcer was just asking you for some comments about the opening." you can see straight through her smile, you've spent much more time together over the past couple weeks while you were preparing your tributes for the games. you didn't explicitly talk about it, but you'd always end up in her bed each night, cuddled up and talking about everything and nothing until you both fell asleep. it was the only way you could sleep these days, and you knew it was the same for her.

you look past her shoulder to see a short man with bright green hair and a matching moustache. he smiles expectantly, teeth all white and glowing, holding out a microphone to you.

nayeon squeezes your hand again, hidden under the tresses of your gowns.

you clear your throat, awkwardly leaning forward and looking into the camera panned towards you, "r-right. um well it's pretty standard from what we can see. my arena last year must have made it difficult to see all the... fighting so it seems they've gone with something a lot more open this year." you try for a joke, earning a boisterous laugh from the man with green hair and from some in the audience who were looking on where your face was projected on one of the smaller screens next to the main livestream.

"we can definitely see all the juicy bits more clearly can't we!"

juicy bits?! is he trying to remind us of the bloody insides of all the kids being slashed open?! what kind of sick joke is it to use those words?! nayeon saves you the outburst, speaking up with a smile and a voice you know she's only ever used when talking to capitol media.

"definitely! and i must say wilbur your moustache is fantastic this year!"

he blushes, twirling the green hair on his upper lip, "thank you nayeon. you're as beautiful as always. and i'm glad to see you're finally accompanied by another victor your age! it must have been very lonely these last few years on your own."

nayeon's hand tightens against you. you want to punch this man in the face.

"yes i'm very glad to have y/n here. we make a fine team don't you think?" she grins. you notice the angrier she is, the more absurd her acting is, almost as if she's testing the limits of just how far she can go before people finally realise she's been sarcastic the entire time.

"of course! 2 fine ladies such as yourselves, you're both a hit in the capitol! i'm sure lots of fellas in the crowd tonight would love to see you two team up another time."

there's an uproar in the crowd, obviously male voices hollering and agreeing with laughter.

you're absolutely revolted at the implication. so you can't stop yourself when the next words fall out of your mouth, "i'm sure you'd know a lot about teaming up wouldn't you wilbur? how many fellas do you have twirled around that moustache of yours?"

nayeon is barely able to conceal a scoff, hiding it as a cough into your shoulder. you smile daringly, all teeth as wilbur stares at you aghast.

he clears his throat, "i'm not quite sure i know what you mean by that y/n."

"oh nothing. just wondering how many balls you have to play with when you do that team sport out here... i don't quite recall the name, it must be something that is only really fashionable out here in the capitol."

"r-right. sports. ahaha! you must have gotten me mixed up with someone else y/n! yes that must be it. everyone here will know i'm not really one for sports." he tries to steer the subject off, his face burning up bright red, with his green hair he looks like a mishappen christmas tree. he moves on quickly after that, going to interview less problematic mentors.

"you shouldn't always let them get away with shit like that nayeon." you frown when the attention is off you again, whispering into her ear.

she shakes her head, "sometimes it's better to let it go than to bring it up. more trouble than it's worth. you did very well though. are you okay? you zoned out a bit back there."

you sigh, running your thumb over hers gently, "yeah. just... wasn't prepared i guess. adeline is still in it though, she's got a decent chance if she manages to find water."

"you can never prepare for this. i'm sorry."

"there's nothing to apologise for. you warned me on the train, about what it's like. nothing compares to the real thing though."

"i know. i'm here for you though okay? i couldn't physically help you in the arena but i can now."

"stop that nayeon. you did more than enough for me in the arena. i told you. i owe you my life."

she smiles. you're taken aback by the genuinity of it. the slightly dimmed lighting, her makeup not too over the top like some of the people you've seen walking around the capitol, but accentuating her already flawless features even better. you knew she was attractive, you'd have to be blind not to. and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't thought of nayeon as something more. you pushed it down though. people like you and nayeon didn't have the luxury of feelings like love.

you quickly break away from her gaze and those perfectly heart-shaped lips, looking back to the aftermath of the opening minutes. but even the grim bloodied bodies littering the floor that you can barely comprehend are real, do little for the blush that dusts your cheeks and the fluttering in your stomach.

»┼)➝

you can tell from the way she's breathing nayeon’s not asleep yet either. one of her arms is draped over your midriff, her breaths lightly hitting the back of your neck, legs entangled with your own.

"you're still awake." you whisper out into the quiet of her bedroom walls.

"so are you."

you don't dare turn to face her, knowing your faces would be centimetres apart, breaths hitting each other's lips, noses almost touching.

"i can't get it out my head. the way the trident just went through him. like he was made of clay."

her voice is soft, careful, "i’ll never forget any of them. not any of my kills.”

“he wasn’t your kill nayeon. the tributes you mentored aren’t your kills.”

“they may as well be. as a mentor, surely i can do something. but every year is the same. i don’t learn. i can’t do anything for them.”

“you helped me survive.”

she sighs, breath tickling the back of your neck, her arms wrap around you just a little tighter. “i told you. you’re different.”

“how?”

“you just are. i don’t know how to explain it.”

“you don’t have to. i… nevermind. still, i don’t think you should think of the tributes we mentor as people we’ve killed. it’s the capitol, everything’s them, that’s the big enemy remember?” your voice is hushed, paranoid they’re listening in somehow but also desperate to soothe nayeon’s worries.

“it doesn’t change what i did. all victors are murderers. we lost our innocence the day our names were pulled out of that bowl.”

“you’re right. we have to live with that. but at least we’re not alone now.” you decide to risk it, turning and shuffling around the bed until your nose to nose. you can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks already, wisps of her hair tickling your face, her eyes shining in the dark.

she stares at you for a little, eyes darting around your face. "you're right. we're not alone now." she speaks in a whisper, breath gently kissing your lips with her words.

you can't help but look down at her slightly parted, heart-shaped lips, her breaths coming in and out softly, luring you in. you're magnetised. the tension between you two is undeniable, thick enough to make you feel almost drowsy, eyes drooping and lidded, only focused on tracing the shape of her lips.

nayeon's the one to break it.

she leans in closer, hand tightening around your waist, closing her eyes and pressing your lips together. it's not sparks or lightning, it's just two mouths moving against one another, finding comfort in one another, it's soft and pure and everything the capitol robbed the two of you of when they turned you into murderers.

but then it's not. there's a salty tinge to her, the taste of tears. you open your eyes slowly, breaking away from her, she takes the opportunity to inhale shakily.

"nayeon?" you frown, immediately concerned you've overstepped.

she hides her face in your neck, squeezing herself against you.

"hey... what happened? what's wrong?"

"we- w-we can't." her voice is wobbly, there are still tears dripping down her face.

your heart sinks, "we can't?"

"i'm- i can't- i'm a product y/n. you'll become one too. i can't- i can't lose you too."

"but- you won't lose me."

"you don't know that y/n. you don't know what the capitol is capable of. if they find out we're- if they find out we care for each other like that they'll tear us apart. we can never have what normal people have."

"but that won't stop me from caring for you! and i know that's not going to stop you either."

"but when- i don’t- when they start selling you off i don’t know how i’ll be able to- to not kill them all."

you bring a hand up to her cheek, forcing her to look at you, thumb swiping across the skin under her eye, wiping off her tears, "i know. i don't know how i'll be able to do it either. but you're worth it. i haven't felt- i haven't felt this understood, i've spent so long thinking i'm alone, that i'll have to spend the rest of my life like this, but you make me feel happy. after all we've been through don't you think we deserve that?"

"but- but- they can't know y/n- they can't take you away from me."

"and they won't. i promise. do you trust me?"

nayeon stares up at you, her eyes shining, lip wobbly. she bites down into it after a second, breathing out a small "yes."

"i trust you too. anything they throw at us, we'll take it together. okay?"

she sighs, nodding, bringing a shaky hand up to feel you, just to make sure you were real, that she wasn't conjuring all this up to cope with her trauma. you lean into her touch, hand coming up to grip her wrist and squeeze, leaning in and touching your nose against hers, feeling safer than you've ever felt in your entire life.

»┼)➝

the next day is more of the same. at least this time you're not in a display box so you can have genuine reactions and you can be close to nayeon in the privacy of your own floor, finding comfort in her arms and words.

you spend the morning cuddled up, choosing to eat breakfast on the couch while the livestream of the arena plays. when there's nothing interesting going on they have live coverage of news anchors and commentators reacting to replays and talking about what happened during the night that the audience may have missed while they were asleep. adeline hasn't been seen on screen much but you know she's still alive and has found a small alcove in the desert with cacti that she can cut open to drink water from. still, you know it won't last her and nayeon and you plan on going out during lunch when most of the capitol citizens will be out and about to start finding sponsors to send water or food to adeline in the arena.

by the time you're in the city you come to realise just how good nayeon is at networking. you trail behind her like a lost puppy while she greets extravagantly overdressed citizens of the upper circle with a bright smile, compliments, and sparkling eyes. she seems to understand that you're much newer at this so she brings you along as a prop of sorts, convincing new and old sponsors to sponsor district 9 once again, after all, the most recent victor did come from district 9, and adeline was tutored by you with the most recent experience winning which made her someone to look out for in the later days of the games.

there are lots more people that recognise than you think, colours and materials you've never seen or felt before invading your senses, fake voices and compliments trying to get on your good side, you can simply smile and try your best to keep up.

eventually, you're seperated from nayeon when a short man engages you in a conversation about hair products and how you got yours to be so shiny and natural, you only nod along while he talks your ear off about different products and chemicals he's tried on his orange mess of a flat top, you can only provide clueless agreements and your simple hair routine back home. but you manage to steer the conversation back to the games and actually manage to get him to donate something as long as he gets the name of the random shampoo brand you use back home.

once you wave him off, you excitedly look around for nayeon, eager to tell her about your first donation that you managed all on your own. but as you scan the square, you can’t seem to catch sight of her.

you frown, wandering around a little until you spot her, hidden away in the shadows behind a few pillars. your eyes light up, almost skipping over to her until you realise she’s with someone else.

“stop- no i don’t want to-“

“c’mon you want sponsors don’t you? i’ll give you double what your highest donation is if you come now-“

“no! i’m not rostered on right now you can’t just- you can’t approach me in public like this-“

“no one saw us sweetheart c’monnn if we go now we can leave quietly. besides i saw your other victor and she’s doing alright on her own, she won’t even notice you’re gone.”

the man she’s with is gripping nayeon’s forearm harshly, when he starts pulling her away you step in, clearing your throat, eyes flaring up. “i did notice she was gone actually.”

nayeon whips her head around to you, but you can barely see her, your gaze is fixed on the way he still has his fingers wrapped around her, squeezing so tight her skin is white around his fingers.

your eyes trail up to his face when he laughs, not letting go of nayeon, “oh! y/n right? don’t worry nayeon and i are good friends. i’m just gonna borrow her for a bit yeah?”

you step forward, an arm sliding around nayeon’s waist protectively, glaring up into his blue eyes and perfectly sculpted nose, “is that true nayeon?” you don’t back down from his sleazy gaze while you direct the question to the older woman.

his eyes flick over to her, a warning in his eyes.

“i-it’s okay y/n i can handle this just go back to the square.”

you frown, unwilling to let her go, “no.”

the man raises an eyebrow, “you two a package deal now or something?”

nayeon bristles then, yanking her arm away from him, “don’t fucking touch her.”

the man backs up, surprised, “woah! calm down bunny i was just joking around.”

nayeon flushes at the nickname, “whatever josh. i told you i’m not rostered right now. book me in for when i’m actually available.”

“and her?” he smirks, nodding his head to you.

she grits her teeth, “take it up with your agent. don’t contact me outside again or i’ll make sure you won’t be able to buy any one of us.”

she doesn’t wait for him to respond, pulling you away and back into the main area.

you’re quiet, processing the information you just learnt. she doesn’t look at you, eyebrows furrowed, hand tight against yours.

“… was that one of your customers?”

she sighs, “yeah. one of my pushier ones.”

“i’m sorry.”

“what for? he pays well.” she spits out, storming back to your accommodation, deciding socialising for the day is done, she had collected enough donations today.

“i’m sorry you have to deal with him.”

“it’s not your fault.” she says simply, pulling you into the elevator and punching in your floor number.

you ascend silently, fiddling with your fingers, unsure of what else to say.

when you arrive, your fingers are still interlaced with hers, but she relaxes as soon as you step in, letting her mask drop.

“you did really well today.”

she smiles at you then, “thank you. i saw you grab that last donation too. adeline will be happy.”

you step closer to her, tentative and shy, her eyes crinkle at the sight. “thank you.”

“what for?”

you step closer again, swinging your intertwined hands slightly, “protecting me all that time.”

her hand tightens against yours.

“can you actually do that? stop him from using your… services?”

she snorts, “no. but he doesn’t know that. all he thinks about is his dick anyway, any danger to that and he’ll back off.”

“do they ever hurt you?”

her eyes soften, looking into yours, searching. “sometimes. sometimes it gives them pleasure. other times they like to take out their anger on us. maybe they’ve had a bad day or they’ve had a fight with their spouse at home or whatever else. they don’t need an excuse to treat us however they like.”

“that’s terrible.”

“it’s the world we live in.”

“what if we… what if we were a package deal?”

she raises an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

“if they had to book us together. it’d make me feel better, if i could protect you somehow while we’re in there. that you have someone else there in case anything extreme happens. and…” you blush, thinking over your next words, “i know i have to… share you, but at least this way i can see what others do to you, so i still have some semblance of control over the situation.”

nayeon hums, pulling you in by the waist so you're no longer awkwardly hovering around her trying to think of how to get closer to her, "i can ask. that's a good idea y/n. and i'm sure lots of people would love to see two pretty girls getting it on." she jokes.

you blush, looping your arms around her neck loosely, playing with the hair at the back of her neck that has come out of her updo, "i don't- i've never- y'know..."

there's a hint of a smirk on her face, you're avoiding her gaze, "you've never...?"

you whine, knowing she's teasing you on purpose, pushing her away from you but she laughs, pulling you back into her and pecking you gently, "do you want to? there's no rush. i'm worried we may be taking things a bit fast but as long as you're comfortable i'm okay with whatever."

you look at her determinedly, "i don't think we can move too fast. i think we should take whatever we can get while things are good before the capitol tries to break us apart. i want to be with you, all of you, for as long as you'll let me."

nayeon smiles, leaning her forehead against yours, "i want to be with you for as long as you'll let me as well."

you reciprocate her smile, leaning in and pressing your lips against hers, hesitant, but loving. she responds immediately, one hand remaining at your waist and another coming up to rest on the crevice of your neck. you move easily against each other, it's comfortable, safe, you're both on the same wavelength, and nayeon treats you with utmost respect and adoration, ensuring you felt just as loved as she felt, keeping you grounded and at-home in her arms.

»┼)➝

it's another few days before something big happens. nayeon and you spend every minute wrapped up in one another, basking in the comfort and excitement of something new yet reminiscent of innocent, purer times.

that shatters completely when it gets to day 6 of the games.

adeline has managed to survive this long without coming into real contact with any of the other surviving tributes. nayeon has done most of the brunt work in receiving sponsorships and donations which you use strategically to lead adeline towards water sources or away from enemy tributes that may be nearing her location.

however, it seems the gamemakers had had enough of her cat and mouse game by the time there are only 5 tributes left, adeline, the boy from district 1, the two from district 2, and the girl from district 11 who managed to create her own water and food source in the barely repairable soil, turning it into her own farm using knowledge from her home district.

it was nearing the finale, and everyone in the audience knew it. the anticipation would put pressure on the gamemakers to bring out their final tricks, to lure all the tributes into one location to fight it out to the end.

that trick turned out to be a sandstorm in the night, blinding all the tributes, throwing off coordinates, destroying the girl from 11's farm, and forcing all the contestants to stumble blindly in the dark while the storm whipped around them harshly, sand cutting into skin and drying up lips while the cold chill of the desert night only made it even more difficult to find one's senses.

the girl from district 2 was smart, she used the sandstorm and her teammates' confusion to her advantage, taking the chance to stab the boy from 1, making him think it was the boy from 2, and letting them fight it out while she ran off, abandoning the career alliance that was inevitably going to break down towards the end of the games anyway. the boy from 2 ends up being able to defend himself well enough to deliver the finishing blow on the boy from 1, but he sustained fatal injuries in the process and died slowly and painfully in the storm while the sand lapped at his open wounds and his mouth gasped for water through mouthfuls of sand, wishing he was the one who was killed first.

when the storm finally dies down, the audience can see the carnage it has wrecked on the arena, three girls left, all within a 20 minute radius of one another. if it wasn't clear this was the endgame, it was definitely clear now.

the entire topography has been shifted, everything is now covered in sand. there would be no food, no water, the girls would either starve or thirst to death first in which case it would be a test of endurance, or find each other first and win the games to end their own form of suffering in living in this unlivable arena.

the girl from 11 seemed to want to take the former approach, burrowing herself under dunes of sand, digging for her farm and hoping the desert heat and lack of water would mirage her location into regular sand dunes while she hid until the final 2. the girl from 2 is set on the latter, going on the prowl immediately to find the remaining two contestants and claim her victory.

unfortunately for adeline, because the girl from 11 hid herself so well, it meant she came into contact with the girl from 2 first.

she puts up a good fight. everyone in the capitol is on the edge of their seats. as soon as the storm had cleared, nayeon and you had immediately sent adeline some supplies, water, a basic first-aid kit to tend to the wounds she had received earlier in the games, anything to let her know you were both still watching and keeping an eye on her, that she wasn't alone despite the immense loneliness and hopelessness she must have felt living in the desert for the last 6 days.

but even that wasn't enough to deal with the mental pressure of being in that situation for so long, thinking you actually have a chance of winning, of going home, she let her guard down, openly gulping down water while the girl from 2 crept up behind her.

adeline reacts just in time, throwing her bottle away and picking up the sword she had retrieved off a dead tribute's body earlier on in the game, swiping blindly in order to create some distance.

she manages to find her footing, standing on both legs, eyes zeroing in on her opponent who has already started lunging forward with her next attack. her weapon is longer, able to reach further, but adeline is tall and gifted with long limbs, able to maneuver herself out of the way before getting impaled by the pointy end of a spear, whipping around quickly to slice a deep cut in the girl's arm while it's still outstretched holding the spear.

the girl yelps out in pain, but quickly recovers, switching the spear to her non-dominant hand, jabbing forward without missing a beat, gritting her teeth in effort.

the crowd in the captiol is cheering, throwing popcorn, placing last minute bets, rowdier than ever after they couldn't clearly see the fight between the boys from districts 1 and 2 because the sandstorm had lowered visibility on the cameras. now, they could see every parry, every stab, every drop of blood that’s splattered onto hot, golden sand. the pure bloodlust is nonsensical.

adeline manages to block off each advance, but there's simply nowhere left to run or hide, everything that could be used has been covered by sand, there's only acres and acres of desert. so it makes sense when she loses her footing on the loose grains, falling onto her back and losing grip of her sword. the girl from 2 is quick to kick it away and out of reach, and adeline is tired, thirsty, and near delusional from being in the heat and arena for so long, that the ripping squelch that sounds out on speakers across the country as the girl from 2 shoves the end of her spear into adeline's chest, comes almost as a blessing, ending her pain at last.

the gamemakers are able to lure the girl from two to the girl from 11's hiding spot after that, and the final battle ensues, the girl from 2 rising up on top, bloodied and battered but grinning with the glee and pride only those in the career districts could have after killing and coming out on top over 23 other children.

you barely have time to mourn adeline's death, you and nayeon are both thrusted into interviews immediately, forced to watch replays and close-ups of the killing, to watch the life drain out of adeline’s eyes over and over again, asked for comments and messages to send back home, to congratulate the winner on becoming one of you, a murderer.

and even worse, when the day’s finally over and you can retire to your safe space in your apartment for your last night there, nayeon is called out for a premium customer, someone paying triple the normal fare to spend one more night with her before she goes back to her district. so you're left alone, watching repeated news coverage of the hunger games from start to finish, dolled up 'scientists' and gamemakers being brought on for interviews and time to analyse kills and strategies the tributes used, milking every drop of profit and entertainment out of the deaths of children not their own.

you'd watch something else but every channel on capitol television is talking about the end of the games, you switch every time your face, or your post-games interview comes up, cringing at the way you looked and spoke, feeling as if you betrayed your district for dishonouring adeline and julian's deaths by dragging them out for the enjoyment of people who never cared for them, wanting desperately to go home and find their parents and offer your condolences, and maybe sneak some of your victor rations to their families so they at least didn't have to worry about another death. you were determined to take care of all of your mentee's families, you know it's what you would've wanted if you had died in that arena.

by the time nayeon comes back, you've already settled in her bed, cuddled up on her side and taking in the scent she's left behind, the tv still playing in her room at a low volume.

you sit up immediately when you hear her come into the room, closing the door softly behind her. she looks at you and smiles defeatedly. "you look cute."

you blush, burrowing into her sheets more which only serves to widen the smile on her face, "are you okay?" you ask.

"i need a shower."

she doesn't say anything else. you remember the last time she came home this late, not having eaten anything and only wanting to get rid of the feeling of another person's hands on her body off of her. you nod, shy, letting her walk around collecting clothes and heading into the bathroom.

she doesn't bother closing the door. you appreciate the gesture. it's a dramatic change from the first time she had locked you outside her room unknowingly, to think she trusts you enough to leave the door unlocked in her most vulnerable state warms your heart. you hate the capitol for what they've done to her, what they'll continue to do to her. at least this was the last time she would have to do it alone, she had talked to higher ups in the capitol and gotten president snow himself to agree to your proposition, you'd hope your presence would at least ease some of the tension she felt during those sessions.

you hear the shower turn on, and you hesitate, thinking over your next moves carefully.

after some deliberation, you quietly move off her bed, padding to the bathroom and stripping off the pyjamas you had already put on when you were getting ready for bed.

you stand outside the fogged up door for a second, admiring her silhouette, but soon grow cold, opening the door gently and announcing your presence to not frighten her.

she turns, surprised, bar of soap in her hand, hair wet and squinting at you without her glasses or contacts on. she's adorable.

"y/n?"

"hi... is it okay if i join you?" your arms bracket your chest, suddenly shy even though she's seen all of you already.

she smiles, pulling you in under the stream of hot water, "of course. i'm sorry i'm not really feeling up to doing anything today-"

"no! i didn't- no i didn't come in with that intention i just... wanted to help you get clean."

she blinks up at you, water still running over her face and hair, and then she pulls you down into a wet kiss, arms still holding onto yours as you kiss her back sweetly.

you break away first, smiling and nudging your nose against hers, "turn around, i'll do your back first."

she follows, bending her neck down so the water doesn't get in her eyes, handing you the bar of soap she was holding.

you lather her back up, caressing the small scars and moles you had memorised. you had asked the story of each one, and nayeon had told you. your heart broke with each scar, most of them from her games, but some of them from rougher times with clients, others from when she was even younger, working the fields and factories back home. there were more from when she was young, but most of them were surgically removed or fixed when she was first fitted for her games, her stylists wanted her to look as young and as pure as her age suggested, hoping to entice sponsors either out of pity or admiration.

you rub her shoulders, work the knots in her back while you wash her, feel her relax under your touch.

when you get to her right thigh, you're extremely careful, and nayeon takes notice.

"it's okay. it doesn't hurt anymore."

you frown, rubbing gently over the largest scar on her body, the one she covered up most often and got in her finale fight in the games. "i know. i still want to be careful though."

she smiles, pecking your cheek while you concentrate on cleaning her to the best of your ability. she had opened up about how disgusted she would feel in her own body after she would come back from sessions with her clients, often spending an hour or more scrubbing away at her skin until it was red and irritated and hurt to continue before she finally felt clean. you were determined to make her feel loved, feel safe in her own skin, and do so without hurting her.

when you finally come out of the shower, you're quick to wrap her up in a towel first, patting the rest of her down dry and sitting her down on a stool, grabbing the hair dryer and brush.

she scolds you in the process, telling you you'll catch a cold if you don't dry yourself off first. you pout but do as she says, quickly drying yourself off and slipping into your pyjamas again.

then your hands are back at her hair, combing through gently with your fingers first, before turning on the hair dryer.

she watches you with a smile, her eyes crinkling upwards at the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, drying each part of her head with meticulous attention.

when it's just slightly damp you turn it off, placing it back down and start to brush through her hair, wincing and apologising with each knot you work through. nayeon giggles, constantly reassuring you it was fine with each apology, but her reassurances do little to quell your concern.

it's quiet, peaceful in the bathroom, just the two of you.

"my mother used to do this for me when i was young."

"mine too."

"it feels nice."

"i'm glad."

"are you ready to go back?"

"as long as i have you."

"you'll always have me."

you meet her eyes in the mirror, "will your mother be okay with this?"

"you brushing my hair?" she jokes.

you whine, "you know what i meant. us."

she smiles, "yes. both my mother and my sister only want to see me happy. they know how much the games affected me, they're just glad i'm still alive."

"mine too." you repeat.

"…even if they weren't, you know i wouldn't stop wanting to be with you right?"

you blush again, easily affected by her, "i know."

she nods, satisfied, the both of you falling into an easy silence again.

you think this isn't too bad. living out the rest of your life with nayeon like this. she helped you forget all the bad stuff, but also reminded you of all the things you've been through together, you healed each other. in no other universe, no other situation, no other time, would you be able to find this kind of love with nayeon, and that little special thing the both of you share, it makes everything you've gone through and will go through a little more bearable.