#Ah... my overall point I was making... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tobeholyistobeempty · 3 months ago

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‘SO YOU CAN LISTEN….GOOD.’ | simon ghost riley

📊 result of my poll found here.

WARNINGS - 18+ smut mdni, (amt) engineer!reader, asshole!ghost but with motives, slightly stalkerish!ghost, ghost is a cocky bastard but reader is too, so much verbal sparring, enough tension to choke on, reader afab, ghost is a munch and has a unique way of saying sorry, oral f!receiving, religious undertones, fingering, enemies to something worse then enemies, dubcon bc consent verbally unstated, so much dirty talk it hurts, canon warped a bit.

A/N - this ended up being so much longer than i intended but dear god it needed that build up. ghost makes a real wild first impression. 12k.

Today was just another day. Just another day.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself as you grabbed your data pad from the terminal and made your way toward the front of the hangar — pulse thrumming, blood pressure undoubtedly a tad higher than usual. Perhaps today was just another day, but to say that it didn't hold slightly more merit than yesterday would be a fucking lie.

Today marks the date of your six month performance evaluation. Today is the day you finally find out if you nab that promotion or not.

And maybe you’re overthinking, maybe you’re nervous for no reason. Did this promotion make or break your career? Would not getting promoted singlehandedly destroy everything you've achieved and accomplished over the last however many years? No.

But it would definitely feel like a real kick in the ass given everything that you've done for this place since you got here.

The day you first got that damned data-pad, you should have known this job would be a complete shitshow. Still, you pulled up yourself up by your bootstraps and did your duties just like every other day — and that day like all the previous ones since you graduated. You’d been all over the world at this point, as an AMT you go wherever you’re needed and usually remain however long you’re needed for. But this transfer — to an unnamed, unmarked base in the middle of goddamn no where — is different then anything you’d ever done before.

The hours are different, the people are different, the pay is different. It was unexpected, but when their last head AMT simply vanished without a fucking trace — it seemed as though they scrambled, and took the next best thing they could find (or so you like to tell yourself).

It’s all a little…strange, to say the least.

And of course, there’s been talk about what happened to their last head engineer, speculations, but it seems no one actually knows for certain. It’s one of those things that everyone low rank whispers about, but no one high up with actual informative intel dares to speak on — which only made the chatter worse.

Along with your nerves.

Regardless, you didn’t have a choice, and the first day of your transfer was a baptism by fire — stepping into the aftermath of utter chaos they'd left behind.

Your job isn’t to save lives in the heat of battle, or to clear rooms, or to conduct stealth operations. No, your job is to repair aircrafts torn to hell and back and continue to keep them functional. It’s rather thankless, and often you'd find yourself overworked and under-appreciated — which, granted, goes hand-in-hand with your overall life summary — but the hangar at TF141’s main base was a sight to behold, and not in any positive sense. Neglected and battered machinery lay strewn about, with debris haphazardly scattered in every fucking corner imaginable. By the time you'd reached the actual aircraft's you were almost afraid to look at them — and for good goddamn cause.

TF141 has two main helo’s: MH-6 Little Bird and an AH-6J Little Bird. Upon first inspection of them, you’d almost thought they'd been through a war of their own — hastily patched together with little regard for proper repair. The evidence of prior negligence was glaring, and you were fucking fuming.

You'd expected some clean up, but not that much.

And to top it all off, you were given clear instruction by General Shepherd himself to keep your mouth shut and your head down, do your job and mind your own. On your way out of his office he informed you, surely out of the sheer kindness of his heart, that although he couldn't tell you what exactly happened to their prior head engineer, you could easily suffer the same fate if you weren't careful.

Which was more than enough to shake the very foundation of your so very deeply engraved attitude problem.

No matter how pissed off and irritated you’d been during your start here, you kept your emotions bottled up until you were back inside the privacy of your barracks and could freely let it explode. It's been a little maddening almost, the solace. You'd been here half a year and the only person you've had an actual conversation with outside of the other engineers is 141’s Captain, and that was only when he was looking for a debriefing on your recent repair work.

However, amidst the avoidance and the uneasy silence that you experience on a daily with the others, there seems to always be one fucking exception;

Ghost.

You'd seen photos and heard a lot about him prior to this assignment — the mysterious Lieutenant with a reputation that preceded him as if the Grim Reaper himself were present on earth.

But meeting him, being around him, well that was something fucking else entirely.

He routinely shows up at random hours, never muttering more than a few words to you before pissing off — disappearing into the shadows or taking out one of the birds. It’s always odd. He is odd. And the cryptic comments coupled with his rather bizarre reputation continue to leave you tangled between the dangerous desire to learn everything you can about the man, and the primal instinct to avoid him at all fucking costs.

Though, even if you had the choice, it wouldn't matter.

If and when Ghost decides to present himself to you, it is impossible to prevent it. His approach is as translucent as his namesake. You'd never fucking know he was coming, and if you did, it’s with purpose.

Nevertheless, you couldn't worry about him, or any of the other nonsensical bullshit today. You had other matters on your mind such as ensuring the hangar was in perfect condition for inspection later that evening. Price let you know rather early in advance that a hangar and aircraft inspection are part of your performance review — which clearly means the state of them would determine whether or not you passed.

There would be absolutely no room for error, and no one to complain to when it didn't go your way either. If this inspection failed, it would be the result of your own incompetence — and you were well aware of how that would be perceived. You didn't want to give any reason, any chance to end up like the former Engineer, after all.

So today is about one thing, and one thing alone, proving yourself worthy of that promotion.

With your data pad in hand, you began a quick sweep of the hangar, ensuring the guys hadn't made too much of a mess overnight or early this morning before you arrived. A few things were out of place, but for the most part, everything looked good.

Well, except for one thing — which was currently barrelling toward you at a dangerous fucking speed.

"Bloody fucking hell..."

Your data pad nearly fell from your grasp, your jaw dropping in disbelief as your ears rang — no, damn-near wailed — a deafening roar shattering the silence you'd just found yourself in, accompanied by the shrill whine of metal grinding against metal. You couldn't believe your eyes, your feet absentmindedly carrying you closer to the destroyed helo landing on the far side of the hangar, smoke billowing from its battered frame, obscuring the air with a veil of grey.

And as you got closer, you realized it only got worse — a door was missing, torn from its hinges, and half of the exterior was brutally ripped away. You didn't even realize you were clenching your hands into fists until you felt the glass of your data pad crack beneath your fingers.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You’re all but yelling as you take in the damage. "Today? Today. Of all goddamn days! Bloody ignorant bastards.”

As soon as those words were past your teeth, there’s movement from inside the cabin — heavy laden set steps — two iron slabs clanking against the metal floor, quaking the ground underneath your own feet, too. The air thinned slightly, but you didn't notice, too inebriated off your anger to think of anything other than cursing the hell out of whoever was inside.

You came to a halt in front of the now door-less opening, coming face to face with a pair of rich brown eyes peering down at you.

"Care t’repeat tha’?" A deep, low voice rumbled from under a faded, skull-faced balaclava. You swear the ground trembled as he jumped down. "...I'd like t’make sure I heard y’right."

You’d have to imagine he was grinning under that mask, and it only made your fucking blood boil.

"Ghost, why didn't you tell me-“

He cuts you off mid-sentence with a gesture of his hand.

"I need permission t’take out my own helo now? Huh.” A shake of his head. “Y’should know I was told to test your repairs. Bosses orders, sweet’eart. Take it up with him if you’ve gotta’ problem.”

"You-" your lips part, but words elude you. Due to his admission or the nickname he used, you aren’t entirely sure. "What?"

Ghost blinks, sight sweeping the empty hangar for a fraction of a second before fixing back on you.

"Y’heard me." He steps closer, smoke billowing behind him. "Or d'you need me t'repeat it again?" A pause, twitch of his lips. "I can speak slower, if you’d like.”

What a dick.

You pull your own lips thin, trying to trap the profanity desperately wanting to fly his way. “I think you’ve done enough.”

He just hums.

"Way I see it, y’got two options.” He starts, and you long to tell him to shove his options somewhere the sun don’t shine. “Get pissed off with me, which is futile, since I ain’t the one y’actually got a problem with. Or, y’can get back to work and fix er’ up before Price comes down in an hour. Your choice 'ere."

An hour. A fucking hour? Is he clinically insane? This is easily about three days of work. And that’s if the bloody stars align.

"You’re unbelievable.” Scowl laden, you frown at him, words dripping venom as you shake your pounding head. "How nice of you to give me the option of choosing. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude, truly."

A beat of silence, unreadable eyes flicking over you.

“S’that sarcasm, engineer?” And then, he takes another step closer.

It never gets easier — the way he fills the space, how much bigger he is when he’s this close, broad shoulders cutting the world around you down to just him. He could crush you if he wanted. You’ve never forgotten that.

Your lips part, but before you can get a word out he’s already speaking.

"Y'know," he peers down at you with a slight tilt of his head. "A simple ‘thank you' wouldn't be the end of tha’ world."

You deadpan, biting back the scoff threatening to escape. Thank him? He wants you to thank him — for blowing a helo out of the sky an hour before the biggest inspection of your life? No. He’s not insane. He’s out of his goddamn mind.

“Thank you for what, exactly?” You force the words out, fighting to keep the sarcasm at bay, to sound even remotely genuine.

It doesn’t help that he’s right there, close enough to reach out and touch. You’ve been through enough in your time with the military to handle pressure, but there’s something about him — the bulk of him, the way he commands the space around him, the fact you can never read his facial expressions — that makes it hard to breathe.

Not to mention the tac gear he’s always dressed in. Layered thick like it’s meant for a frozen wasteland instead of the stifling summer heat you’re currently experiencing.

“F’givin’ you a passin’ grade,” he says, like that means a damn thing to you.

This game is getting old.

“What the hell do you think you’re talking about now?” Heat flares beneath your skin, frustration mounting. “If that was a test, then it was a goddamn shitty one. You didn’t fly it. You destroyed it.”

He steps in again, exhaling like you’re the one wasting his time.

“M’giving you an opportunity. Take it or leave it.” You’re ready to bite back, to tell him exactly where he can put his opportunity, but then— “How’re you s’posed to prove y’worth somethin’, when no one thinks you’ve got it in ya?”

For the third time today, he shuts you up. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. This is, without a doubt, the strangest, most infuriating first interaction you’ve ever had with anyone in your entire life.

“Wow.” That’s all you manage. You knew being one of the only female engineers here would put you at a disadvantage, but this? Blowing up the helo just to test if you can fix it? It’s beyond comprehension. “That’s great, Ghost. Thanks.”

He doesn’t blink—just steps closer again, crowding you until you have to tilt your chin up to keep his gaze.

“Lieutenant.” Flat. Unyielding. But there’s something about the way it drips off his tongue that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. It’s not a request. It’s a correction. “Say it.”

Oh.

Heat licks up your neck, pooling at the base of your skull, and you’re not sure if it’s from anger or something else entirely. You swallow hard, forcing down the lump wedged in your throat because technically he is still your superior, regardless if he holds power over your job or not.

“Thank you,” you start again, your ego turning purple. “Lieutenant.”

You don’t look, but you feel his head tilt. You’d bet your life he’s smiling.

"So you can listen." Warm air skims your throat, and you’re not sure if it’s coming from him or from the heat of the burning aircraft - but it stings. "...good."

And then, when he realizes you’ve most likely bitten your tongue in half at this point, he takes a step back. You watch him now, eyes like a laser as he turns and heads for the door without another word. And almost immediately after he vanishes out into the hall you take the opportunity to suck in air like you’re starved of it, not realizing how fucking tense you were until he was out of sight.

Leaving you with a burning helo, an hour of time to fix it, and a whole lot of fuckin’ irritation.

“You bastard.” You mutter under your breath, staring at the wreckage before you.

If there was another option, you sure as hell didn’t know it. But no matter how impossible this seemed, failure wasn’t on the table — not after the years you’d put into this, the money, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices. You didn’t crawl your way up through this goddamn system just to crash and burn now.

You needed a miracle.

And for the next two hours in the hangar, chaos was the only thing you knew.

You’ve never worked this fast in your life. The moment you got down to business you started barking orders, pulling maintenance techs and engineers off other projects, shoving tools into hands and sending them where they’re needed. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to second-guess — the aircraft has to be back in the air, and it has to be now.

And within minutes smoke steeped the hangar, sparks bursting like firecrackers from stripped wires. Everyone’s locked in — shouts, curses, the groan of machinery being pushed and pulled back together reverberating. It’s frantic, relentless, like a pack of starving wolves tearing at a fresh carcass, and you’re right there in the thick of it, teeth bared, fighting to hold the whole damn thing together.

But the euphemism falls short, because this wasn’t just a carcass torn open, in need of some stitching. It was worse — much worse.

The helo wasn’t just damaged; it was obliterated. Every inch of it had been shredded to ribbons, from the engine to the exterior frame, internal wiring snapped and twisted beyond recognition. Whatever the fuck that maniac had done, he hadn’t just tested its limits — he’d taken a sledgehammer to it and kept swinging.

You’ve seen aircraft’s in bad shape before, but nothing like this. It was a wreck, a heap of smoldering metal and sparking circuits, and somehow, you’re supposed to pull it back from the dead. But there’s no time to dwell on the impossibility of it — not when you’re hauling replacement parts back and forth, hands slick with oil and sweat, not when you’re welding and soldering with the kind of precision that would make your professors weep, not when the only thing keeping you moving is sheer goddamn will.

And then, after what feels like hours, you hear it—footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, the kind that don’t belong to someone who helps—but someone who watches.

“My, my.” You recognize the voice instantly—Captain Price. “What in the bloody hell happened here?”

You practically fling yourself to your feet, dragging a sleeve across your forehead, smearing grime over skin already slick with sweat. You almost groan in exasperation, but you swallow it down, clenching your jaw, praying to whatever god might be listening for the strength to not say something about Ghost that’ll get you court-martialed.

“Sir,” you greet him with a respectful nod. “I was informed, rather late mind you, that there was a scheduled test flight.”

A beat.

“Test flight,” Price repeats, brow lifting with something you can’t quite name. “Right. Test flight.”

A sharp bark of laughter leaves him, short and humourless, shaking his head as his eyes rake over the half-patched wreckage sprawled before him.

“And this,” he turns back to you. “This is the damage from that test flight?”

You hesitate—just for a fraction of a second—before nodding, breath held tight in your chest. It’s useless, really. You both know there’s no universe where a few minutes in the air could inflict this level of destruction. Price might’ve ordered Ghost to take the bird up, to test your work a little more personally—but there’s no way in hell he told him to annihilate the goddamn thing.

You’d bet your entire career the bastard did not have permission to go this far.

“Fucken’ typical,” Price mutters, pulling off his cap as he begins pacing around the bird, taking in the carnage from every angle. “Damn near destroyed the thing.”

That’ll be your fault, you think grimly. You’re the one who gave him the fucking order, after all.

But you keep your mouth shut, trailing behind him as he circles the wreckage, eyes sweeping over the mess of half-patched repairs. When he stops short, turning on his heel so fast you almost stumble back, you know what’s coming before he even speaks.

“How long’s this gonna’ take to fix?”

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself. Swallow, but your throat stays dry. It’s not hesitation—it’s knowing the answer is one he won’t like. You don’t even like it. Because with the kind of damage Ghost inflicted, there’s no way in hell you’ll have it ready for any type of inspection today.

“For proper repairs and testing?” You exhale, shaking your head. “Days. At least two, sir.”

You brace yourself for impact—for the reprimand, the frustration, the inevitable do better speech. But it doesn’t come. He only sighs, nodding once before readjusting his cap.

“Two days, then.” He’s already walking away, halfway to the hangar doors when he glances back over his shoulder. “Performance review postponed.”

Those last three words make your stomach churn, and then Price is gone.

“Goddamn it. Asshole.”

The curse leaves you sharper than intended, loud enough to carry across the hangar. You don’t care. How could you? The moment you’ve bled for—postponed—because one insufferable bastard decided to make a spectacle of himself. You want to scream, to hurl every goddamn tool in reach straight at his smug, masked face.

Instead, you inhale deeply, exhaling through gritted teeth before turning to the crew.

“Call it a night, guys. I appreciate the help.”

A few nod, murmuring about leaving their assignments to meet early and help with the rest of the repairs, but their voices barely register. You’re exhausted, and you need a fucking shower — so you just mutter some type of agreement and head for the door. You walk the path back to housing, hardly even noticing that it’s nightfall now. Price must have come later than planned, though you really have no idea the hour because in all honesty you weren’t keep track of time. Either way, your boots hit the threshold of the barracks before you even realize you’d made it inside, your full focus on forcing your mind to keep busy.

You head straight for the showers, not bothering to grab fresh clothes. If you stop now, you might start thinking again — about the disaster of a day, about him, about the sheer fucking audacity — and that’s the last thing you need.

You tear off your disgusting uniform in seconds. The water is scalding, but you don’t flinch. If anything, you lean into it, letting the heat work its way into your bones, washing away the sweat, the grease, the tension coiled tight in your shoulders. You brace a hand against the tiled wall, exhaling sharply.

Fucking Ghost.

Your mind takes over now that you lack distraction, and the name alone is enough to set your teeth on edge. He didn’t just make your job harder—he deliberately threw you into the fire, watched you scramble, tested you like you were some new recruit fresh out of training. And the worst part? He got exactly what he wanted.

You hate that you rose to the challenge. That you had to. You just can’t figure out why. Why he did it — where his motives are.

Steam curls around you as you drop your head, water hammering against your spine, drowning out everything else. Your breaths come heavy, dragging in and out of your chest like you’ve just run a goddamn marathon, so busy in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shift in the air, the faint tremor in the ground beneath you.

You don’t hear the footsteps until they’re too close to ignore, breaking through your sorrows, coming to a halt just beyond the dividing wall. For a long, heavy moment, there’s nothing. Just the steady rush of water, the sound of your own breathing.

Then—

“Y’done sulkin’ yet?”

Fucking hell.

You snap to attention, the sound of that voice like a gut punch. Verbal inflection so intense that only after a few conversations (if you can even call them that) you know you’d recognize it in your sleep, and it takes all of your willpower not to react with more than just the involuntary stiffening in your muscles.

You blink the water out of your eyes, trying to center yourself.

“Do you make a hobby out of sneaking in on people while they shower?” You ask, forcing your voice to stay light, to not betray the rush of heat in your chest. You should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve known this wasn’t the end of the goddamn shitshow. “Or am I just that special?”

"Didn’t know I had t’make an appointment for a communal shower.”

God, that does something to you, and you hate that it does. He’s taking your attitude and he’s feeding it right back to you — and the taste of your own medicine has never been so bitter.

Then, you hear his boots against the floor again, his voice accompanying. “Seems there’s alot I don’ know about ya.”

And again. It’s that tone. The way it drags, measured, like he’s thinking out loud. Like he’s taking you apart in his mind piece by piece. Trying to figure you out.

And you—stupidly, impulsively—throw it back at him.

“I’d say we’re even, then.”

It slips out before you can stop it, and you know it’s a mistake the second the words settle. Because he stops moving. The air tightens. A beat stretches long between you. You take the opportunity to reach for your towel, turn off the water, anything to not feel so vulnerable — but it doesn’t help. Not when you’re suddenly so acutely aware of how close he is. How little space separates you.

How very little there is between you at all.

You swallow, forcing steel into your voice. “I don’t even know your name.”

Then, the softest sound — amusement, maybe.

“Not sure y’need to.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, pulling the towel tight around your torso. Of course.

“Not sure I want to.” You mutter, more to yourself than anything.

But he catches it anyway.

You hear the shift of his stance, another hum of amusement. “Coulda’ fooled me.”

And that does it.

You know you’re walking straight into the trap he’s setting, but you don’t care anymore. Your patience is gone, worn to the bone, and you won’t be able to sleep tonight if you don’t get to glare him right in the eyes and tell him to fuck off.

“Cut the shit, Ghost.” The stall door slams open as you shove it wide, padding forward until your bare feet nearly touch his boots. “Why the hell are you even here?”

You don’t expect to hit a brick wall, but that’s exactly what it feels like. He’s missing a layer of tac gear now, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cargos, shoulder propped against the support beam like he’s been here all night. His gaze flicks over your face, your neck, the way water drips from your skin.

You fight not to pull your towel tighter.

“Cap’s orders.” He states, voice easy, right as rain. “Told me t’make amends.”

He has to be kidding.

“Make amends.” You repeat the words flatly, tasting them, turning them over in your mind like they might somehow make more sense on the second pass. “He told you to make amends.”

They don’t.

And when he nods — you huff a laugh, humourless.

“Right. And you thought the best way to do that was to sneak into the showers and stand there like a fucking serial killer?”

“Didn’t sneak,” he says simply. “Walked in same as you.”

You blink. You have this sick feeling he’s enjoying this. Enjoying every reaction you’re giving.

“Yet your intent is not the same as mine.”

He looks at the door, then back to you. “Ain’t it?”

You inhale sharply through your nose, hands tightening around the towel at your chest. You know better than to engage with this — than to let him push and prod and get under your skin. But it’s too late. He’s already there, and you’re too goddamn tired to claw him back out.

“Look,” you sigh, shifting your weight, fighting not to admire the bulk of his chest at your eye level. “Whatever Price told you to do, consider it done. Apology accepted. Now get the fuck out so I can forget this conversation ever happened.”

A long beat. You don’t know what kind of response you expect, but the way he just stands there considering you is somehow worse than all the possible outcomes you’d imagined.

Then, finally—finally—he moves. But not to leave.

Instead, he pushes off the beam, straightening to full height and moves closer. Not much, just enough to make you feel it — the shift in the air — the heat radiating off him.

“Y’sure about that?” His voice is quieter now, head tilting down toward yours. “Seem a little too wound for someone who’s ready t’forget about it.”

A huff. “And you seem a little too invested for someone who’s just here on orders.”

It's stupid. It's really goddamn stupid how he's able to do this, to turn your words into a rope he can use to drag you around the way he wants. You know that. But still, you’re useless in stopping the way your stomach keens as he leans closer.

"Y’gonna deny you’re still pissed at me?” He whispers.

You shake your head. “Never said I wasn’t still pissed.”

"Mhm." He nods along with it. "But pissed don't fully describe it, does it?”

"It’s an improvement from murderous,” you retort, as pointedly as you can muster. “Count your blessings.”

Another hum, eyes dragging slow over your face, like he’s searching for something. Or maybe just savouring it — the way you bristle under his scrutiny — the way your fingers twitch where they clutch at your towel.

“M’grateful for y’kindness. Truly.” It takes you a second to register it—the cadence, the words, the mockery. He’s parroting you. Throwing your own attitude from earlier back in your face. “But y’know, yeah? I only did what I did ‘cause I knew y’could handle it.”

You go still, pulse hammering in your throat.

Bullshit. Bullshit.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ghost.” Your voice wavers, choked by realization that everything he does has motive. “And definitely don’t flatter me. Not now.”

A slow exhale, warm against your chilled skin, hooded eyes flicking to your ear like he’s considering something.

“S’not flattery. Just truth.”

And then— closer. Close enough that the breath between you is thin, almost nonexistent.

“M’not a good man, sweet’eart. M’a filthy, vile thing. But you—” a pause. He breathes in, your hair shifting with the exhale. “Mm. Y’good. Clean. I knew y’could take it. Needed Price t’know it too.”

Well, fuck.

Your head is spinning now, but even through the vertigo you realize your second mistake. You know it’s a mistake the moment it happens — rather, the moment before it happens — but when your head shifts, just enough that your ear brushes against fabric of his mask; you realize it’s the type of mistake you can’t come back from.

And so, you breathe him in. It’s reckless. It’s ruinous. It’s completely unavoidable.

“My gut is telling me you’re patronizing me.” You whisper; something softer, something you shouldn’t allow. A pause. Your lashes flutter. “But god, I can’t figure you out.”

And again, you don’t know what reaction you expect from him. Maybe you don’t expect one at all. It’s been an exceptionally odd 24 hours, so you’re certain nothing can surprise you at this point. But what you definitely don’t count on is the continued brush of his mask against your cheek, or the way your toes long to curl against the damp floor—

"Y’not suppose to." His voice is so deep you feel it in your bones. “S’don’t try too hard.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but you do know you should step back. You need to step back.

But you don’t.

You stay right there, still as the air between you, every nerve suffocated by the viscosity stretching between his words and yours. The scent of him—gunmetal, something dark and earthen—settles in your lungs like smoke; curling, clinging, refusing to leave.

And so, you breathe him in for the second time. A dangerous temptation. “You came here to make amends, didn’t you?”

The words leave you quieter than you mean them to, tinged in something close to breathlessness — something you wish to god you didn’t hear. Something you hope to god he didn’t hear.

Because atleast now, you can say you know how he is — how he listens, how he picks the quirks out of you and files them away for later — how he knows what to do with the things he finds in people, how to use them like leverage.

And you should be immune to it.

You’ve spent your entire career training for moments like these. All the military training you went through, tactical and aerospace alike. You’ve been thrown into war zones, fixed and pulled aircraft’s out of burning fields, run repairs under enemy fire with nothing but your hands and your own goddamn heartbeat when the situation called for it.

You know what fear looks like. You know what death smells like. You know what it means to be hunted.

And yet—this? You never saw this coming.

Never saw him coming.

“Y’want an apology?” He mutters, and you can hear the smirk in it. “Y’want m’to say I’m sorry?”

“That’d be a good start.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just watches you, the smirk in his voice lingering, curling at the edges of the silence between you.

Then, he hums. “How ’bout I do y’one better?”

You barely have time to process the shift before you feel it—his hand—rough, calloused palm grazing slow along the towel covering your hip.

“Let m’spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lower with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Get y’feelin’ just how much I mean it.”

For a moment, you forget everything.

All the reasons, all the lines. The ones he's crossing — or maybe the ones you're erasing with every second you let his massive paw of a hand touch you. God — you aren't supposed to want this. You don’t know even know him. Don’t know his name, what his face looks like. You don’t know anything about him except that he’s dangerous, and that he’s made you fucking ache.

You exhale — when the moment passes and you remember where you are — a long, almost shaky breath, and it doesn't escape you the way he notices. Watches you through those thick lashes, like he's enjoying the reaction he's been working so hard for.

You wish you could hate him for it.

“Make me feel it then,” you whisper, all pathetic and trembling and borderline wanton as his fingers find the end of your towel, and brush against goosebumped flesh. “Lieutenant.”

And for a moment, you think you’ve made your third mistake of the evening. His title slips out like a curse — and something in your chest roars with how much you mean it.

He's so goddamn cocky. So sure of himself and you hate that you're the one he's so sure of. But when you call him by his rank — when you push that sarcastic mouth of yours just a little bit further, you can feel his reaction instantaneously by the way he stalls — eyes glinting in the low light.

"She wants t’bring rank into this now, yeah?” And when you don’t reply fast enough, he replies for you. “Get in the stall, engineer.”

There's a thousand reasons this is a bad idea. A million reasons you should be saying no right now. But when he looks at you like that, with those eyes like fire locked on yours and practically daring you to refuse him — he has to know he’s not going to get it.

His hand comes up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “Now.”

And that, is your fourth mistake of the night.

You turn, padding back into the stall you’d showered in only moments before — tiles still beading with diamond droplets, gleaming up at you as you step inside. You turn as he follows you in, crowding you against the wall, broad shoulders taking up all the width in the already cramped space as he shuts the door behind him.

And then, he’s on you.

It's so abrupt and so visceral that it takes your breath away entirely. Your hands go up automatically to catch his chest, steadying yourself when he slots his knee between your legs, pinning you against the wall. Your towel is barely clinging around you, and it’s a shocker it still is — but you forget about it when he starts dipping his head down.

"Feels good, don’t it? Bein’ told what t'do?” He murmurs, fabric covered lips grazing the shell of your ear. "M'bettin’ y’don’t experience this much anymore. Tha’s why you’re melting for it.”

And god, the fact that he’s right. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

Somewhere between your rank and your title and your pride, you’ve forgotten the last time you had someone looking at you like this. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to bite and scratch and insist that you're nothing like he's saying — but then a hand slips up around your throat, and the other down between the space separating your bodies, thick fingers catching the end of your towel — and your eyes flutter.

“M’not hearing any apologies.” You manage to mutter, just before those same thick digits find your inner thigh, working up higher.

You're deflecting. The both of you know it. The same pride that drove you to where you are is the same pride that drove him where he is. You think he’s going to call you on it, but then you realize he won’t. Not when the hand at your throat tightens just barely, not when his voice drips into your ear.

"Y’gonna feel em’ soon.”

And then, you do.

You feel the grazing of calloused flesh against sensitive, damn-near celibate flesh. There’s another sound. A low, wanton, filthy moan, and you’re about 94% sure it came from you as beastly fingers slide along your slick slit, exposing the extent of your need to his ego in its entirety — once, twice, curling toward your sopping entrance before you feel the thunder of his hum.

Mocking. "Christ. S’like m’workin’ a faucet, yeah?"

His lips are on your neck now, mouthing slow and deliberate along your jaw even while covered by fabric — and the whimper that slips out is pathetic, even to your own ears.

"Wha’s that?” He all but growls. "C'mon, use y'words f’me. Or d’you only know how t’spit insults?“

You do know how to use your words, actually — and they're usually good ones. You've got a sharp tongue, a mouth just as foul as your temper. So you don't know what to do when every curse, every name, every string of insults you keep in stock gets caught in your throat. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but try not to gasp when his fingers slide up to your clit and swirl.

"Fucking hell." Your jaw goes slack under the hand that holds it. "You—really are vile—“

This whole goddamn thing is vile. The way he can ruin you like this — make you quiver like this — in moments without so much as a name or face to attach the memory of it to.

If he's vile, you know you're not much better.

"Yeah. Tha’s right. I know you’re feelin’ it." He murmurs, fingers circling your clit firmer, faster. "Look how y’squirmin’ for it.”

You have half a mind to spit in his face for that. You have half a mind to tell him to go to hell. You have a million other things you should be doing right now other than clawing at his chest just to stay upright as he brings you to the brink of ruin.

"T-there you go again—mmf—“ your words are so breathless it’s pathetic. “Flattering yourself.”

It’s a futile attempt at a rebuttal, a stupid one because you already know the response he’s going to have to it. Pathetic. You are squirming, and you want to hate him for it, so you do. Your nails bite into his chest, dragging, raking slow and hard as if you could tear through the fabric covering it. You know you wouldn’t. Couldn't. But it's still good enough for him to grunt, hand around your throat tightening just enough to make you gasp in response.

"S’not flattery. Just truth.” He parrots himself again from earlier, and you think you’re on the verge of losing your mind because you know him well enough now have to predicted it. “Y’fuckin need this, don’ you?”

It's not a question. He doesn't need you to answer, because you both know how it ends anyway. But god damn him and his words. Because his filthy mouth is the second most dangerous thing to ever happen to you — right behind his fingers. You need to reply. Need to answer. He's going to force a reaction from you one way or another.

But he doesn’t give you the luxury of even trying.

His fingers still with a suddenness that makes you cry out in frustration — silver platter feeding him exactly what he was fucking looking for.

"Mhm. S’what I thought." He murmurs, hand sliding from around your throat to the back of your head. “M’guessing it’s been years. Least’ a couple.”

And it’s then, that you get it.

You get why this man is feared. You get why he’s so fucking dangerous. He’s worse than the name you know him by — because you’re certain even ghosts aren’t this knowing. This brutal. This consuming.

And through the haze in your head, you try to think back to the day you first met him. There had to have been dark signs — omens in your skies — a warning.

Yet, you can’t think of one.

“F-fuck you.” You spit it at him, because it’s apparently all your mouth is good for. “Stroke your ego any harder and it might just fucking cum before I do.”

He laughs, and then you feel it. The grip tightening in your hair, the palm slapping at your inner thigh to work your legs wider.

“Judging by tha’ mouth, y’never been fucked right either.” He mutters, fingers slipping up the slick coating your thighs. “S’alright. M’here to apologize, yeah? I’ll pay m’penance.”

Bullshit.

He’s not going to apologize by any means — if the last however many minutes aren’t proof enough of that. This is punishment in its worst form, and even that’s not enough. If you want him to make it up to you, you’re going to have to take it.

"Get on your fucking knees, then.” You’re so unbelievably wired that you hardly even realize what you’d said. You hardly even realize when you continue. “And use that mouth for something other than self elation.”

If you thought this was dangerous before - you’re not sure what the fuck this is now.

If someone had asked you an hour ago if you'd ever considered you have a death wish of this caliber, you’d have laughed. If someone had asked you if you were capable of saying half the things you’re saying right now, you’d have laughed even harder. But the fact that they’re leaving your lips - your lips that are now trembling with the realization that you just ordered one of the most dangerous men in the world to kneel — is enough to make you dizzy.

But then, he does it.

He sinks to those knees, cargos sponging the cold showered tiles as he does.

And you don’t think— not really — not for a moment.

Because if you did, you might have wondered if your pride and your dignity are even worth the way he’s looking at you right now — like he wants to eat you alive. You might have wondered if you were dreaming, if this was even physically fucking possible — the nameless, faceless man who has scared people shitless with just his reputation, kneeling between your fucking feet.

“Fuck.” It slips out in an exhale, and you don’t even hear it.

He does, though.

And in response, he holds your eyes while pulling at the edge of his balaclava. Just enough to uncover his jaw and lips — thick, pillow-full lips cocked into the type of grin you’d have expected, but steals the remainder of your breath regardless.

“M’gonna’ spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow.” He rasps, pulling one of your thighs over his shoulder. “M’sorry.”

Oh, how you wish he meant that.

Because he isn’t. He isn’t the least bit apologetic when he pushes your back against the tiled walls with a heavy palm against your pelvis — he isn’t the least bit remorseful when he’s dragging his teeth along your inner thigh, nipping and lapping — and he’s certainly not the least bit sorry as he brings that filthy fucking mouth of his to your slit, and starts to devour you like he’s starved.

And this, you know is sin.

You know this, because you’ve never felt a mouth on you until now that made you think of god. You’ve never felt fingers dig into flesh with enough force to bruise the way his do — never felt anything that could make you forget who you are and where you are and everything in between.

It has to be sin, because no one could do this without an explicit knowledge of what sin tastes like.

There’s no other explanation for the way he can make you keen, arch and moan like this. No other excuse for the way you quiver as he curls his tongue and strokes you until you’re seeing white, just to suck on your clit with a ferocity that makes your stomach tighten and your hands shoot up to cover your own mouth.

“Feel it.” He husks against you, and the sound and sensation make your hips buck forward in response. “Relax an’ feel it.”

It’s not a request — it’s a demand. And you don’t think to defy him when he pulls your hands away, pushes you back, and buries his whole face against your pussy again like he’ll die if he doesn’t. You’re so dizzy you can’t even keep your eyes open. You can only hear your breath coming out in stilted moans and little cries of his namesake — the namesake that you realize the irony of rather briefly, but forget when your brain flatlines all over again.

Because he groans against your clit like you’re the best goddamn meal he’s ever had, and suddenly, you get how easy it is to fall. Fall into the rhythm — your hips moving in sync with the strokes of his tongue, your thighs closing around his skull. You want to scream. You almost want to cry. Your voice breaks with every sound you make, and you know your heart is only a few beats away from beating out of your chest by the way he grips your hips, pulling your cunt to his head before bringing a finger to your sopping entrance.

"Gonna’ stretch y’out a bit.” He rasps, and you aren’t sure if he’s saying it to warn you or to remind himself. “Breathe.”

You try, but then, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s happening — that thick finger pushes inside you, curling against your walls until you’re gasping and covering your mouth all over again.

And god, you aren’t going to be able to look at his skull mask the same way again. Not when you watch it’s shape shifting just slightly as he works his jaw, suckling against your clit with a hunger you can only describe as feral, eyes half-lidded as they lock with your own. You’re certain nothing in the world could have prepared you for this. It's a goddamn match to a bomb as he starts to work another finger into you, curling them in time with his tongue in a way you don’t think you’d have been able to come up with if you’d had a lifetime to consider it. You can feel that tension building — a tight coil of heat and pressure building low in your core.

Then, you feel his fingers inside you doing something odd. Something—

Oh, fuck.

You feel it before you can comprehend it — before you know he’s tracing the first letter, the shape of it hitting in just the right place that it makes your hips buck in response.

Oh. Oh god.

You can feel him hum against you, like he’s savouring it — the way you’re clenching around his fingers as you realize what he’s doing. It takes everything in you not to scream, eyes squeezed shut and hand over your mouth — head back against the wall as you imagine the look in his eyes, how goddamn wicked it must be while he spells out the rest of his apology inside you.

O. Then, R. Then another. Then, Y.

“G-ghost—“ you know he must be able to tell you're almost gone, because when he hits the last R and your breath catches, his name a whoreish moan you try to smother against the back of your hand — he growls in satisfaction. It’s too much. You can't breathe because your climax is right fucking there, and you can’t stop it for a second longer. “G-ghost—m’gonna—ohgod—“

With a suddenness that makes stars burst across the backs of your eyes, he brings his free hand up, stuffing two fingers into your mouth to smother the sound and feel of his name as you cry it. He strokes you through it, pumping you with his fingers as your vision blurs into some indiscernible haze — a kaleidoscope of light and pleasure and everything you know you should never allow yourself to have.

And then, when you finally catch the breath it took to even say his name, he pulls away. Fingers slipping from your mouth and your pussy like a goddamn magician.

A ghost.

Then, he stands up, and you watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand like you’re all the goddamn nourishment he needs before he’s helping you get stable on your feet.

“M’sure y’feel it now.” He murmurs, lips so close to yours you can taste yourself on his breath. "M’a man of m’word, sweet’eart. Always make good on m’promises.”

You’re sure he can see it, the realization in your eyes when you come back down to earth long enough to remember what just happened. Remember that you weren't supposed to let it happen in the first place. That you were supposed to have better control over yourself — and you can guess he knows, by the way he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"Guess I made m’point, yeah?"

He tugs his balaclava back in place, and you exhale.

“Yeah, you made your point.” He hums at that, and you tug your towel tighter. “But this—this can’t happen again.”

It takes him a beat to respond, and when he does, it’s simple.

"Of course.”

You don’t know why, but that response makes your chest tighten in a way it has no business doing. It would have been so much easier if he’d given you a smart ass smirk, or a biting response. It would be so much easier if he told you that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, but he doesn’t.

And so, you step closer to him, tilting your head back to keep his eyes.

“I mean it, Ghost.” You whisper. “I’ll take a pound of your flesh before I allow you to fuck with my paystub ever again.”

You thought, at this point, you’d have figured out some type of gauge on his reactions. But still, he proves you haven’t. You don't expect the hand coming up, cupping your jaw to hold you in place as his eyes drop to your lips. You don't expect him to lean in, and bring his own to your ear — and you definitely don’t expect the words that fill it.

“There’s a few things I wanna’ fuck. Y’paystub ain’t one.” He pauses, and you’re certain it’s because he’s enjoying the drumbeat that is now your heart rate. You’d just found your breath and he singlehandedly stole it again. “I’ll be watchin’ f’your enemies. T’let em’ know they contend with me.”

You think you get it then. The reason everyone looks at him the way they do. The reason they're so terrified of him in one second, and willing to take a bullet for him during the next. It's not even because he's trained to be a killing machine. Not because he can see what you're thinking before you even realize you are. Not because he'd walk through fire just to be close to hell.

It's because he's a man of his word, and even you understand the gravity of that kind of loyalty.

You exhale with a nod, and then he’s gone.

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txttletale · 1 year ago

Note

Saw a tweet that said something around:

"cannot emphasize enough how horrid chatgpt is, y'all. it's depleting our global power & water supply, stopping us from thinking or writing critically, plagiarizing human artists. today's students are worried they won't have jobs because of AI tools. this isn't a world we deserve"

I've seen some of your AI posts and they seem nuanced, but how would you respond do this? Cause it seems fairly-on point and like the crux of most worries. Sorry if this is a troublesome ask, just trying to learn so any input would be appreciated.

i would simply respond that almost none of that is true.

'depleting the global power and water supply'

something i've seen making the roudns on tumblr is that chatgpt queries use 3 watt-hours per query. wow, that sounds like a lot, especially with all the articles emphasizing that this is ten times as much as google search. let's check some other very common power uses:

running a microwave for ten minutes is 133 watt-hours

gaming on your ps5 for an hour is 200 watt-hours

watching an hour of netflix is 800 watt-hours

and those are just domestic consumer electricty uses!

a single streetlight's typical operation 1.2 kilowatt-hours a day (or 1200 watt-hours)

a digital billboard being on for an hour is 4.7 kilowatt-hours (or 4700 watt-hours)

i think i've proved my point, so let's move on to the bigger picture: there are estimates that AI is going to cause datacenters to double or even triple in power consumption in the next year or two! damn that sounds scary. hey, how significant as a percentage of global power consumption are datecenters?

1-1.5%.

ah. well. nevertheless!

what about that water? yeah, datacenters use a lot of water for cooling. 1.7 billion gallons (microsoft's usage figure for 2021) is a lot of water! of course, when you look at those huge and scary numbers, there's some important context missing. it's not like that water is shipped to venus: some of it is evaporated and the rest is generally recycled in cooling towers. also, not all of the water used is potable--some datacenters cool themselves with filtered wastewater.

most importantly, this number is for all data centers. there's no good way to separate the 'AI' out for that, except to make educated guesses based on power consumption and percentage changes. that water figure isn't all attributable to AI, plenty of it is necessary to simply run regular web servers.

but sure, just taking that number in isolation, i think we can all broadly agree that it's bad that, for example, people are being asked to reduce their household water usage while google waltzes in and takes billions of gallons from those same public reservoirs.

but again, let's put this in perspective: in 2017, coca cola used 289 billion liters of water--that's 7 billion gallons! bayer (formerly monsanto) in 2018 used 124 million cubic meters--that's 32 billion gallons!

so, like. yeah, AI uses electricity, and water, to do a bunch of stuff that is basically silly and frivolous, and that is broadly speaking, as someone who likes living on a planet that is less than 30% on fire, bad. but if you look at the overall numbers involved it is a miniscule drop in the ocean! it is a functional irrelevance! it is not in any way 'depleting' anything!

'stopping us from thinking or writing critically'

this is the same old reactionary canard we hear over and over again in different forms. when was this mythic golden age when everyone was thinking and writing critically? surely we have all heard these same complaints about tiktok, about phones, about the internet itself? if we had been around a few hundred years earlier, we could have heard that "The free access which many young people have to romances, novels, and plays has poisoned the mind and corrupted the morals of many a promising youth."

it is a reactionary narrative of societal degeneration with no basis in anything. yes, it is very funny that laywers have lost the bar for trusting chatgpt to cite cases for them. but if you think that chatgpt somehow prevented them from thinking critically about its output, you're accusing the tail of wagging the dog.

nobody who says shit like "oh wow chatgpt can write every novel and movie now. yiou can just ask chatgpt to give you opinions and ideas and then use them its so great" was, like, sitting in the symposium debating the nature of the sublime before chatgpt released. there is no 'decay', there is no 'decline'. you should be suspicious of those narratives wherever you see them, especially if you are inclined to agree!

plagiarizing human artists

nah. i've been over this ad infinitum--nothing 'AI art' does could be considered plagiarism without a definition so preposterously expansive that it would curtail huge swathes of human creative expression.

AI art models do not contain or reproduce any images. the result of them being trained on images is a very very complex statistical model that contains a lot of large-scale statistical data about all those images put together (and no data about any of those individual images).

to draw a very tortured comparison, imagine you had a great idea for how to make the next Great American Painting. you loaded up a big file of every norman rockwell painting, and you made a gigantic excel spreadsheet. in this spreadsheet you noticed how regularly elements recurred: in each cell you would have something like "naturalistic lighting" or "sexually unawakened farmers" and the % of times it appears in his paintings. from this, you then drew links between these cells--what % of paintings containing sexually unawakened farmers also contained naturalistic lighting? what % also contained a white guy?

then, if you told someone else with moderately competent skill at painting to use your excel spreadsheet to generate a Great American Painting, you would likely end up with something that is recognizably similar to a Norman Rockwell painting: but any charge of 'plagiarism' would be absolutely fucking absurd!

this is a gross oversimplification, of course, but it is much closer to how AI art works than the 'collage machine' description most people who are all het up about plagiarism talk about--and if it were a collage machine, it would still not be plagiarising because collages aren't plagiarism.

(for a better and smarter explanation of the process from soneone who actually understands it check out this great twitter thread by @reachartwork)

today's students are worried they won't have jobs because of AI tools

i mean, this is true! AI tools are definitely going to destroy livelihoods. they will increase productivty for skilled writers and artists who learn to use them, which will immiserate those jobs--they will outright replace a lot of artists and writers for whom quality is not actually important to the work they do (this has already essentially happened to the SEO slop website industry and is in the process of happening to stock images).

jobs in, for example, product support are being cut for chatgpt. and that sucks for everyone involved. but this isn't some unique evil of chatgpt or machine learning, this is just the effect that technological innovation has on industries under capitalism!

there are plenty of innovations that wiped out other job sectors overnight. the camera was disastrous for portrait artists. the spinning jenny was famously disastrous for the hand-textile workers from which the luddites drew their ranks. retail work was hit hard by self-checkout machines. this is the shape of every single innovation that can increase productivity, as marx explains in wage labour and capital:

“The greater division of labour enables one labourer to accomplish the work of five, 10, or 20 labourers; it therefore increases competition among the labourers fivefold, tenfold, or twentyfold. The labourers compete not only by selling themselves one cheaper than the other, but also by one doing the work of five, 10, or 20; and they are forced to compete in this manner by the division of labour, which is introduced and steadily improved by capital. Furthermore, to the same degree in which the division of labour increases, is the labour simplified. The special skill of the labourer becomes worthless. He becomes transformed into a simple monotonous force of production, with neither physical nor mental elasticity. His work becomes accessible to all; therefore competitors press upon him from all sides. Moreover, it must be remembered that the more simple, the more easily learned the work is, so much the less is its cost to production, the expense of its acquisition, and so much the lower must the wages sink – for, like the price of any other commodity, they are determined by the cost of production. Therefore, in the same manner in which labour becomes more unsatisfactory, more repulsive, do competition increase and wages decrease”

this is the process by which every technological advancement is used to increase the domination of the owning class over the working class. not due to some inherent flaw or malice of the technology itself, but due to the material realtions of production.

so again the overarching point is that none of this is uniquely symptomatic of AI art or whatever ever most recent technological innovation. it is symptomatic of capitalism. we remember the luddites primarily for failing and not accomplishing anything of meaning.

if you think it's bad that this new technology is being used with no consideration for the planet, for social good, for the flourishing of human beings, then i agree with you! but then your problem shouldn't be with the technology--it should be with the economic system under which its use is controlled and dictated by the bourgeoisie.

#ask #ai art #long post

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lubdubology · 8 months ago

Text

Til The Sun Turns Black

SYNOPSIS: Your soul is bound to his and you're destined to follow him across the multiverse. When the TVA finds you and sends you to the Void, you feel your chance of finding him has slipped through your fingers. But what you find there is more than you bargained for.

PAIRING: Worst!Wolverine x fem!reader

WC: 13.1 k I apologize for nothing

WARNINGS: smut 18+, mdni, mentions of drinking, angst, peril, some fluff, implied age gap (I guess?), mental trauma, miscommunication, Wade being Wade, dirty talk, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, cowgirl, missionary, cock warming, sex with feelings, unprotected p in v

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love on Soft Edges! I was not expecting that kind of response when I posted that story, so thank you <3. I had the idea for this story in my head since after I first saw the movie. I had no idea my one random runaway thought would turn into this. Also, this story would not have been finished if it weren't for @joelsgoldrush. She let me tease her for WEEKS with this and act as the ultimate sounding board. And she's overall just a delightful human being and I'm so glad I've found her.

The TVA agent sits staring at you, an odd and uncomfortable smile on his face. Like he isn’t quite sure he knows how to smile but had seen it once on TV. You also don’t think he’s blinked in the past several minutes. It makes your eyes water just thinking about it.

“I don’t understand why I’m here.”

“Ah, yes, well—“ the agent clears his throat and smoothes a hand down his chest. “You’re a threat to the multiverse.”

You squint your eyes at him and wonder if you’re lucid dreaming. Or trapped in some bizarre fever dream, but you can’t remember being sick. “The…multiverse? As in, more than one universe?”

He nods once. “Precisely.”

It’s your turn to stare as absolutely none of this is making sense. The morning had started off normal—wake up, shower, coffee at your favorite local corner store. You had barely finished your latte when you were apprehended and taken to this bland room by a man who must own insane stock in eyedrops.

“You see, we’ve been watching you for quite some time,” he continues, oblivious of your growing confusion. “A handful of reincarnations, actually. And we believe we’ve finally pinned it down.”

His words sound insane.

You were a low level mutant at best. You’ve been able to deeply sense and influence emotions in others since you were six—a standard empath if there ever was one. But reincarnation?

“Reincarnations? I’m sorry but—”

You feel it coming then, that all too familiar prickle of deja vu creeping up your spine and setting deep in your brain. The room begins to soften, the corners blurring and you feel disjointed, separate from the you sitting in the chair.

“Ah, see. We’ve pinned it down.”

The world tilts on its axis and your mind explodes into brilliance, the memories of hundreds of alternate versions of yourself firing down your synapses, leaving you as raw and exposed as a fresh wound. The pain is all consuming as you gasp for air and desperately try to quell the throbbing in your skull.

Your hands grip the edge of the table, desperate to clutch at something solid to root you in reality as the kaleidoscope of memories swirl before your eyes, colliding and merging with one another. All the timelines converging down to a single point of existence within your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve experienced this process, the return of your memories—the return of your consciousness—was always accompanied by a torturous sensory overload.

“You see? You have extensive knowledge of the multiverse. And that kind of knowledge is coveted and dangerous.”

Your vision blurs as the memories keep slamming into you and you can’t help the primal scream that rips from your lungs, the pain in your throat a welcome distraction from the torture in your head. And then, amid the chaos, a single figure emerges in crisp focus, a face you’ve seen thousands of times.

“Logan.” His name comes out in a whisper, your voice trembling.

You know he’s not actually in front of you and instead a mirage, a figment of your overloaded neurons, but his presence calms you.

“Yes, Logan. You two are quite fond of each other.” The agent stands and you squint up at him, wanting to be anywhere else as you regain your memories. “But never mind him. We can’t have you traipsing around with all that knowledge in your head.”

“No, no, no, please. Please just let me find him,” you beg, hating the desperation laced in your voice.

The last thing you see before being sent out of existence is his creepy, uncanny smile.

+++

The Void was bullshit.

It had been a month since you were unceremoniously dumped here.

Maybe.

You weren’t really sure.

Time had no meaning, each day seeming to stretch on for eons and simultaneously in the blink of an eye. And for every single one of those moments you’d been focused on one of two things: finding a way out and not dying.

You quickly learned you had a better chance at survival if you stuck to the outskirts and avoided others. So you squirreled yourself away, sheltering in an abandoned cabin and hoping beyond hope you could figure out a way out of the desolate cesspool you found yourself in.

Figure out a way back to him.

Back home.

+++

You don’t venture out unless you have to.

The Void is full of phantom emotions left behind by its previous inhabitants and the cacophony overwhelms you. Rage, terror and despair so thickly envelope every surface you feel like you’re choking. It’s beginning to wear so harshly on your nerves you wonder if you might actually go insane here.

There was a tension growing in the Void. You’d heard whispers of unrest within the factions, Cassandra hungry for something to sink her teeth into. The undercurrent of rage has increased in the last couple of days and it’s enough to set your teeth on edge.

Stuffing a backpack with a few essentials in case you get stranded, you ready yourself for a supply run. The thought of leaving the perceived safety of your cabin has little appeal, but you’ve been putting it off for far too long. There was a small cache only a few miles from your cabin that other survivors kept stocked with extra provincials. You were hoping for something good, anything other can canned food or cereal. Or Spam.

Tightening the straps on your backpack, you take one last glance around before stepping out into the forest. It’s eerily quiet, no birds or animals chattering to fill the silence, just the crunch of your shoes against fallen leaves. The Void has always felt oppressive to you, the air just a little too heavy, but there’s something lingering today that makes you feel on edge. Your skin prickles with anticipation and you pat your belt for the knife you’ve stashed there.

Just in case.

You’re half a mile away from the cache when you feel it—the inky slick of anger. It catches on the air and wafts towards you in waves. You slow your steps as you approach the road and come to a halt when the battered van comes into view.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

You’d recognize those claw marks anywhere.

Your heart races as your eyes trace the deep, jagged cuts gouged into the metal and the large swathes of blood coating the ground and what you can see of the interior of the van. Instinctively your hand tightens around the hilt of your knife and you crouch down low behind a fallen log. You scan the area for any signs of movement and find none, but you know Logan is stealthier than you and wouldn’t give up his location willingly.

The van door creaks open on its battered hinges and you inhale sharply as Logan stumbles out of the vehicle covered in dried blood and sweat and more knife wounds and bullet holes than you can count.

The sight of him ignites a spark of longing that blooms in your chest and makes you physically ache. You can feel him. Your lips remember the hungered warmth of his mouth against yours, the way he’d nip at your bottom lip so you’d open up for him. Your skin remembers the calloused rasp of his hands and not just the greedy grabs when he needed to claim you, but the light brushes of his fingertips against your palm as he held your hand, just to remind himself that you were real. Your nose remembers his scent, woodsy and clean, like the earth after rain.

Shaking your head, you push down the memories and peer back over the log. A slight breeze wafts through the air and you watch as he sniffs, his head turning in your direction.

“Fuck,” you curse lowly, trying to crouch further out of eyesight.

You hear the metallic snikt of his claws and your pulse quickens. There’s no point in hiding—he knows you’re there. You take a slow, steady breath before attempting to focus waves of calm in his direction, hoping to ease some of the anger wound around him.

His eyes lock onto yours, sharp and predatory and he shakes his head, trying to keep you out. “Who the fuck’re you?”

You draw back your power and raise your hands in surrender as you slowly rise to your feet. You toss out your name and silently hope for a spark of recognition. But he doesn’t know you. Not yet.

“It’s not safe out here alone,” you start, moving out of your hiding place. You walk towards him, his eyes following your every move. “There’s a cache just up ahead—”

The atmosphere shifts without warning, the anger you’d felt previously now melting into thick, cloying fear and desperation. You can taste the ozone and the hairs at the back of your neck stand on end as electricity sizzles across the sky. Glancing up, you see the dark, swirling mass of Alioth just beginning to form.

You look at Logan, panic racing along your nerves. “I promise I’ll explain everything to you later, but I know you, Logan, and right now I need you to trust me.”

Alioth’s presence is getting stronger and drawing closer, and every drop of tension and rage swirling within is beginning to weigh down on you, threatening to suffocate you.

Logan’s eyes narrow, but there’s a slight twitch in his jaw and you know he’s considering your words. His claws retract, but his muscles remain tense, coiled and ready to attack. You grab for his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin and the hard muscle beneath your fingers. “We have to go. Now.”

For a moment, you think he might resist. But then with a low curse, he follows you, his stride matching yours as you lead him towards the cache. The trees blur by, the wind picking up and beginning to toss leaves and loose branches into the air.

You’re operating on pure adrenaline and your heart pounds in your chest as you run, Alioth gaining speed and distance faster than either of you can move. Each gasp of air burns your lungs and your muscles ache with the effort of your sprint.

Still a quarter of a mile away from the cache, you know you won’t be able to outrun Alioth. The storm has consumed the sky, the sun diminished to twilight, as the thunder and groans loom ever closer. You turn towards Logan and yell, “It’s too close, we’re not gonna make it!”

Logan’s eyes flash with anger as you stop and turn towards the oncoming destruction. He grabs for your wrist, pulling you almost nose to nose. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he growls, chest heaving with the effort to breathe. “We can’t stop!”

His proximity briefly disarms you, his fierce gaze igniting something deep within you, but you don’t have time to dwell on those emotions. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady your nerves. “I’m gonna try and calm it down.”

“What are you going to do, think happy thoughts at it?” he asks, his tone biting and sarcastic.

You know every cell in his body is begging to fight, aching to release his claws and tear Alioth apart with his bare hands. But this isn’t something brute strength can subdue.

“Just trust me,” you plead, your eyes searching his for some indication that he believes you. “Please.”

His stare is hard, but eventually his eyes soften and he loosens his grip on your wrist. “Fine.”

Tearing your gaze from him, you turn back towards the storm, now a full blown maelstrom of anger and destruction hellbent on consuming you both whole. You exhale slowly, pushing your own emotions of fear and panic as far down as you can. Instead, you turn inward and concentrate on every feeling of peace, calm and stillness you’ve ever experienced and project it outwards. Waves of soothing energy pour from you, an almost ghostly aura emanating from you as your power continues to grow. Alioth continues to surge towards you, the wind now flattening trees to the ground and lifting debris high into the air.

The fight is excruciating, every cell in your body shaking with effort as you continue to project outwards, the sphere of your influence growing. When the two opposing masses collide, you’re almost knocked off your feet by the force. You’re vaguely aware of Logan beside you, claws unsheathing as he steps closer into your protective shield.

For a brief moment, you feel the power of the storm ebb before it seems to press into you harder. Your knees begin to buckle and your stance slips. “I…I don’t know if I can hold it!” you gasp.

Logan doesn’t run but instead moves closer, giving you one solitary nod. You can feel Logan’s eyes on you, feel the doubt swirling behind them and yet he stays besides you, ready to fight.

His silent encouragement is enough.

You are not dying in the fucking Void.

Gritting your teeth, you continue to push. A guttural scream rips from your throat as black spots dot your vision and blood drips from your nose. You dig down, channeling every last drop of your energy into a final wave, extending yourself deep within the core of the storm.

The black of the storm begins to retreat and the wind begins to calm. As the first few beams of sunlight filter in through the treetops, your vision fades completely and the world goes black.

The last thing you feel is a pair of strong arms wrapping around you before your mind goes blissfully blank and unconsciousness claims you.

+++

You wake up in the cache.

Dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming in through the broken windows. The light is soft, definitely not the early morning glow from before you left the comfort of your cabin and you wonder how long you were out. With a groan, you try to sit up. Your body is stiff, every muscle in your body aching with the effort you took to banish Alioth. Wincing, you swing your legs out of the makeshift bed, the effort taking your breath away and you can feel the sickly creep of nausea climb up your throat.

A low voice cuts through the haze. “Take it easy.”

Logan.

You blink, trying to adjust your eyes to the light and find him sitting on the floor, one leg pulled up to his chest as a bottle of whiskey hangs between his fingers. He takes a long pull and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“How long was I out?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

Logan doesn’t answer immediately. He reaches over at a box beside him and then rolls a water bottle towards your feet before he finally mutters, “A day.”

You accept the bottle with a nod of thanks. Taking a slow sip, you close your eyes as the liquid soothes your throat even as your body protests the movement. You’ve never used your powers to that degree before. Fuck, you didn’t even know you could. A perverse sense of pride licks at the edge of your exhaustion.

Lowering the bottle, you breathe deeply in an attempt to settle the nausea rolling in the pit of your stomach. You glance at Logan and find him watching you, his eyes sharp, calculating.

“You owe me some answers. You said you knew me.”

You meet his gaze, the weight of his words pressing down on you. After hundreds of encounters with different Logans, it was never easy explaining to him what you were. For a long time, you didn’t even have a name for it. All you knew was that your consciousness, all your memories, everything that you are moves across different universes and inevitably crosses paths with Logan. It always felt like an invisible string, guiding your soul to his.

“I’m a temporal nomad.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he glares at you. “A temporal what?” His tone is laced with skepticism.

You take another sip of water, giving yourself time to gather your thoughts and push away the throbbing at your temples. “A temporal nomad. I don’t die, not in the way you think, anyway.”

Logan doesn’t move, but you see his grip tighten on the bottle in his hand, his knuckles going white. “You tellin’ me you’re immortal?”

“No, not immortal,” you reply, exhaling slowly. “When I die, my consciousness moves. I reincarnate in a different universe. Eventually I regain everything—my experiences, my memories, my feelings. It’s why—” you pause and take a deep, steadying breath. “It’s why I always find you.”

Your words hit their mark and Logan’s eyes flash with something you can’t quite decipher—shock, disbelief, maybe some anger. He sits up straighter, tipping the whiskey bottle to his lips without breaking eye contact. “You always find me?” he asks, his voice a low rumble. “We’ve met before?”

“I’ve lost count of how many time, actually,” you admit softly. “But in every reality, every universe, I find you. And we’re not just friends, Logan.”

Your words linger in the air between you and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. Logan stands suddenly, the now empty whiskey bottle clattering to the ground. He runs a hand through his hair before scrubbing it down his face, his jaw clenched as he paces within the small space. A mirthless chuckle escapes his lips. “This smells like bullshit, sweetheart.”

Your heart aches at his use of the word sweetheart. It’s one he’s always preferred for you, usually spoken with reverence, like a prayer falling from his lips. Except now it’s casual and cold, something with a sharp edge instead of softness.

“I know how crazy it sounds. Believe me, Logan, it took me several lifetimes to wrap my mind around it.” You stand, your legs wobbly with the effort and you wince against the pull in your spent muscles. “But I know you.”

His expression hardens. “Yeah? Well, I don’t know you. And if you really knew me, you’d know to stay the fuck away from people like me.” Logan’s pacing grows more hurried, his hands clenching into fists.

“I can’t,” you say softly, taking a tentative step closer towards him. “And I don’t want to. While I might not know the Logan in front of me or the nuances that make you different from the others, I know you.”

His nostrils flare and he lets out a low growl. “Stop.”

“I know the way you fight,” you continue, ignoring his warning. “I know the way you carry your pain as if no one else can possibly shoulder that weight. I know—”

“Stop!”

“—how you push people away to protect them, but that deep down you hope someone will push back. You may carry a lot of self loathing, Logan, but even you know you’re not heartless.”

Logan’s fist slams into the wall behind him, the sound reverberating in the small room. He stands there, chest heaving, his knuckles bleeding from where they made contact with the rough wooden planks. You watch as the raw skin knits itself back together, his head hanging low.

His jaw clenches as he wipes the blood from his hands, his breathing still ragged and posture rigid, itching for a fight. He glances over at you, his expression softer but still rough.

“We’re done here,” he growls, but his voice soft, more broken than angry.

Logan turns without another word and all you can do is watch him leave.

+++

You spend the rest of the morning dozing in bursts of fitful sleep, your confrontation with Logan taking its emotional toll. Your eyes burn with unshed tears and for the first time in your life, you feel as if you’re destined to wander this universe alone.

But you can’t think about it.

Not now.

Ignoring the ache in your limbs, you pack up what supplies you can and ready yourself for the walk back to your cabin. The sun is a couple of hours from setting, the world bathed in golden light, when you set out. Walking down the steps, you pause at the distant crunch of boots on the gravel. You feel your pulse thrum in your chest as the sound gets closer and then he steps into view, his eyes locking onto yours.

Logan.

The sight of him standing there fills you with a rush of conflicting emotions. Relief, angry, anxiety and you’re not sure if you trust yourself to speak first. He looks the same—tired, disheveled, but steady and strong all the same. Neither of you moves, unspoken words hanging between you.

“I shouldn’t’ve left,” he says finally.

For a moment you say nothing. Because it’s exactly what you want to hear from him. Except, because you’re beyond exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally, you say, “No, you fucking shouldn’t have.”

There’s definitely more bite in your tone than you intended, but the release of some of your pent up anger feels so good you can’t bring yourself to care.

Logan’s eyes narrow as you move past him and keep walking. “Wait, so I come back here to apologize,” he begins, following close behind you, “and now you’re gonna just walk away?”

“You know, you never even thanked me for saving your ass,” you say, side stepping a downed log. “Just started demanding answers and then tucked tail and ran when you didn’t like what I had to say.”

He grabs your wrist and you stumble into his grasp, your breath hitching in your throat as you stand almost chest to chest. “I didn’t fucking ask for any of this!”

His anger bleeds into you, curling around your skin where his fingers press into your pulse point. You feel your nostrils flare and you’re itching for something to hit as you stare up at him, his jaw clenched. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you know you need to reign in your emotions or you’ll ignite the fuse between you.

“You think I did?” you ask, pulling your arm from his grasp. Your voice is calmer, but just as sharp. “You think I want to relive the grief of mourning you over and over while also finding something new to love about you? You think I wanted to be banished to the Void all because my soul just can’t die when I do?”

Logan’s expression softens and he scrubs a hand down his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look. I’ve had a shitty coupla days here. And you’re saying a lot of shit I don’t understand.”

He seems weary, then, and any remaining anger you harbor towards him dies in your veins. You take a deep breath in and blow it out slowly. “You don’t have to understand right now. Just—just trust me. Please?”

You hate how your voice breaks just a little.

Logan nods then, the barest tilt of his head, but it’s enough.

He continues to follow you through the woods back towards the cabin and for a while neither of you speak. It should feel awkward, especially now, but it doesn’t. You’re so used to his brand of stubbornness and reluctance to see what’s right in his face that this is the most at home you’ve felt since you got here.

“So,” you start after a few minutes of silence, “how did you end up here?”

Logan huffs. “Some asshole in red spandex dragged me here and I said I need to help save his universe.”

“And can you?”

His step falters and you pause to look a him, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the trees. “I couldn’t save mine.” The weight of his words linger, heavy with a burden only he alone has been shouldering. He doesn’t meet your eyes as he brushes past you and keeps walking.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, catching up with him.

Logan growls. “No.”

“Alright, maybe later then,” you reply and he simply ignores you and keeps on walking. “Where’s this asshole friend of yours?”

“I left him tied up in the van.”

You had long passed the spot where you found Logan by the beat up van and the road was deserted. Based on the subtle smirk on his face, you figure Logan already knows that. Whatever his relationship is with the stranger, he seems somewhat happy to be rid of him and you don’t push him further. Although, you can’t help but wonder what happened to the van and whose hands it fell into.

Logan’s gait slows as the cabin comes into view through the trees. He follows behind you as you clear the space, checking for any stragglers that may have come along while you were gone. Pushing open the door, you watch as he looks around, taking in the small space.

“You’ve been living here?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it living, but sure,” you comment, throwing your backpack on the table as you sit down. You can’t help the groan that escapes your lips as your muscles relax. “You can stay here if you want. I didn’t just let you follow me for your sparkling personality, you know.”

Logan actually laughs at that as he sits down on the small couch. His face lightens up, eyes crinkling just a bit at the corners, and for the first time since you found him, he seems unburdened. A blossom of hope grows in your chest and you grasp onto it, holding tight to the one bit of light you’ve had in this month of darkness.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You know he means for more than the offer to stay and you return his smile with one of your own. “You’re welcome.”

As the sun starts to dip below the horizon, you bring out some extra blankets and a couple of pillows and help Logan turn the couch into a makeshift bed. You turn to leave when you hear him ask, “You really find me in every universe?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds terrible.”

You give him a small smile as you lean against the doorframe to the bedroom. “Oh, it’s not all that bad. I get to fall in love with you all over again.”

+++

You wake in the middle of the night to the sound of low, panicked growls coming from across the room.

You quietly slip from the bed and tiptoe towards the couch. Logan writhes beneath the sheets, pain etched across his face as he wrestles the demons in his sleeping mind. Taking a deep breath, you center yourself and focus every fiber of your power in his direction, hoping the waves of calm can break through whatever battle he’s fighting deep in the recesses of his mind.

Logan growls deep in his throat, the sound guttural and raw, his claws unsheathing and tearing at the sheets beneath him in agitation. A fine sheen of sweat beads along his brow and pieces of hair are plastered against his damp forehead.

“Logan,” you say softly, trying to break through the fog of his nightmare. “You’re safe, Logan.”

Your powers are waning, the stress of fighting off Alioth having left you depleted. You push down the ache, the tug in your brain demanding that you draw back, and instead kneel down in front of him, trailing your fingers across his palm and over the pulse point in his wrist. He jerks at your touch, his claws coming close to your skin, but the contact is enough and you feel his pulse slow beneath your fingertips.

You continue to speak in hushed tones, your voice barely above a whisper. “There you go, Logan. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Logan’s breathing is ragged, his eyes squeezed shut. You can feel the tension in his body, his muscles rigid with the need for release. You keep your fingers against his wrist, your touch steady and calming, as you bring up your other hand to smooth the lines along his brow.

“There you go,” you continue to murmur, “Focus on my voice. Focus on my calm.”

Gradually, his growls subside and his breathing begins to even out as the nightmare loses its grip over him. His muscles lose their tension and relax and the frantic movements of his limbs subsides. With one final deep breath, he stills, his claws retracting and he settles back into a peaceful sleep.

You sit and watch him for a minute, taking in all of his features and simply admiring him for the first time since your last life with him. This Logan is different—they all are in their own way—but this one a little more than the others. He seems wearier, more worn down, his usual scowl lines etched deep. There’s an exhaustion in his eyes, too, you haven’t seen before and you wonder if this Logan actually ever rests.

As you stand, you feel his fingers circle loosely around your wrist and give a small tug. You look down to where he’s touching you, his skin hot against yours, and you glance up to find him staring at you through half lidded eyes.

“Stay.” It comes out in a low whisper and as you open your mouth to protest, he adds, “Please.”

You could never deny him in any universe.

The couch is barely wider than he is, yet he shifts to make a sliver of space for you to slot yourself into. It should be awkward, the way you press yourself between the couch and the solid warmth of his frame, but it’s not. You hitch your leg over his hip, forcing your legs to tangle, as you rest your head against his chest. His heartbeat is strong and comforting beneath your ear and you find yourself quickly relaxing into his touch.

As you fall asleep, you feel his arm curl around you, tucking protectively against your ribs.

+++

When morning breaks, you’re alone. The warmth of his body is gone and you find yourself shivering. Pushing to sit, you wrap a blanket around yourself before standing up.

The cabin is empty.

You try and ignore the sliver of panic that threatens to slip its way down your spine.

Opening the front door, you pause when you find him sitting on the dilapidated porch, staring absently out at the trees. He glances up at you and watches as you sit down beside him. You hug the blanket closer around your shoulders and sit with him in silence.

You don’t mention last night.

“So,” you start, “what’s the plan?”

Logan raises his eyebrow. “You planning on stickin’ with me?”

“If you let me,” you reply with a smile.

You listen as Logan explains the events of the past couple of days, including Wade’s abduction of him from his own universe and how they both became to be bloodied and battered in the van. Your ears perk up when he mentions Paradox and returning to Wade’s universe.

“You think he can actually get back?” you ask, willing yourself to not hold onto too much hope.

Logan huffs. “Probably not.”

“And yet you’re out here trying to think of a way to find him,” you say. “Why?”

A frown tugs at Logan’s mouth and he looks down at his hands. Eventually, he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a crumpled Polaroid. He tilts it towards you and you look down at the group or smiling people. “He’s got something to go home to,” he says, thumbing the edge of the photo. “I got nothin’.”

There’s something soft in his gaze as he looks down at the photo, some lingering hope he’s too afraid to put words to.

“I’m sure you have something, Logan,” you say quietly.

His expression hardens then, jaw tightening, as he slips the photo back in his pocket. “Had. Past tense.” Logan stands then and looks down at you. “Get ready. We’re leaving in five.”

+++

You get ready quickly, changing your clothes and splashing water on your face before making sure your pack was sufficiently stocked. You were hoping you wouldn’t be needing it for much longer, but you didn’t want to express that thought out loud. Despite Logan wishing to go back to find Wade, you knew he wasn’t convinced this would end well.

Logan’s already started down the path as you jog down the cabin steps, swinging your pack up onto your shoulders. Catching up with him, you hand him the Pop-Tart you pulled out earlier. “Breakfast? They’re unfrosted, because this is the Void, but it’s something.”

He looks down at you, a strange expression on his face, but he accepts your offer. “Thanks,” he says, taking a bite.

“So, where exactly were you headed when you both decided to maul each other silly?” you ask, keeping pace with him as you walk through the woods.

“Johnny had mentioned a resistance out in the Borderlands,” Logan answers, swallowing the bite of Pop-Tart. “Figured we might find some people who could help us get control over Cassandra.”

You nod. “You’re not far from the Borderlands. Maybe four or so miles from he cache. I haven’t ventured out that far, but I’ve heard there’s a few outposts where others have hunkered down.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

You walk in comfortable silence, leaving Logan to his thoughts as you travel further away from safety and into the unknown. You stop at the cache briefly, pausing only snag a few water bottles before moving on.

A couple of miles past the cache, Logan suddenly stops, sniffing the air. His posture goes rigid, on alert as he slowly moves forward, beckoning you to follow him. A few yards away, the beat up van comes into view, parked alongside a lodging that looks as if it was built into the very earth itself.

Logan’s arm darts out, stopping you. “Stay close,” he commands quietly, stepping cautiously closer towards the structure.

You follow behind him, every sense on alert as you step inside. The place is quiet, but then you hear it—the soft rustle of snoring. And then Logan’s soft, “Ah, fuck me.”

Peering over his shoulder, you find a sleeping Wade spread eagle on the bed. Logan side steps the bed, ignoring the sleeping man, and begins rummaging through the place. Finding a bottle of whiskey, he groans in delight, twisting the cap off and taking a long pull.

“Really Logan?”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What else would you like me to be doing?” he asks, biting.

“You came all this way to find him and now you’re gonna just drink?” you ask in disbelief. It gnaws at you, his indifference. You can feel little frissons of indignation licking at your skin and you have to tamp down your emotions before they bleed into him.

Logan shrugs. “He’s asleep. I ain’t draggin’ him anywhere.”

You cross your arms, glaring at Logan in frustration. “I didn’t follow you here to watch you stand around and get drunk. Wake him up.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, his brow furrowing. You don’t relent, your stare pointed as he takes another long pull from the bottle. Muttering to himself, Logan makes his way over to the bed and gives it one swift, forceful kick.

Wade jolts awake with a loud, exaggerated snort. He looks between you and Logan, his eyes finally settling on you. “Who’re you?” he asks, looking around as if expecting an answer. “When did the script get rewritten?”

You look at him quizzically, your eyebrow raised. “Who are you talking to?”

Wade huffs. “The audience,“ he says, gesturing towards the wall.

“Does he do this often?” you ask Logan in a whisper.

“Hasn’t stopped since he fucking dragged me here,” Logan replies.

Your attention is diverted as Wade suddenly rolls from he bed, crossing the room and two large strides. He unsheathes one of his katanas, pressing himself against the wall and then he’s pinned on the ground as a woman pulls a blade of her own. After a moment, she lets Wade up and two more people follow into the room behind her.

Logan eyes each one with suspicion as introductions are made and you can feel the tension growing within him as he continues to drink.

You jump as Gambit uses one of his playing cards to burst the bottle of whiskey in Logan’s hands. Logan ignores your pleading look and Wade’s admonishment as he grabs another bottle with a soft, “Boo boo boo.”

When Laura enters, you feel Logan’s interest pique, something heavy weighing on him. They both look towards one another, taking each other in and you don’t miss the recognition in Laura’s eyes.

“Do you know her?” you ask Logan, sliding closer to him.

Logan shakes his head. “No. But Wade’s Logan does.” He takes another long drink from the bottle, eyes still trained on her.

Wade continues to talk with the group, recapping their time in the Void and how they managed to escape Cassandra’s lair. Logan punctuates the conversation with vitriolic quips of his own, drinking more as Wade tries to get the group to form a team.

You try to send your power Logan’s way, trying to bleed into him some calm, but he shakes his shoulders and brushes you off. “Don’t fucking bother, sweetheart.”

“I can help you, Logan.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for it.”

As Wade rallies the group into a cohesive unit, gaining their support in taking down Cassandra, Logan huffs a bitter laugh. “You’re all fucking dead.”

“Oh, my god, read the room,” Wade chides.

+++

Logan storms off, one bottle of whiskey fisted in each hand. You want to follow after him, but Wade stops you. “Let him go, cupcake. Peanut’s in a fragile state and you’re too pretty to become mincemeat.”

You shoot a glare at him and brush his hand away from your shoulder. “No, he only seems to sink his claws into you,” you bite back, but the anger leeches from your voice.

“Spicy,” Wade comments, “I like you. The script editor worked overtime on you, I can tell.”

“Yeah, well the jury’s still out over here,” you say, but you can’t help the twitch of a smile tugging at your lips.

You glance over at the door and feel Wade sidle up beside you. “Seriously, cupcake. Chasing after him is like trying to catch a raccoon with rabies. Might be fun, but it’s not worth the bite.”

“Oh yeah?” you ask, peering over at him, “And how long have you known him?”

Wade pretends to look down at his wrist and taps a non-existent watch. “Four days, six hours and thirty-two minutes,” he says with a smirk, “but I don’t really like to put a timestamp on friendship."

With a groan, you plop down on the bed and rub at your temples. “Is everything a joke with you?”

“Mostly,” he chirps with a grin. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he watches you. “But I have been known to press pause occasionally.” Wade regards you for a moment, a slight tilt to his head. “Honey badger does it for you, huh?”

Sighing, you lay back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I have followed Logan through millennia, Wade. I can’t remember a time anymore where I haven’t loved him.”

“His mutant dick that good, huh?”

You half laugh, half snort and shoot him a pointed look. “Not everything is about sex, Wade.”

“Agree to disagree,” he says with a shrug. “We’ve all got emotional baggage, mine is definitely over the free to fly limit, but that guy? Literal mountains. Centuries worth, even.”

“Exactly,” you say, sitting up. “I’ve helped him carry more than you can imagine. Logan may push people away, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need someone to stay.”

Wade cocks his head, considering your words and his expression softens. “You know running after him isn’t going to fix him.”

“I’m not trying to fix him,” you reply. “He just needs to know someone is there for him.”

“Well, it’s your funeral, cupcake,” he says with a sigh. “I promise I’ll give a really moving eulogy. But, I do think if anyone is gonna convince tall, dark and brooding out there to join us, it’s you.”

You give him a soft smile as you stand. “Thanks, Wade.”

“And just so you know,” he calls after you, “I’m open and willing to being your mutant dick rebound.”

You roll your eyes and walk out the door.

+++

You step outside and see Logan sitting by himself in front of a fire not too far from the lodging. Walking quietly, you stop when you see Laura approach him and sit along side him. You’re close enough that you can hear their words—hear Logan tell her about the suit, about how he found the X-Men, his friends, dead.

The anger, the loathing, this Logan carries comes into focus and you can’t help but wonder how long he’s lived with this weight upon his shoulders. Suffering alone with only the bottom of a bottle to quiet the thoughts that scream in his mind.

As Laura eventually leaves, she catches your eye and gives you a small nod.

You feel a strange kinship with her. She too has memories of a Logan who no longer exists and who is radically different from the one she has now. You wonder what she’s thinking and have half a mind to follow after her when you hear Logan call out, “I know you’re there.”

You turn back towards where he remains sitting in front of the fire, the whiskey bottle now more than half gone. Closing the gap between you, you sit down alongside him and watch as he continues to stare down into the fading fire.

“How much did you hear?” he asks, taking a large swig from the bottle.

“Enough,” you answer simply.

Logan grunts and takes a long pull from the bottle, his lips glistening as his swallows get sloppy. “Well, now you know. I’m the worst Logan,” he almost spits, his tone dark and bitter. “You drew the short straw with me, sweetheart.”

“You know I don’t think that,” you say softly.

Logan doesn’t respond and instead finishes the rest of the whiskey, tossing the bottle somewhere behind him. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he looks over at you. “You actually gonna join them tomorrow?”

“Are you?”

“It’s a fucking suicide mission,” he answers. “You want to walk up to your death, be my guest.”

“If you’re so convinced this is a suicide mission, why don’t you want to go?” you counter, his ire beginning to bleed into the space between you and creep uncomfortably along your skin. “You afraid you might come face to face with actual death and realize that’s not really what you want?”

Logan’s gaze flicks up to your face, his eyes dark, dangerous. “You’re fucking pushin’ it.”

“Good! Someone fucking should be!” you exclaim, standing from the fallen log. Maybe Wade was right—maybe this was futile. In every universe Logan could be a stubborn ass, but this one was particularly obstinate. “Do you really believe you’re so unredeemable, Logan? That you’re just a vile mutant who doesn’t deserve sympathy after his friends were brutally murdered?”

You can feel his rage boiling just under the surface of the thin veneer of calm. His eyes pierce into you, pinning you in place as he stands to his full height, his fists clenched tightly.

“You don’t know shit about me, sweetheart,” he growls.

Anger simmers in your veins, threatening to burn you from the inside out. “Oh fuck you, Logan.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes narrowing as his lips curl into a cruel smile. “Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you? Me sinking into your cunt while you picture whatever version of me you think I am.” His voice is a low rumble, adding to the tension threatening to suffocate you.

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, and it isn’t desire that courses through you, but rage. Your skin prickles and his vitriol ignites something deep within you, something hotter and brighter than you’ve ever felt before.

“After all this time and everything I’ve told you, you honestly believe that’s all I want from you? You’re a fucking pathetic asshole,” you snap, your voice sharp and laced with venom.

Logan’s expression darkens, the smirk slipping from his face as his jaw clenches. “You got some balls sayin’ that shit to me,” he spits.

A small part of you is terrified of him, afraid that he might actually snap. Might actually unsheathe his claws and send you onto your next life without ever having truly lived this one. But you know him, you know him. His pain and rage isn’t towards you, but himself.

You risk a step closer to him, narrowing the space between you and you can feel the heat radiating off of him, mingling with your own fury. “Yeah, well at least one of us has a pair.”

Logan doesn’t have time to react before you channel your powers towards him, unleashing an explosive burst of energy that sends him staggering back. And then you smother him, smother him in thousands of years of memories, thousands of years of every single feeling you had ever felt for him in every universe you’ve known him.

The weight of your emotional onslaught brings him to his knees, but you keep pushing, switching from your feelings for him to his feelings for you. All the affection, all the love, all the comfort the two of you shared in every version of your coupling across space and time floods his mind.

You watch as his expression melts from anger into one of overwhelming vulnerability and pain. His hands, still clenched into fists, tremble beneath the weight of your power surging through him. He looks up at you then, his eyes pleading and your resolve breaks. Tears burn in your eyes and trail down your cheeks, wetting your lips as a scream rips from your lungs.

Your hold on Logan dissipates as you reign your emotions back under control. You stagger on your feet as your power diminishes, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and broken sobs. You can’t look at him, not yet. If you do, you might actually break. So you do something that you never thought you would do—you leave.

+++

Night in the Void is cool, almost bordering on uncomfortable like everything else in this godforsaken place, but for once it doesn’t bother you. You gaze up at the sky, the haze of distant stars and planets blurring together the more you try and focus on just one.

You’ve always loved looking at the stars. There was a comfort in knowing you could look up at the sky and see the same constellations in every universe, that there was always one constant among all the variables.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting before you hear the crunch of his boots on the earth, dried leaves and twigs snapping under his heel. Logan joins you on the ground, sitting with a heavy sigh. The maelstrom of emotions swirling within him bleeds into the space between you and you can feel it, thick and heavy and suffocating.

You risk a glance at him and he looks…defeated. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw and you see something in those hazel eyes you rarely see—fear. Not fear at you, although your guilt would rather have you believe that, but fear of himself, fear of feeling what you’ve shown him. Logan’s breath is slow, controlled, but you can hear the slight tremor in it.

“I promised myself I would never use my powers on you” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know what it feels like to experience that onslaught. It feels like drowning.” Your voice cracks and you fight to keep the guilt burning in your chest from consuming you whole. “And that was just a fraction of what we’ve felt across lifetimes, Logan.”

Logan stays silent but gazes at your face, eyes flicking across your features, drinking you in. The scrutiny makes you shiver. Before you isn’t The Wolverine, the X-Man people in his universe loathe, but a man left raw and vulnerable.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he says slowly, his voice rough as the words are pulled from him. “You shouldn’t have shown me that.”

You flinch, the weight of his words are a punch to your gut. “I know,” you whisper, wiping tears from your eyes. “I know and I’m sorry, I—”

Logan cuts you off with a shake of his head, his eyes now locked onto yours. “I already knew, sweetheart,”he murmurs, his voice low. “You feel like—you feel like home.”

Your heart stutters in your chest and for a moment you can’t breathe. The words hang between you, heavy and raw, the sound of them something you’ve been craving to hear.

“I am your home,” you reply softly.

Logan shifts beside you, closing the space between you as he slips his hand behind your neck and pulls you in. His mouth crashes to yours, his kiss urgent, rough and desperate.

You reach for him, gripping his shoulders as you kiss him back, the Void slipping away. There’s only the heat of his mouth, the rough scrape of his beard against your skin, the way his other hand tugs at your waist in an attempt to pull you closer.

It’s messy and intense and you don’t want it to end. Logan kisses you like a man starved, like you’re his last breath of air.

A whimper falls from your lips as he finally breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. You’re both breathless, his nose softly nudging yours.

“Please come with us tomorrow,” you whisper against his skin. “Let me take you home.”

He nods once and that’s all you need.

+++

The morning comes quicker than anyone would like.

Nervous energy bleeds through the group, everyone knowing they’re on the precipice of life or death, that this may be the last day they ever inhale air into their lungs or feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

Logan’s quiet, already tucking into Gambit’s liquor, as you sit down beside him. He looks down at you briefly, taking a long long pull before offering you the bottle. You take it from him and take a swig of your own, the amber liquid burning a path down your throat.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, handing him back the bottle.

He stares down at his feet, swirling the liquid around in the glass. “I honestly don’t even fuckin’ know.”

You reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. He stares down at you for a moment and then drags his gaze up to your face. “Whatever happens Logan, I’ll be right there with you.”

Final preparations complete, everyone piles into the van, you tucking alongside Logan in the hatchback. The ride is mostly quiet, punctuated only with the few occasional quips by Wade just to ease the tension. You brace yourself, gripping Logan’s calf as Blade sends a rocket launcher through Cassandra’s front gate and Elektra floors it through the explosion.

The others leave the van first, forming a line of defense. You look up at Logan and lean forward to press the faintest of kisses against his lips. His fingers curl around your neck and pull you closer, deepening it just enough to taste your mouth.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Stay by me.”

You swallow hard, loathe to let him go, wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the van, but you simply nod and follow him to join the others.

Fighting erupts all around you and you stick as close to Logan’s back as you can. It’s a symphony of chaos—rage, fear and determination all swirling heavily in the air. You feel your power thrum underneath your fingertips as you channel those emotions back towards whoever Logan is fighting, hoping to disarm them—even if temporarily—with their own vitriol in an attempt to give him an advantage.

The air burns in your lungs as you move through the fight, your mind spinning as you gain distance towards Cassandra’s lair. You can see the others move around you—Elektra and Blade slicing down enemies with their blades; Gambit disarming others with his explosively charged playing cards; Laura fighting in a style all her own, yet so much like Logan’s; and Wade cutting down others like he’s having fun.

A clear path opens up to the ramp leading up to Cassandra and the others swarm behind you, allowing yourself, Wade and Logan to break free from the melee. Logan looks back at you just long enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. You try and remain stoic, even though your mind is racing with all he the ways this could go wrong, and give him a small nod of encouragement.

You stop short in front of Cassandra as she sits sipping tea, seemingly disinterested in the battle happening just outside her stronghold. “You two escaping I could live with, but coming back willingly…” she trails off, “Boys are so silly.” Her eyes dart towards you. “And you brought a friend!”

“I just need to get home,” Wade says, his tone serious.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option.”

Cassandra flicks Wade aside effortlessly and Logan’s instantly on alert, claws extended at his side. You attempt to direct your powers at her, trying to defuse the anger simmering below her surface. She rolls her neck and glances at you, intrigue in her eyes.

“Oh, aren’t you interesting,” she says, effortlessly flicking your powers aside. “I wonder what treats you have hiding in that mind of yours.”

Cassandra steps closer to you, her calculating stare flicking over your face. She lifts one hand up to you and from behind her, Logan growls and moves to attack. You watch, powerless, as she pins Logan to the ground with his own claws.

She tsks and looks down at him, “That’s enough out of you.”

And then, she’s in your mind, every nerve ending in your body on fire, ready to consume you whole.

You’re standing in a library, Cassandra at your side. Shelves extend as far as the eye can see, fading into an infinite distance. You walk aimlessly along the shelves, pausing at the entrance of a room simply titled “Logan”.

“Oh, now this is something,” you hear Cassandra say from beside you. “This is quite the collection you have.”

Your fingers reach out and touch the spines, the briefest flickers of memories emanating from their covers. “I’ve known him for so long,” you murmur. “Been with him through so much.”

You pause in front of one book, the urge to open it nearly overwhelming. Pulling it from the shelf, the pages flutter open and you gasp, the memories of that life flooding your brain.

You and Logan were married in this life. He worked a simple job, construction. There were no X-men, no missions, no danger. He kept his mutation a secret, showing only you when the memories got too rough, too unmanageable. You were his anchor. You had two kids—girls. And oh, how he loved them. Both of them wrapped effortlessly around his heart from before they were even born.

Tears spring to your eyes as the warmth of those memories flood through you. “I loved that life,” you whisper, putting the book back on the shelf.

“And who wouldn’t?” Cassandra agrees, placing her hand on your shoulder. “So effortless his love for you. So different from now.”

You glance over at her, confusion drawn on your face. False empathy tugs at Cassandra’s sympathetic smile. “Are you even sure he cares for you now? This Logan is so broken, more broken and unloveable than all these other Logans, hm?”

Shaking your head, you try to resist her efforts to batter you, to convince you your soul’s purpose is not worth it. Not worth him. “That’s not true. They’re all worthy. All capable and deserving of love,” you say, your fingers trailing along another spine. “Even this one. Especially this one.”

Cassandra’s face contorts then and…

She’s wrenched from your mind and you fall to your knees, blinking up as you see Wade holding Cassandra from behind, one hand holding Jaggernaut’s helmet to her head.

Your mind still spins as Logan and Wade confront her, their conversation a jumble in your mind. But you don’t miss her saying either they kill her, or she kills them. Finding the strength to stand, you rise and place your hand on Wade’s arm.

“If I stay,” you start, focusing only on Cassandra and ignoring the press of Logan’s gaze into your skin, “Will you let them go?”

Logan reaches for you and you pull your gaze from Cassandra long enough to press your palm against this chest. You meet his eyes, silently pleading with him to let you continue.

“Will you?” you repeat, unable to keep the pleading out of your tone.

Cassandra laughs bitterly. “You love him that much? To sacrifice yourself to save him? That Logan, out of all of them?”

You nod, feeling the tears burn in your eyes. “I love him that much,” you reply softly.

Logan grabs your hand then, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t,” he chokes out, voice thick with unspoken emotion, “Don’t do this.”

You smile softly as you reach up and cup his cheek, his beard rough against your palm. You don’t miss the way he briefly nuzzles into your touch, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs. “I love you, Logan. In all my lives, in this one and in the next one, too.” The first tear slips down your cheek as you look up at him. “I promise I’ll find you again, Logan. I always do.”

You press a kiss to his mouth, soft and gentle. It lingers for a moment, a desperate, bittersweet exchange as Logan tries to memorize the feel of you. His hands grip your waist, clutching almost hard enough to bruise, but you relish the pain.

Wade stands beside you both, uncharacteristically silent, his hands still holding Cassandra in place. His usual banter is gone, the weight of the moment not lost on him. “This is the worst fucking idea anyone has ever had,” he mutters, but his tone is soft. “And I’ve had some pretty terrible ideas.”

Cassandra regards you with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “If I let them go, you’ll stay here with me in the Void. Be my ally.”

You nod, “Yes.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow, calculating, weighing her options. Finally she sighs, “Fine. But you know…no one will remember this little sacrifice of yours. The next Logan won’t even know you.”

Logan growls and you squeeze his hand in gentle reassurance. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice finally breaking. “I’ll remember enough for the both of us.”

You step away from Logan, your heart shattering with every step. Wade lets go of Cassandra and you feel the weight of your decision settle heavily against your shoulders.

Cassandra pulls something from her pocket, slipping it onto her fingers. Before you, a portal opens up, just outside the boundaries of the room. Outside, the raging storm that is Alioth grows near and in that moment, you realize Cassandra was playing a game of her own.

“I figure,” she says, straightening the lapels of her jacket, “that they have approximately four seconds before they’re through.”

Your eyes flick to Logan and you memorize every detail, every emotion written across his face. With one final nod, he tears his gaze from you and he runs towards the portal, Wade alongside him.

And then, darkness consumes all.

+++

You’re unsure how long you’ve been out. The last thing you remember was Alioth screaming towards you, giving you barely enough time to cocoon yourself from his rage.

Cassandra is gone.

Wade is gone.

And Logan—Logan is gone.

You open your eyes and find Remy standing above you. He offers you his hand and helps you to stand. “C’mon, chère,” he says, nodding towards the open portal behind him, “Let’s go home.”

You’re not sure where home is any more, not without Logan, but you don’t have the strength to argue. From the moment you wound up here in the Void, you’ve been looking for a way out. Now that you have one, you know you need to take it.

Accepting Remy’s hand, you join him through the portal.

You stumble into a familiar room and are greeted warmly by a smiling TVA agent. She’s unlike the first TVA agent you met, her presence comforting as she says your name. “We heard you’ve had quite the adventure.” She looks over towards Remy. “Mr. LeBeau, if you’ll follow this agent here.”

Remy leaves with he other agent, turning towards you with a wink. “Enjoy your man for me, yeah?”

Your heart flutters in your chest and you look towards the agent, trying to suppress the hope you feel in your chest. She smiles and rests a comforting hand on your shoulder. From her pocket she pulls out a small device, pressing a few buttons on the pad. Before you a different portal opens and she gestures towards it.

“Welcome home.”

+++

You stand in front of the apartment door and hesitate before knocking. Your nerves flutter uncomfortably in your belly even though it’s been less than two days since you last saw Logan in the Void. But you’re out now—you both are—and the fear nags at you that maybe this isn’t what he wants. That you aren’t what he wants.

You stuff that thought down with a shake of your head. Raising your hand, you rap against the door three times and let out a shaky breath. When he opens the door, you feel as if the air has left your lungs and you forget to breathe. Your heart aches at the sight of him.

Logan stops short, his face falling into one of pure disbelief and all he can do is stare at you.

“Is that my stripper?” you hear Wade call from farther into the apartment. Logan continues to stare at you as Wade pops up behind him, his face lighting up in surprise. “Oh, hey cupcake! Didn’t expect to—“

“Get out,” Logan growls, turning his head slightly in Wade’s direction, his eyes never leaving yours.

From over Logan’s shoulder, Wade wiggles his eyebrows. “Ah, looking for some afternoon delight?” he coos, slinging his arm over Logan’s shoulder and patting his chest. “This guy has been jerkin’ it constan—“

You hear the sknit of Logan’s claws as they unsheathe into Wade’s thighs. “Ah, fuck! Fuck!” Wade curses. “You’re supposed to be penetrating her, not me!”

“Get. Out,” Logan repeats, retracting his claws.

“Fine.” Wade pushes past Logan’s frame, limping slightly as his wounds heal themselves. “You’re lucky Blind Al’s already out playing Bingo. Or selling herself for blow. I don’t actually know her schedule,” he comments as he walks down the hallway. “Glad you’re home, cupcake.”

Logan barely waits until Wade is out of sight before tugging at the hem of your shirt and pulling you towards him. Your gasp dies on your lips as he drags you inside, shutting the door with his foot and pushing you up against the rough wood. Then his mouth is on yours and it’s warm and wet and wonderful.

His hands cup your face, fingers moving to tangle in your hair and you feel him everywhere. You whine as he nips lightly at your chin before trailing his lips back up your jaw, licking into your mouth as he kisses you deep.

Your fingers scramble for purchase, fisting themselves into the fabric of his button-down flannel.

There’s a desperation and urgency bleeding from him, as if he can’t drink you in fast enough, or hard enough, or long enough to satiate the longing that’s within him. And you’re feeling it too, an ache growing deeper in your belly, a need to be consumed by him fully and you whine into his mouth because he’s not nearly close enough to you.

A thigh slips between your legs as he kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, a moan falling from your lips as you greedily seek friction.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Logan husks against your shoulder, pulling your hips harder against his clothed thigh.

Your hands cup the sides of his face, your fingers scratching lightly against his beard. You force him to look at you, his pupils blown wide. “I always come to you,” you say softly. “I always come home.”

He kisses you softly then, his mouth slow over yours and he drops his thigh from between your leg. You whine at the loss and he pulls back. “C’mere,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you further into he apartment. “I’m not fucking you for the first time against a door.”

You follow him to the bedroom, your chest heaving with ragged breaths and you can feel the prickle of anticipation along your spine as he turns back to look at you. His eyes never leave yours as he shrugs off the flannel and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes trace the lines of his chest, the strong definition of his muscles, following the line of hair that leads to the top of his jeans. As you bite your lip, you hear his chuckle, “My eyes are up here.”

“Mmm, yeah they are,” you start, tugging your shirt off and shimmying your pants over your hips, “but the view down there is nice, too.”

Logan reaches for you, his large hands skimming over your hips, over the flesh of your ass and under your thighs, lifting you up and forcing your to wrap your legs around his waist. With an easy flick of his fingers, he’s unclasped your bra and you toss it aside with the rest of your clothes.

Kneeling on the bed, he lays you down, kissing his way down your stomach, his nose nuzzling along the top of your panties. “Do you have any fucking idea how sweet you smell?” His mouth is hot against your skin and he laughs as you tilt your hips up towards him. “You want me to fuck you with my tongue? Lap at you until you’re seeing stars?”

Molten desire shoots down your spine and you can feel the slick between your thighs. God, the mouth on him was going to be the death of you.

You prop yourself up onto your elbows and look down at him. “Just fucking touch me already,” you whine, and you hate how desperate you sound. “Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He presses a wet, open mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his nose along the center of your clothed cunt. You inhale sharply as he kisses over your clit before trailing his fingers along your hip bones and pulling the fabric down. His warm hands palm along your thighs and he opens you up, staring down at you with hunger in his eyes. And then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a hot stripe through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan as his mouth continues to lap at you, pleasure tingling low in your belly and spreading through your limbs.

Logan hums. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, sweetheart.” His tongue dips down, collecting the arousal at your entrance. “I could die happy between these thighs.”

You trail your hands down over your chest, briefly palming each breast before you continue down and sink your fingers into Logan’s hair. His groan rumbles through you and you don’t miss the way his hips start to rut against the mattress, seeking friction.

His mouth and tongue continue to move over you, long, slow licks punctuated by gentle sucks and flicks over your clit and you can’t stop the grind of your hips against his face. You feel his smirk against you as one thick finger finally sinks inside your walls, nudging that spot deep inside that makes you squirm.

Another finger slips inside you and a low whine spills from your lips.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know that,” he says, voice rough, thumb replacing his tongue against your clit as his fingers continue pumping. “All blissed out and needy and desperate to come on my fingers.”

His words zip through you as he fuck you with his hand and you bite your lip. “C’mon,” he purrs, “let me hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

Soft whimpers spill from your throat as he continues to work you, that pull in your lower belly growing stronger and stronger. His hand never stilling, he kisses his way up your body, pulling a nipple into his mouth and then you’re coming, cunt clenching around his fingers.

Logan licks into your mouth to steal your cries as he continues to work you through your orgasm. Your thighs clamp around his forearm, the pleasure overwhelming.

He finally stills, pulling his fingers from you and you whimper at the loss. You watch through half lidded eyes as he licks his fingers clean of your slick and you feel that flame reignite in your belly.

“Take your pants off,” you demand, breathless, pushing at his chest.

Logan laughs, but allows you to push him onto his back. “You always so bossy after you come?”

You fumble at his belt, undoing his buckle and unzipping his jeans before shoving them down his hips. “Make me do it again and find out,” you taunt as his cock springs free.

He kicks his pants the rest of the way off and you sit back on your heels and admire him for a moment. Your eyes trail from his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest and follow that line of hair down his stomach to between his thighs, where his cock stands, thick and ready.

“I will never get tired of looking at you,” you sigh, raking your nails down his thighs, deliberately not touching him where you know he wants it the most. “You’re so beautiful, Logan.”

Whatever response he has, dies in his throat as you finally wrap your hand around his cock, giving him one long, firm stroke. He’s hot and heavy and you’re aching to feel him inside you. But not yet. Leaning down, your eyes meet his and you trace your tongue along the underside of his cock, tasting the salt on his skin.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Logan curses, unable to stop the thrust of his hips, chasing your mouth.

You wrap your lips around the head, swirling your tongue over the slit and collecting the precum there before taking as much of him in your mouth as you can. Logan hisses through his teeth, fingers winding their way into your hair to help guide your movements.

“You’re so warm and wet, sweetheart,” he groans. “But I don’t want to come in your mouth.”

You give him one last stroke as you release him from your mouth and climb up to sit on his thighs. Logan pulls you forward by your hips and you gasp as your cunt slides across his cock.

“Line me up,” he instructs and you obey without hesitation.

Gripping him in your hand, you guide him to your entrance, notching him inside before slowly sinking down atop him. A sob chokes in your throat at the thick feel of him inside you, stretching you, making you feel complete. Your entire existence boils down to where he’s joined with you and you relish the burn.

His hands are everywhere as you start to move, caressing your thighs, your hips, up to your breasts and back down, tracing a map on your skin only his fingers can read. Praise falls from his lips in an almost nonstop litany, telling you how wet you are, how tight, how warm, how good you’re making him feel.

“Do you want to know how you make me feel?” you ask, breathless. You look down at him through half lidded eyes and find him just as flushed and wanton as you. “How you’ve always made me feel?”

You continue to rock back and forth on his cock, slow, deliberate movements that leave you wanting, needing more. Logan shifts his hips and finds the leverage to fuck up into you, the deep drag of his cock against your walls making you throw your head back and moan.

“Fuck,” he growls, his fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your hips, pulling you somehow impossibly closer. “Show me, sweetheart.”

You brace your hands against his chest, raking your fingers through the damp hair there, feeling his heart beat beneath your palms. Leaning down, you capture his mouth with yours, the kiss sloppy as he continues to thrust up into you. You move your hands up his neck, your fingers collecting the sweat along his jaw and then, “Feel, Logan.”

It starts slow, an almost faint heat spreading from your fingertips as they ghost over his skin, your power beginning to pulse in time with your heartbeat. Logan gasps and his rhythm falters as the first wave of emotion hits him. You slow, too, your hips barely moving as you run your fingers down from his jaw, over the column of his throat and back to his chest.

Your palms rest against his ribs as you continue to pour into him all the love and passion he’s ever shown you over centuries. Logan stares up at you in reverence, his face soft as he runs his hands up your sides, over your breasts. He tugs you down towards him, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Do you feel, Logan,” you ask, your breath hot against his lips. “Do you feel how much you love you have in you?”

He draws your bottom lip into his mouth, biting softly once, before capturing your mouth fully, kissing you deep. You hum as his tongue swipes against yours and his fingers tangle in your hair.

A gasp pulls from your throat as Logan wraps his arms around you and flips your position, forcing your legs around his waist as he begins to thrust into you again in earnest. You feel him deep in this position, each thrust of his cock against your walls hitting that perfect spot inside of you.

“It’s too much,” he groans into your skin. “Never…never felt like this.”

You rake your nails along his back, relishing in the growl that falls from this throat. “It always feels like this,” you gasp, drawing your power back.

His arms slide under your shoulders, anchoring you in place as his hips continue to thrust into you. It’s lewd almost, the slapping of skin against skin and the wet noises from where you’re joined. His breath is hot and damp against your skin where his mouth hovers over the pulse point in your neck.

Your fingers snake into the short strands of hair at the back of his neck and your other hand slips in between your bodies, reaching for your clit.

“That’s it,” he moans, “use those fingers to get yourself off on my cock.”

You can feel where he’s sliding thickly into your cunt, the wiry hairs at the base of his cock damp with your arousal, and you begin to rub in time with his thrusts. Pleasure zips along your spine, every cell in your body afire at his touch. You feel that telltale tug low in your belly and you know you’re not going to last much longer.

He slides his hands down from your shoulders, following the curve of your spine, forcing you to arch your back. Taking the opportunity before him, he swirls his tongue over one nipple, then the other as he palms the flesh of your hips in his hands, angling your hips further up into his. A keening whine falls from your lips as he somehow thrusts deeper into you, making your legs shake.

Logan nudges your hand away from your clit, replacing your fingers with his own as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. His eyes are focused on the sight of his cock thrusting into you and the slick smeared across your thighs.

“Logan,” you gasp, “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, dragging his gaze up to your face, “I got you. Takin’ me so well, so tight. Gonna spend the rest of my life tellin’ you how fucking good you are.”

His words tip you over the edge, your orgasm rolling through you as you spasm down on his cock, his name falling from your lips. He fucks you through your orgasm, each thrust of his hips sending aftershocks of pleasure along your limbs as he chases his own release. Logan’s thrusts grow erratic and you reach for him, grasping at his forearms, pulling him down to you.

“Come for me, Logan,” you murmur in his ear. “I wanna feel you come.”

With one final thrust, he comes with a groan, forehead pressed against yours as he spills himself deep within you. You can feel cock spasm as he lazily thrusts through his orgasm, using your body to wring out the last of his pleasure. You hold him close, pressing open mouthed kisses to his jaw as he finally stills within you.

Careful not to crush you, Logan pulls you to him as he rolls onto his side. He doesn’t pull out, tugging your leg over his hip to keep you close and full.

You smile up at him, brushing the damp hair away from his forehead. He sighs at your touch, a content sound that tugs at your heart.

“You really love me in every universe?” he asks softly, brushing his nose against yours.

“Yes.”

“Even this one?”

“Especially this one.”

You don’t know what the rest of this life holds, but you do know one thing—wherever he goes, you’ll be right there with him.

#deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #worst wolverine #logan howlett x you #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #deadpool #logan x reader #logan howlett fic #logan howlett fanfiction

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ordowrites · 10 months ago

Text

kissing you

cw: very suggestive themes, slight yan content with wanderer, self indulgent, overall fluff, afab!reader in some parts (overall, gn! terms used, reader wears make up/dress), terrible flirting. minors dni, mdni. user has a vision.

characters: kaeya, diluc, wanderer, arlecchino, al-haitham

kaeya has been staring at your lips for awhile now - as you talk about something that you ran into while out doing some sort of investigation. it's starting to make you nervous, the way he remains silent, bent down, his eye on your lips and his head tilted to the side.

"captain? are you listening to me? this this hilichurl camp set up nearby and -"

"yes, yes." kaeya says with a wave of his hand. "i'll have some of my people get on it." he pauses now, leaning in closer. you can smell his cologne. "say, did you get a new shade of lipstick?"

"i-uh, yes?"

"hmm." he gently cups your chin with his fingers, tilting his head to the side as he gently kisses you. "aw, it's not flavored this time."

all you can do is stutter before he bends in to kiss you again.

the fall night is warm, you're warm as you wrap your arms around his as the pair of you exit the manor for the night - the party goers dispersing and it's time for you to head home as well. the abundance of wealth diluc has always surprises you, on top of all his connections. he tells you about something, maybe it's another compliment in the list of all the creative ways he tells you how much he loves you, you're not sure but you're tired.

"shall i accompany you home tonight, my love?" diluc asks as he helps you into your carriage. "you are certainly more than welcome to also stay the night."

"ah, but we certainly cannot have rumors flying around just yet." you say with a tired giggle. playing hard to get is one of your favorite things to do - he seems to enjoy the chase some, at least.

"then," he gently takes your hand into his gloved one, those red eyes that always look into your soul and beyond, look into your own, as he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "get home safe, okay? if you encounter any trouble, do not hesitate to return."

you smile, taking your hand back and bend down (silently delighting into the new height advantage the carriage gives you) and kiss him on the cheek.

"have a lovely night, diluc." yet it takes one more kiss to pull you out of the carriage and back into his manor.

he is irritated, agitated more like, with his pacing back and forth. you sigh and watch him, legs crossed and elbows resting on your thighs. you're getting dizzy at this point, but his frustration is honestly really funny.

all that had to happen was someone complimenting you today and he loses his mind. the entire day, he's been sulking and pouting and grumbling.

"hat guy," you call to him, gently. "are you okay?"

he stops in his tracks, staring dead in your eyes. "no," he grumbles. "i am not." you huff a laugh and shake your head. it's like you blink and he's blocking your view of well - the rest of the living room. you're not exactly sure what's happening, but your shirt is being pulled down and his lips are pressing against the tender skin at the juncture between your shoulder and your neck.

and he bites. you yelp a bit, but he doesn't pull away until there is a bright red mark there.

"you're mine, don't forget that."

"you never let me forget." you grumble as he pushes you down, his teeth sinking into more of your neck.

you are wholly naked after getting out of the bath, and sitting between arlecchino's legs, on her bed, as she brushes your hair. she admires every inch of you, on a daily basis. whenever you ask about her doing your hair, she simply tells you that she enjoys it and should she not pamper her loved one? so you always drop the subject and lean into this momentary peace in her chaotic life. the candle flickers some, its flame casting a gentle glow in the bedroom.

a clawed hand rests on your thigh and you peek at the full length mirror, she's set the brush down.

warmth blossoms through you as she kisses the back of your neck, trailing kisses down along your spine until she reaches midback. after a moment, she's tugging at your hair, forcing you to lean your head back as she kisses you on the lips.

"you're very beautiful." she murmurs.

"you tell me that often." you tell her with a little giggle. she hums softly.

"not often enough." she declares, her hand reaching for the brush again. "i believe i should praise you more. you are a good girl, after all." your face reddens at that and she looks even more pleased. another kiss is pressed to the side of your neck before she resumes her previous task.

you talk too much, al-haitham has told you many times - you like to visit him in his office at lunch every day, just to ramble on and on. you like to think he's listening, but with his eyes always glued on his book, you're never sure. but that never stops you (nor does it ever stop kaveh, the poor man sometimes stresses himself out over his roommates indifference). oh, you do this to annoy him most of the time, but lately, it's just scheduled and expected.

"and can you believe-"

your words are cut off when his lips meet yours, your eyes widen when he pulls away. you're stunned as you sit down on the comfortable couch, trying to comprehend what just happened.

"do you hear that?" he asks you after a moment.

"no. what should i be hearing?"

"the sound of sweet silence." al-haitham finally answers, and you finally look at him, while his eyes are glued to the book, he has a smug look to his face. oh this asshole.

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lucifermonsii · 4 months ago

Note

Gay4pay

Yeah...

Idc which chara i js need a straight man go gay for my cock cs theyre broke as fuck and need 20 dollars.. Bouncing on my dick for 50... fucking him in public for 150...??? Fuck. Idc which chara btw :3

𝐌!𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

..my oh my, aren't you desperate hm...? oh, honey.. you're too cute.... Straight dude gettin' railed for a couple of bucks cause' he's broke af. !military au

can't imagine hanging out at a bar with your teammates after a hard mission just drinking rounds after rounds of liquor as you guys get a good laugh about the previous memories that were made during the tough journey. When suddenly out of the blue one of your teammates pulled you aside away from the team to a more secluded area. "hey man, sorry for asking you this put could you spare a couple dollars for me real quick? there's this chick i wanna impress and she seems to really give me the looks.." he asks you as he had his hand behind his neck, staring down at him as you grimaced at the thought of him tryna' hit up a fine chick but using your money to pay the drink. hell you weren't even sure if he was even going to pay you back.. you guys weren't really close, just teammates and nothin' more. though he could be a bit of a selfish bitch at time. like that one time you asked for a cig and he simply just puffed the air into your face and told you to breath that. "why would i do that? you didn't even spare me a look when i asked you a favor." you retorted back to him with a slight scoff as you rolled your eyes at him. choosing to be petty for once as you glanced away from him and crossed your arms over your chest. "ah.. c'mon! M/N please.. she's hella fine and it's a one time opportunity! you can't be selfish to your own teammate can you? plus it's not even payday yet so i haven't really gotten my cash.." he begged silently as he put a hand on your shoulder, trying to reason with you on why you should give him the money. you shook your head and glanced over at the woman he was babbling about to get her attention and ask her out. to be honest she did look like a one of a kind, but you couldn't really understand why he was that desperate for some shitty one night stand when you could give him way more than that. wait... "M/N please, i'll literally do anything at this point.." he pleaded as he glanced over at the woman who seems to be looking at him to before she shyly looks away with blush tinted on her cheeks. you know, he wasn't that bad looking. just a shitty ass personality but overall decent.. not to mention how refreshing it would be to see his behavior flip the moment you're going to have your way with him. "anything you say..?"

you questioned slowly, looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows to find any hint of dishonesty in his eyes. but no. all you saw were some dark orbs practically begging for you to give in to what he wants. even if it meant hooking up with some woman. for a moment he hesitated a bit and completely off guard by your sudden change of tone and how you lowered your voice. "uhm.. yeah. i guess." ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ you weren't sure how but you had somehow managed to convince him to be your little boy toy just for a couple of bucks.. and here he was, mewling into your shoulder in the bar bathroom stall as you fingered him— your fingers moving in and out of him with ease as you stretched out his virgin hole to relax his ring muscles. soft sounds of squelching fills the empty stall. thank god no one was here. his teeth lightly dug into the fabric of your clothes as you scissored him to further relax his ring muscle to which in returned he shuddered and clenched around your digits. "fuck.." he practically whimpers in a hushed whisper when your knuckles deep with your digits grazing his prostate. the slight interaction had him seeing stars for a minute as a shiver ran down his spine, tightening his grip on your back that he had on you as your other hand rested on the small of his back to make him part his legs and arch to have a piece of that flesh. "here's how it's gonna be alright..? bouncing on my dick for 50.. fucking you in public for 150, giving blow jobs for 20..." you rambled on the pricing range of any type of sexual activity he'd receive as you fingered him before picking up your pace once you've managed to easily penetrate the spot that had him seeing stars. disgusting, vulgare fantasies ran through his mind as he starts to think about how hot you'd look holding him up by having your arm tucked beneath the back of his knees as you mirror fuck him and force him to watch as you keep a grip on his jaw. watching your cock sliding in and out of him until the veins are sculpted into his gummy walls, seeing how his tight ring muscle would clench around you when you'd hit his sweet spot

#x male reader #male reader #moots #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw x reader #top male reader #dom male reader #gay

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linkcharacter · 6 months ago

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Really like the recent analysis. I know I speak of curly in a more defensive way than most but I generally try to get the point you made across at the end of the day with my analyses on him and his behaviors.

People love to lock analyses around Curly solely based on what he could’ve done as a physical action and have this avoidance to acknowledging the realistic barriers at play when it comes to those solutions. It’s. The game tries to treat the pre-crash section as if they are grounded in social and organizational realities. So the what if he did this questions about the situation always fall short when the real answer is he either couldn’t or it wasn’t an actual viable option. But then when they talk about what he actually did do it’s surrounded by such bad faith interpretations that his actions were completely intentional or still not affected by outside sources. He’s a very much “road to hell is paved with good intentions” character. He cared too much and that’s a big part of his problem.

There’s such a “perfect victim or nothing” mindset in the fandom where people can’t admit that there are no such things as perfect victims but that also shouldn’t mean that even if there were it would absolve them of the mistakes they made. People want to moralize every action of every character that they don’t realize that some actions are done without any specific morale factor. People just do things, like you said. People assumed failed intentions immediately flip the thought process behind them “he meant to do good but bad happened, he must be bad” and that just is not how people work. It’s how perceptions work but only of the observer.

It’s such a sensitive topic because, yes, you are supposed to be frustrated, even mad, at what Curly didn’t do, but you have to acknowledge the fact these were good intentioned acts even if that good intent did jack squat in the end. That his responses are human and it’s supposed to be uncomfortable and hurt that they were realistic faults of his.

He enabled his friend and it ended bad for everyone including him. No one really tries to argue this fact but everyone seems to think it has to be tied to the morale dilemma and not certain human natures and social factors.

This is all to ask, why do you personally lean towards thinking Curly wouldn’t turn Jimmy in? Are you speaking in the short term of realizing how bad he got or long-term/overall? I feel like he could but it would not be easy and no matter the necessity he’d always have this guilt at feeling bad for doing it.

Ah yes Curly the most imperfect human man character.

Yep yep yep absolutely, people love to assign morality onto characters and call them good or bad and diminishing the depth and nuance of Mouthwashing, filling discussions with bad-faith interpretations or speculating on inconcrete understandings of the incomplete, intentionally vague, context. I adore Mouthwashing to no end for having this oppressive suffocating and constant atmosphere surrounding everything in the game. Really shows off that the environment festers, no one well-meaning guy could create a happy ending with individual actions alone because it's all systematic.

To elaborate from your question tho, at the point Curly was in (if Anya wasn't pregnant scenario), definitely no don't think so (would depend on Anya a too on whether or not she would go to the authorities outside). Curly knew Jimmy was a danger, and I do believe that subconsciously Anya's report to him on Jimmy gnaws at him, but not vividly enough. I want to point out a moment where Anya tells him about the pregnancy, he begins asking "Who would you-", then he's nudged by Anya that she told him and he should know who it is, and he does, instantly saying he's known him a long time and will talk to him. That moment of, for a second not connecting that Jimmy is the assaulter responsible just makes me drag my palm across my face for how much of a man (derogatory) Curly acted like for one dialogue line. Like he just 'forgot' for a brief moment that Jimmy harassed Anya prior? Granted, he instantly believes and takes Anya seriously, immediately dropping the search for the gun he was on in that scene, realizing the severity of the situation and of Jimmy. We also don't know what Anya has told him specifically, how long ago it happened, etc. but the 'implications' of the scene make me believe Jimmy's known sexual harassment on the ship slipped Curly's mind due to him being more invested in "the bigger picture" of Jimmy, not latching onto a harmful and a very serious fucking trivia fact about Jimmy because of his perception of who his friend is as a whole (and with his foggy sleep-deprived mind at the moment), 'losing a needle in a haystack' with how much unknown history Curly and Jimmy shared, so to say.

Maaaybe in some other circumstances, like if Jimmy didn't crash the ship or smth long term I could see him doing it, it would take a lot effort like you said, no matter the necessity. We will never know. If we're going into speculation and imaginary scenarios though, if Anya HERSELF were to try and get justice, Curly would be backing her up undoubtedly (still not disconnecting himself from Jimmy though and feeling guilt on his behalf). But that's all suppositions from my reading of the characters.

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #i am so enjoying this dude like having a civil discussions is so euphoric fr like man thanks for the thoughts #asks #linkch yaps

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car-o-line · 7 months ago

Note

Hiii. The recent chapters of tbhk really got to me, and literally got me feeling empty like 😭😭.

Can I have dating hcs for the tbhk characters?

A.N: don’t you dare remind me😭 and yes you can, maybe

Dating Tbhk characters hcs

Nene Yashiro:

Stop she’s such a simp

Flabbergasted when you accepted her confession

Constantly questioning if she's good enough for you

”AH what if they hate me and are just dating me out of pity!!” - Nene

“I’m going to hit you” - Hanako

Hanako is so done with her constant blabbering

”O.M.G. Did you see the new shoes they were wearing, they’re so adorable I might just faint! Oh and also, they had a new phone case and it was sooooo pretty! It totally matches their style!”

Compliments you nonstop

Totally isn’t planning yalls wedding

Unfortunately, if you’re dating you might just get dragged into the whole apparition thingy

She doesn’t want to put you in danger of course!

She just wants someone to help her that’s not a ghost or a stupid earring boy😢

Hanako:

Met you through Nene or you summoned him

Makes you play cards with him

It depends on what you both face but sometimes he’ll just unintentionally get you into danger

Like- “Oh y/n what are you doing here? I dragged you here? What!? I would never >:(!”

But don’t you worry because he’ll save ya

And then loses track of you, but he’s very focused while trying to get you out of danger!

Never and I mean never does he want you to meet Tsukasa

He’s worried Tsukasa might kill or injure you in any way

Plz listen to his warnings about Tsukasa, he’s begging you

Gives you cringe nicknames just to embarrass you

But he does it out of love!

Very touch starved because of him being alone for so long

So except what’s to come

Kou Minamoto:

Sweetest boyfriend ever and no one can change my mind

Oh you sent a good morning text? That’s cute. Here’s a five long paragraph about how happy Kou is to see you today

Of course, that’s later in the relationship

At first he’d be red just by looking at you

Ecstatic if Teru(platonically) likes you as well

Wants to show off his skills as an exorcist but fails miserably

Baking dates are a must

Especially if you know how to cook then you’d both do a bake off

It’d be like “nail it” except Tiara is the judge

#Tiara4President2025

Overall best of the best boyfriends out there

Mitsuba Sousuke:

Literally the definition of a tsundere

His love language is making fun of you🩷

But he means it fondly!

Clings to you like a leech 24/7🙄

Can and will take photos of you and keeps them in his pocket

Very, very, annoying when his attention needs are not met

“Why aren’t you around? Do you not love me? Do you not think I’m adorable?”

”I had to go home..the school day ended..?”

Okay maybe not like that but still

VERY disappointed when you aren’t around😔

But he loves you so it’s okay

Tsukasa Yugi:

Choosing him is crazy/hj

Blink twice if you need help😦

Very obviously obsessive and possessive(an unhealthy amount that is)

If you thought Hanako’s clinginess was bad erm..

He’ll literally does that thing where he wraps his whole body around your waist no matter how tall you are(like he did with Hanako)

It doesn’t matter how hard you try to shoo him off he’ll just stay stuck there

Like superglue or smth

Definitely will have a tea of muffin date with you, but that’s basically everything day so idk

Sakura needs at therapist at this point

#FreeSakura

Sometimes you’ll be minding your business and just see a kaku-joudai in the corner of you eye(thanks Tsukasa)

Sakura Nanamine:

She is thanking every lord or being that may or may not exist in the world of your existence

She loves you to death and you make her life so much easier

Very very relaxed/chill girlfriend

Treats you like royalty

“Oh you want a cup of tea? What flavor? Hm? Oh, I have 5743 kinds. Just name one I’ll bring it.”

You both have to deal with the hell of taking care of Tsukasa and Natsuhiko so it’s kind of like a bonding experience between the two of you

Her love language is acts of service, fight me on that😠

Nap dates, I’m sorry she just seems so sleepy all the time😭

Or muffin dates idk

Natsuhiko Hyuuga:

Honestly, you’re either both be stupid idiots in love or you’re just patient as hell

Talks about you all. The. Damn. Time.

”Your s/o got you flowers? Pff, well on March 22nd-”

You’re either Sakuras lifesaver or hellspawn

He's the boyfriend who if someone hits on you he’d perk up and agree with them

Down bad, but not in a Nene down bad yk

Calls you the weirdest crap

”Hellooooo my beautiful lightbulb”

”huh?”

He really believes that you’re the best person to ever exist

And anyone who says otherwise, he’ll get Tsukasa or smth

Idk he’s just a funny tall man

Teru Minamoto:

Either a very expected relationship or a unexpected if your popular or not

He’s a silly man so sometimes if he’s bored he’ll just call you to his office and just say hi, then send you back😐

Like sir????

Anyway he’s not afraid to use you as a barrier so girls leave him alone

Proud to have you as his s/o🥳

Makes sure to keep you tf away from anyyyy supernatural stuff

“Just play horror games or something.”

Sometimes you have to force him to sleep

Then he’ll tell you that you yourself need sleep??🤨(a hypocrite at his finest)

You are the new babysitter for Kou and Tiara, if he’s away ofc

They like you thankfully!!

Tiara forces you to play dolls with her tho

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wonderjanga · 7 months ago

Text

Kill Licenses

Stargirl was excited! Captain Marvel had just offered to let her fight crime with him in Fawcett. The man was like a big brother to everyone. That included her. He was super nice, was normally the person who first stepped up to diffuse a situation, and overall just a big teddy bear of a man. So it was a little bit a of a surprise when she saw him snap a rapist’s neck like a twig.

Marvel: *drops the body, muttering something about paperwork*

Stargirl: *gobsmacked*

Marvel: *looks over to her for a second before doing a double take* “Oh my gods I forgot you were here!” *sounds horrified*

Stargirl: “You just killed a man!”

Marvel: “I know- I know!” *leads her away from the body* “I’m so sorry you had to see that.” *sounds completely ashamed*

Stargirl: “There’s nothing to be sorry about. You killed a rapist. That’s one less evil in the world, but my question is how are you gonna get away with this?! Cap, you’re gonna go to jail!”

Marvel: “Ah… Well, no. I have a license to kill.”

Stargirl: “Wait, you can actually have one of those?”

Marvel: “Yeah, uh me, and most of the other Fawcett heroes have one. We’ve all had them since the sixties and had to get them renewed a while back. It’s not a bad thing to have for situations like this.”

Stargirl: “…Can I have one?”

Marvel: “Yes? No? I don’t know? You should in my opinion. It’s a good safety net for if you accidentally kill a villain. You just fill out some paperwork and you’ll be safe. Do you want one…?”

Stargirl: “Yes.” *immediate answer*

Marvel: “Are you sure? I mean, you’re a teenager, so you might need a parent to sign or something.”

Stargirl: “Well, I don’t have a parent right now, but I do technically have a temporary guardian at the moment.” *eyes him*

Marvel: “No… you’re not seriously suggesting…?”

And that’s how Marvel ended up taking Stargirl to a secret government base so she could get a kill license. Stargirl got a stellar recommendation from the Captain and passed with flying colors.

As they’re leaving the base…

Marvel: “Okay, so we need to lay some ground rules.”

Stargirl: “Ground rules?”

Marvel: “Yeah, ground rules. Now I know you’re not the type of kid to go around killing people all willy-nilly, but I’ll say it just in case, don’t go killing people all willy-nilly.”

Stargirl: “Well, duh, I’m not dumb.”

Marvel: “I know you aren’t. And now onto the actually important rule. Under any circumstances, do not kill around other heroes. That’s how Huntress got kicked out of the Justice League after all.”

Stargirl: “I can’t even do it around you?”

Marvel: “Well, I guess you could. And I guess you could do it around the other Fawcett heroes, but just make sure not to do it around heroes who don’t have a license, okay? I don’t wanna get in trouble, and I doubt you wanna get in trouble too.”

Stargirl: “Gotcha.”

Marvel: “Nice. Now that that’s out of the way, wanna go for victory ice cream since you got your license?”

A solid four months passed after this incident. The two forgot about it. They were chilling. Then, Courtney forgot that her stepdad didn’t know that she could legally kill a villain, fill out some paperwork, and face no repercussions.

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “YOU TOOK MY STEPDAUGHTER OUT TO GET A KILL LICENSE?! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Marvel: “Nothing! I didn’t think it was a bad thing!”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “She’s sixteen. She sliced a man’s head off. CLEAN. With practiced precision. She doesn’t even have a drivers license! What in hell would make you think it’s a good idea to give her a kill license?!”

Marvel: “Okay, her slicing off someone’s head isn’t my fault. I didn’t teach her that, and the guys who gave her the license didn’t either.”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “Then who did??”

Marvel: “I don’t know! Maybe she’s just bloodthirsty?”

Stargirl: “No I’m not?” *sounds slightly offended*

Marvel: *ignores her* “Look, the point is, I’m sorry for not telling you but please, please, pretty please don’t tell Batman.”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “Why?”

Marvel: “Oh come on. He’s super anti-kill. If you told him he’d have me removed from the Justice League almost instantly.”

S.T.R.I.P.E.: “Maybe you should be removed! You don’t just give a kid the okay to kill someone.”

Marvel: “I’m not giving her an okay to do anything. I only wanted her to have it as a safety net. I promise.”

It took a lot of convincing for Pat not to squeal to Batman, but thankfully, they got it in the end. Though, the man still ended up chewing the two out.

Inspired by @helps-the-writing-brain-go’s repost on my We Thought You Died?! post :) Thanks for the inspo!

#billy batson #shazam #dc captain marvel #captain marvel dc #fawcett city #fawcett #fawcett comics #dc stargirl #courtney whitmore #dc stripe #dc s.t.r.i.p.e.#patrick dugan #dc stripey

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bigmacari · 3 days ago

Note

I’m nervous to ask but could you do a Timothy timepiece x reader it’s okay if not

•────────⋅ᓚᘏᗢ⋅────────•

Timothy Timepiece x Reader

☆Romantic Headcanons (I missed writing Headcannons)

☆Warning(s) None!

☆Author Note(s) I LOVE Timothy with all my heart. One of my favorite characters and the first one I romanced. I can't wait to write to him again. Hope you enjoy <3

•────────⋅ᓚᘏᗢ⋅────────•

☆Timothy's top two love languages are definitely quality time and words of affirmation.

☆For you, and you only, he will make room in his schedule to spend time with you. He often finds himself losing track of the time, actually, as he feels that he can finally unwind and just be himself.

☆Big on overall praise. Laugh at a (kind of bad) joke he made? Oh my, Timothy is giddy! Tell him that his clock collection is a work of art? Timothy is blushing! Reassure that you love both sides of him no matter what? Timothy is basically dead!

☆Later on in the relationship, you'll also find that he can be big into physical touch too. Once Timothy gets beyond the point of shyness (and his own ego), it seems that he doesn't ever want to let you go. He could spend hours wrapped in your embrace, up close and personal, basically purring.

☆Which he does a lot in your presence, btw, even if he may try to gaslight you into thinking he doesn't.

☆Speaking of cat behaviors, Timothy has a habit of nudging his head towards you. He mostly does it when he wants attention. His ears and tail are very expressive, too. Give him a chaste kiss on the lips? Ears are perked, and his tail is swaying side to side happily. His tail also wraps around you when kissing.

☆Although timeliness and scheduling are the things most important to him (besides you ofc.) He is also very into grooming himself. Washed and ironed vest suit, manicured nails, healthy and moisturized hair, etc. All is to say that he puts in as much effort into himself as he does with his pocket watches.

☆If you flirt with Timothy unexpectedly, he either gets so flustered that he can't look at you or completely misses the fact you flirted with him at all. He has pretty good flirting skills himself, it just... gets a little confusing with how he speaks.

"Thank you! I think?"

☆"Ah, darling, your elegance could stop all the pocket watches in my collection from ticking."

"You're the utmost welcome, my dear!"

☆Little spoon. Loves laying on top of you while laying his head on your chest, with arms wrapped around your shoulders. Purrs so loudly, and he tries to swallow them down, but its honestly unavoidable. His tail also wraps around you while cuddling.

It just really depends on how you take it, but he means well.

☆Going on dates with Timothy can either be very relaxing or very stressful depending on what person you are. He often takes the lead when planning and scheduling dates. Timothy has to plan everything, minute to minute. This is great if you're someone who likes to step back and let another person take the lead in those types of things.

☆Pet names! Darling, dear, dearest, my love, lovely, my beloved, and if he really gets 'comfortable'? Master.

☆Kissing Timothy usually consists of quick pecks on the lips and chaste kisses on the cheek. If you get him particularly relaxed, though, nothing is stopping him from wrapping his arms around your neck and pulling you into a particularly needy kiss. Also, he schedules a kissing time about every two hours that consists of exactly 3 minutes. If he can't find you, he gets disappointed.

☆If Timothy is particularly busy one day and doesn't have time to see you, he'll squeeze you into his schedule around the same time he's cleaning his pocket watches. This is actually one of his favorite activities to do with you, as it reminds Timothy of the night he fell in love with you.

•────────⋅ᓚᘏᗢ⋅────────•

#Date Everything #timothy timepiece #Timothy Timepiece x reader #date everything headcanons #romantic Headcanons #date everything x reader

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hypewinter · 5 months ago

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*Slams fist on table* Clark and Jack switch places! And not just a mind swap either but full presto change-o magical dimensional full body switch. Maybe it's because Jack is an alternate version of Superman. Maybe it's due to ghost shenanigans. Who knows!

You know what I do know? Wild hijinks ensue. Clark wakes up in a weird laboratory, house mashup after just being at his apartment is the definition of confusion and panic. Just then Danny enters the kitchen to see his dad who's also very much not his dad having a full panic attack in the kitchen and just groans being at this point he's used to his life being turned upside down on any given day. This is probably the Ghost Writer's or Desiree's doing. Don't worry mister, we'll figure this out but until then, you're gonna have to pretend to be my dad. W-what? Ah you see my mom is very ghost obsessed and attributes everything to their doing. She also believes everything ghosts do is evil so if she realizes you're not her husband, you'll probably be strapped to a table. This makes Supes pause because A. Wouldn't she realize right away that he wasn't her husband? And B. She'd have a hard time strapping him down to anything. To which Danny answers A. She's so obsessed with her research she won't notice as long as you put in the effort and B. Trust me she has her ways. Poor Clark has no idea what situation he's stumbled into but he's about to find out face.

Meanwhile Jack is having a pretty good time all things considered. Just wait until Maddie hears about all the things he's encountering in this weird ghost territory (though the locals keep insisting their not ghosts despite having clear ghost powers). The Superfamily on the other hand is really freaking out and would really like to know where their patriarch is. Multiple heroes are called in but no one can really figure out what happened or how it happened. Until then they decide to keep in on the down low. Which isn't too hard considering how many super folks are around Metropolis. Superman is probably out on a space mission right now and Clark Kent took a vacation or something right guys? So unlike his counterpart Jack doesn't have to pretend to be anyone and is free to go full Fenton. He's researching and documenting everything, building contraptions out of any "ghost" tech he can get his hands on, and overall being a well meaning, fudging making menace. He's exhausting but also endearing. Especially how he rambles on about showing his wife all of this. He does keep slipping in some concerning " dissection" comments though.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #winter's tales #i know i'm far from the first to cover this idea but it wouldn't leave me alone until i wrote it down #now if you'll excuse me i have to go back to pretending i don't have to go to bed early tonight to wake up early tomorrow

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dreaisgrayte · 11 months ago

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Camp Maple | Sanemi Shinazugawa x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, kissing, friends to grudge to friends to sassy to lovers? childhood trauma, masturbation (fem and male), tad bit of angst, unprotected sex, cream pie, more to come? Honestly the ending could do with a rewrite but I'm too lazy for that right now.

word count: 17.5k

a/n: writers block sucks so I'm sorry if the end is trash. I wanted to get this out before school started up again. Unedited.

It’s fucking summer again. That meant working for your mother’s sleepaway camp. Maple Woods was a fun enough place to work when your mother wasn’t visiting, but if you had to work with that asshole again you highly doubt this would be the best summer ever that your mother promised you. At least last year he wasn’t scheduled to be a leader with you.

The main office is where you would grab your schedule and overall camp theme for this summer. It’s also where you could check what group you were head of. Luckily, the office building was right off the parking lot. The mess hall was a few yards down a worn rock pathway from the old brick building you were heading into.

The yellow screen door swings open with a screech, and you’re met with the steady whir of box fans pointed at the one lady you enjoyed seeing every year. Her straight blonde hair flutters in the heavy breeze as she looks up from her monitor. Once her caramel brown eyes settle on you, a sugary sweet smile overtakes her features. “YN!” She exclaims, standing from behind the counter. “I’m so glad you decided to come back, sweetie.” She extends her arms, walking out toward you. This is your aunt, Yena. She practically helped raise you when your mother would drop you off. Your childhood home was a 10 minute drive away, and where you lived now was around 15 minutes, depending on how long you procrastinated in traffic in an attempt to prolong accidentally running into your mother. Yena made sure your group of friends had snacks and unlimited access to her office. She was there when you had your first period. In other words, Yena was like a mother to you, at least more than your actual biological one.

You embrace each other, and the overwhelming smell of cinnamon hits your nose like a tidal wave. It was like home in a hug. “Like I had a choice.” You mumble but laugh with her after a beat. This felt nice, but you needed to settle in before the rest of the counselors flooded in and started the pre-camp party. “Ah, do you happen to know which cabin group I’ll be in charge of?” You inquire, holding her back from you.

Her brows crease with thought, and then she looks excited, holding up a finger to tap your nose. “Ah my little honeysuckle, you are co-leading the caterpillars.” She hums in delight. You tilt your head. Co-leading?

“Co-leading? With whom?” Your chest feels heavy. Last year, your co-leader was a slacker, leaving you with all the work and little time for yourself. Your group of kids were absolute sweethearts, so you didn’t mind too much. Still, the experience had put a bad taste in your mouth. Yena’s back to concentrating on your question, but this time, she shakes her head with a slight frown.

“I’m sorry dear, I don’t remember. Though, I do remember thinking that you two are sure to make a good pair!” She clasps your hands excitedly at the latter part of her sentence. You force yourself to smile through the anxiety.

“Heh, yeah.” In translation, you were screaming internally. “I’ll go figure it out.” The only thing you could do was head to your cabin and hope to bump into your co-lead. Maple Woods usually had 2 young adults co-lead a group of kids to keep things safe. The co-leads shared the head cabin, no matter what. It was the first cabin in a ring of 4 other ones. The campers were divided by age – that’s where the different sections came from – then put into co-ed cabins. One cabin could fit about 8 comfortably, depending on how many kids signed up. The caterpillars are the 2nd and 3rd grader sections. The co-leader cabin was bigger, but that’s only because of the shared bathroom and small kitchen area.

The air smells fresh, and you get lost in memories for a moment. There was the main hall where the welcoming ceremony would be held, and a cement path through a small patch of trees off to the side led to the different sections of cabins. On the other side of the path, surrounded by a small patch of trees, was the mess hall where meals and activities would be held. The older kids had cabins further into the woods while your section of cabins was situated right by the lake. Down the middle, past the mess hall and cabins, was the maple woods lake. The sunlight is glittering off the ripples already. Peace. That’s what the lake reminded you of. Up a trail on the north side, there was even a secluded waterfall, but the kids didn’t get to know about that part.

You walk down the cracked cement walkway, puttering around with a rock as you go. The green doors are easy enough to spot against the orangey light wood of the cabins. You were lucky. You got the cabins right by the lakefront. You hike up the stairs, noting a suitcase outside the left door. Okay, so someone was here. That was a good sign. Walking through the right door it hits you that you didn’t grab any of your bags from the car. You stop in the middle of the room, groaning loudly. “Shit.” You curse, turning on your heel. It takes about 10 minutes for you to clamber back into the room this time with your bags haphazardly strapped across your body. They slip off your body with no regard for your hair or your skin.

The room is simple, a bed in the corner, a closet, a desk, and a nightstand with a cute lamp on it. To the left are two doors, one leads to the kitchenette area – the other leads to the Jack and Jill bathroom, in which you can hear rushing water. Your co-leader must be taking a preemptive shower. You give an approving nod, wishing you could take a shower yourself. Instead, you decide to wander through the far door and into the kitchenette area. There’s a round table with a chair on either side of it pushed under a window. A small amount of counter space – treated pine countertops – decked out with a stove, sink, and a few cabinets. A fridge acted as the counter stopper, which was right next to your room – hmm, useful. Across from the kitchen area was a single sofa with a TV mounted on the wall. You always loved the counselors’ cabins because they were full of useful amenities.

You pull out a chair, sitting down at the table to peer out the window at Lake Maple. You hear a door open and turn your attention toward the sound with a cheerful smile. You had the full intention of greeting your co-leader. Instead, you’re met with the bare chest of a silver-haired and lilac-eyed asshole. A simple cotton towel is wrapped around his waist, water droplets still lazily pathing their way down his sinewy chest and past the line of the before-mentioned towel. Your brows knit together, and he does the same. “Sanemi,” you grumble, forcing a smile upon your lips. “Please tell me you’re a figment of my imagination.” This cannot be happening. Sanemi Shinazugawa can not be your co-leader.

When you met him for the first time both of you had bonded over having a shit parent. His father was abusive, scarring his son emotionally and physically. Despite the jagged pink scar that travels over the bridge of his nose and three crossing over each other on his forehead, Sanemi was excessively attractive. He wore his scars as a badge of what he’d overcome, but you knew there was underlying disgust that was hidden away.

He rolls his eyes, frustratedly peering to the corner of the room. “Believe me darlin’ I’m just as annoyed by this as you are.” Heat floods your cheeks at his casual way of speaking. You cross your arms over your chest, standing up from your chair with dramatic grandeur.

His eyes follow your actions, concentrating on the way you nearly stumble to the side. He quirks a smile and this only fuels your annoyance, which was amusing in its own right. “There has to be a way we can switch out,” You throw your hands up, exasperated. Sanemi shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips.

He then jerks his head toward the general direction of the main office. “Already checked with Yena, they don’t trust anyone else but you’n me to run the caterpillar crew.” He explains, disdain practically dripping from his voice. You groan toward the ceiling.

Of course, your mother would pull some shit like this. Making you work with the one person that could make you falter at your job. Was this a test? It was sure as hell annoying especially with Sanemi standing half-naked in front of you. “For fuck’s sake can you please go put on a shirt or something?” You pinch the bridge of your nose squeezing your eyes shut.

Your words only earn a dark chuckle from the man across from you. “Why? I thought I could wear this to the bonfire.” He shoots back smugly.

A long sigh blows past your lips as you decide not to honor him with a response. Instead, you head back into your room and slam the door. You fuss around with your hair, unpacking while you search for an outfit. Sanemi was so aggravating. With that smug look on his face and- you throw your hands down in frustration, frowning into the handheld mirror you propped against the wall. Sun earrings dangle from your ears, a simple gold chain around your throat, and mascara lifts your lashes. You put on high-waisted jean shorts and a pink bleach-washed tye-dye tank. Tennis shoes and white socks wrap it together.

Your heart hammers an overwhelming rhythm as you blow out a breath. Sanemi Shinazugawa was sleeping in the same cabin as you, sharing food, time, and a bathroom. You had to get over this stupid grudge against him. It wasn’t healthy to latch onto something so silly for such a long time, but back then it hurt like hell. For the children, you had to put your past behind you. Maybe if you got drunk enough tonight you could talk to him about it, but those odds were very unlikely.

There were a few people you wanted to chat with at the bonfire, have a few drinks, and then you’d be nicely tucked into bed ready for campers to start arriving tomorrow. Simple as that. A grin makes its way onto your face as you slip out of your cabin, but it quickly drops when you notice Sanemi leaning against the deck railing. You try not to sigh too loud, but he must hear it because he quirks a brow in your direction. “Why are you creepily waiting outside my door?” You inquire, gesturing to him. He huffs out a breath, stepping out of his leaning position.

He’s wearing a black hoodie with shorts. You’re mildly upset by how good he looks in darker clothes. It contrasts his hair in such a way that captivates you. You shake those thoughts out of your head as he trots down the stairs, hands stuffed in his pockets. “I can’t very well leave you to walk to the spot by yourself.” He nods in the direction of the dark path that winds through the woods and up the rocky ledges.

You raise your brows, joining him on the ground. “You think I can’t handle a little spooky path on my own?” You scoff. Sanemi rolls his eyes and the action pricks your skin.

He starts walking toward the path’s entrance and when you don’t follow he gives you a pointed look. “Shall I remind you of when we were seven?”

“Sanemi hold my hand! I’m scared!” You whine, grasping his hands when he doesn’t make a move. “Promise me you won’t leave my side!”

You whinge, shuddering at the memory, but jog to catch up with him anyway. He turns his head to watch the path become progressively darker, a few lamps hung on trees here and there. A grin finds its way onto his lips at the way you walk closer to him every time you hear a noise. “For a girl who grew up out here, you sure are jumpy. If you get too scared you can always hold my hand again.” He blurts, not meaning to tease you, but when your reaction is flushed cheeks and a high-pitched squeak, he can’t help himself.

Eventually, the flickering light of a campfire and the sound of laughter distracts you from the man walking next to you. You rush ahead, excitedly finding your way to Shinobu and Mitsuri, two of your closest friends. The only people invited to this bonfire were the kids who grew up coming to this camp and eventually became counselors or otherwise affiliated.

Gyomei Himejima; the stern, yet emotional one that usually dealt with the older kids. He claims the young ones are too selfish and he’s unable to keep them in check. He’s the oldest one here but still has such a soft spirit despite not having any family to go home to. Gyomei honestly loves the summer gig, but always chats about his pet cat that he can’t wait to get back to. You guess that was his family to get back to.

Tengen Uzui; Mister Casanova with the other counselors, but he’s rumored to be otherwise attached. Which was fine by you, Tengen was all talk, no action. Besides you didn’t want any action from him – his fan club would hunt you down and no matter how many defense classes you took, you would not be able to stop them.

Giyu Tomioka; the quiet one. He was great at his job but not the best at talking with the other counselors. He usually sat and listened to all of you talk on, interjecting a few times with his opinion. He was a genuine and good guy, you enjoyed talking to him one-on-one.

Kyojuro Rengoku; no one else could handle the little rascals than him. He worked with the younger children since he was as kind-hearted as they come. It takes a special type of person to do his job and no one could do it better than him, except maybe Mitsuri.

Mitsuri Kanroji; also works with the nursery and younger kids. She was a nurturer at heart, caring for the young ones was her specialty. You kept in contact with her and Shinobu the most outside of camp.

Shinobu Kocho; was the head of the infirmary, in case a child got a pretty bad scrape or needed medication. She may appear stern, but she was actually a big softy when it came to caring for the injured.

Obanai Iguro; head of the kitchen and helps lead exploration hikes. Obanai didn’t talk much either, he had that mysterious bad-boy thing going for him – which unfortunately Mitsuri fawns over. He was also Sanemi’s best friend.

The bonfire was an annual party held the day before camp starts. There was a rocky clearing at the top of the waterfall that fed into the lake. This spot had a perfect view of Camp Maple, overlooking the soft glowing lights and some people rushing around for last-minute chores. Memories intertwined themselves with the breeze rushing through the trees surrounding the group. It was like a second home up here or maybe more of an escape. Either way, the light feeling growing in your chest was a welcomed change from knowing you’d have to work with Sanemi. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to happen to you. It still felt like a firecracker ready to explode in your face at any moment. There was bound to be trouble with this arrangement.

You glance at him, his eyes reflecting the warm glow of the fire. He’s grinning as he chats with Obanai, bringing a can of beer to his lips. You watch as his throat bobs, a dribble of liquid pooling at the corner of his mouth and eventually trickling down his neck. Before you can look away his eyes catch yours, a smirk lifting his lips as he pulls the can away. He raises his brows and your back straightens, your gaze quickly darting away.

“Hey YN, have another drink.” Shinobu nudges you, passing you a bottle of liquor. You grin as you take it from her.

The cool glass feels great against your mouth as you take a swig. The liquor burns a little as it slides down your throat, but it has a nice fruity taste to it. “Thanks,” You raise your glass to clink against hers.

Mitsuri is on your other side, nervously wondering if she should talk to Obanai. “YN, would it be…weird for me to interject in their conversation?” She whispers in your ear, motioning discreetly to Obanai and Sanemi. You let out a soft sigh before chugging the rest of your drink. Your body fizzes with the warm gooey feeling of alochol. Mitsuri watches you with wide eyes, they sparkle in amazement. “Woah, that was really cool!” She exclaims. You huff out a laugh, extending your hand for Shinobu to hand you another. She does as you request and you pop open the cap with your teeth, letting the contents of the bottle slip into your mouth. Mitsuri claps excitedly, gaining the attention of the guys next to her.

Sanemi stares at you, his brows knitting together slowly as he watches you swig one more bottle. You stand, swaying slightly as you turn to Sanemi. His gaze is trained on you, standing up as you stumble toward him. You crash into his arms, a dumb grin lining your lips. The group now looks on at the spectacle. “Nemi~” You coo, swinging your arms over his neck. Sanemi’s throat bobs, wrapping his muscular arm around your back to stabilize you.

He laughs nervously, smiling with gritted teeth toward the rest of the group. “I’m going to take her back down,” He begins, pressing you tighter into his grip. You’re frustrated with how good his body feels against yours and when your shirt rides up a bit his skin feels like fire. Everyone seems in agreement, but you twist in his arms to shoot Mitsuri a thumbs up and a wink. Her face erupts in a red flurry and your goofy smile turns back to meet Sanemi’s gaze.

You giggle at his stern expression. “Boop!” You squeak, tapping the tip of his nose with your finger. His brows raise slowly as he takes in your slumping condition.

Sanemi turns around, squatting down on his haunches. “Get on.” He motions with his head for you to climb onto his back. You hum excitedly, slinging your arms over his neck. Your legs wobble as you try to position yourself over his back. He sighs, reaching behind him to swipe your calves out from under you. You squeal as he repositions you, sliding his warm big hands under your thighs. “Hold on tight darlin’.” He instructs and you listen well by pressing into his back, nuzzling your chin onto his shoulder. “Well, have a good night everyone.” He tries his best to wave, the group saying their goodbyes.

The view from his back is enjoyable as he hikes down the trail. “You’re so strong,” You mumble, spanning your hands down his chest absentmindedly. Sanemi pauses, his muscles constricting as you touch him.

He shoots a look over his shoulder as you grope him. “Yeah, I work out, now please stop harassing me.” He jumps you further up his back to keep you from slipping off. You giggle at the jostling motion.

Despite his earlier complaint, he lets your hands roam over what parts of his body you can reach. There's a comfortable silence that falls over you both but as you peer into the woods a memory you’d rather not think about seeps into your mind. “Sanemi,” You start, trying to swallow the way your heart is beating – hopefully, he couldn’t feel it against his back. “I’m sorry I was so angry at you.” The apology comes out of nowhere, but Sanemi knows what you’re talking about.

He stops in his tracks, shutting his eyes for a beat. “Don’t apologize for what you have every right to feel.” He takes in a deep breath, you can feel his body rise with the motion. “I didn’t think your mother would do that, I-” His voice cracks and he clears his throat before continuing. “I was just worried about you. I was too scared to find you so I went to your mother.”

Your brows scrunch and you feel your chest tighten at his words. You tap his back. “I want down.” He silently helps you slide down his back. He still holds onto you, making sure you can stand on your own. You glare into his soft expression, bottom lip trembling. “You should’ve found me,” Your nose stings with the pressure of tears welling in your eyes. He watches you with a solemn frown. “You should’ve come to me!” Your voice raises, a tear falling down your cheek. You hit his chest, letting out a choked sob. “You knew Sanemi, you knew she’d be angry.” Your fist drops from his chest, coming up to cover your soaked face. “I hoped beyond everything that you would appear over the hill, not her.” You throw your hands down, shaking your head. He just stands there, letting you drunkenly yell and cry like an idiot in front of him. Letting you hit him, throw your words at him, and relive a past you’d rather forget.

He takes a step forward, yearning to reach out for you. “YN…” His voice is soft and comforting – you hate the fact you want to fall into his arms again. Have him carry you to safety like he should’ve done all those years ago.

You step away from him, raising your hands in front of your face. “No, no, I need time.” Your voice trembles and as you leave Sanemi standing there in the dark you cry all the way back to your bed.

❦❦❦❦❦

“Welcome to Camp Maple Woods!” Your mother clasps her hands together excitedly. You groan from your position against the back wall with the rest of the counselors. She continues with the opening speech, her grating voice making your hangover that much worse. Mitsuri bumps shoulders with you, an all too happy smile on her face.

You wish for just a second that you could have her resilience, but being perfect sounds like too much work. “Hey!” She whispers loudly to you. You peer around you, acting like she was talking to someone else. Mitsuri isn’t pleased with your antics because she crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a pointed look. You immediately halt and motion for her to continue. “Obanai and I texted all night.” Her stern expression lifts into a grin as her cheeks light up with a rosy color.

You’re about to celebrate with her when Sanemi walks through the back doors. The happiness you share with Mitsuri washes away. You swallow hard, eyeing him as he leans against the wall next to Obanai. Unfortunately for you, Mitsuri is very observant. She glances between you and Sanemi, narrowing her eyes. “Now campers are you ready to go on your tours!?” Your attention is drawn to the front where your mother claps her hands together. For a brief moment, she meets your gaze and your blood boils. “May all our wonderful counselors head up to the stage!? We’ll be getting into our sections now!”

You put on your best smile, following Mitsuri to the stairs. Sanemi jogs up behind you and the resolve you’d built up this morning before heading to the main hall nearly crumbles to the ground. You had done your best to wake up early, hate your life as little as possible, shower, get ready, and escape the cabin before bumping into him. His presence behind you is an annoying warmth you want to swat away. Mitsuri joins Kyojuro and you awkwardly stand next to Sanemi with a strained smile.

His shoulder brushes against yours and your breath hitches quietly. Your mother appears in front of you both, a blank expression on her features as she holds out a caterpillar sign to you. Your throat tightens, but Sanemi swipes it from her before she can shove it in your hands. You glance at him, brows knit together. The last thing you hear from your mother is a click of her tongue as she moves down the line. “Thank you.” You whisper, heart thumping in your chest. Was he trying to make up for what you talked about last night?

He glances down at you, his smile shifting to something different. “Come find us caterpillars!” He yells and you gawk at him. He shoots you a wink and your lips part in awe. Did he just wink at you? That was so… weird. You shake your head and flail your hands in the air.

Children start surrounding you, awkwardly shuffling to make room for others. Sanemi hands you a slip of paper with a list of names on it. Attendance doesn’t take long since everyone seems to have gathered around you. “Alright crew, let’s head out on that tour!” You exclaim, pointing your hand toward the double doors in the back. “Squirm to it you little caterpillars!” You shoo them down the stage, giggles erupting from a few of them as you jump off the edge.

Sanemi follows the rest of them down the stairs, still holding the sign in the air. You giggle at how seriously he’s taking the task. “Mister Sanemi?” A small girl tugs on his shorts once everyone is outside. He peeks down at her with an award-winning smile. “Why is she not miss Sanemi?” She points to you and your eyes go wide as you tense. What kind of question is that!? Was there some code of conduct that camp leaders had to married to each other? Was two names that hard to remember?

Sanemi squats down and suddenly you get a flashback of him doing the same thing last night for you. You swallow, watching as he jerks his head in your direction. “Miss YN isn’t my wife, so she doesn’t share my name.” He explains. You drag a hand down your face. You didn’t expect this type of question to be asked so soon or at all.

The little girl frowns and another kid points at Sanemi. “B-but I saw you wink at her!” The boy yells accusingly. Shit.

Sanemi glances at you with a ‘I fucked up’ look. He turns back to the group of children swarming him. He laughs easily. “I had something in my eye…” He deadpans. All of them suspiciously glare at him.

You step into the circle, patting the top of Sanemi’s head. “It’s our secret leader code,” You begin, nudging him with your hip. “Whenever we have info on the big bad boss we wink at each other.” You wink at the children and their little faces light up. “Now you’re all in on our secret mission. Ready caterpillars!?” You stomp your feet and salute them with seriousness. They gasp and follow suit.

“Yes miss YN!” Sanemi shoots up from his squatted position, saluting you with a stupidly handsome grin. You stutter for a moment, before going back to at ease. “Now, what do you say we drop all these heavy bags off at the cabins and start exploring?” Sanemi suggests, pointing to the small path that led to the caterpillar cabins. As he excitedly starts leading them off into the distance you make sure to gather the stragglers. A smile of your own tugs on the corners of your mouth. Maybe you did make a pretty good team.

Sanemi takes a seat on the stairs of your cabin, observing the kids form cabins of their own. You plop down one stair down from him, an amused grin forming on his lips. “What are you grinning about?” You quiz, glancing at him.

He shrugs, shifting himself onto the same step as you and leaning back against the other steps. You can’t help the way your heart seems to pick up river dancing, beating fully. “Just figurin’ since we’re agents together we should be close.” You glare over your shoulder, met with his lazy smirk in your direction. A huff compresses out of your mouth as you roll your eyes. “What? I like the way you act when I get close to you.” He laughs, eyeing your reaction – which was exactly what he wanted.

From his vantage point, Sanemi can just about manage to see your cheeks flush before you turn away from him, hiding away in your arm. “Like I’m being infected?” You shoot back, quickly standing up and – definitely pretending – to stretch.

Sanemi’s eyes slowly rake up the exposed skin of your back, his tongue swirling around in his mouth as if trying to imagine how you would taste. “Mmm, somethin’ like that.” He hums, grinning widely when you narrow your eyes at him.

The group of children start lining up in the grass, playing with each other while waiting for the rest of them. Some of them you recognize from last year, it’s crazy how fast kids can grow and change. Once you recognize all of their faces you and Sanemi start the tour.

There are specific things that a sleepaway camp needs to have. Such as the obvious answer, cabins. The next obvious thing on the list is a beautiful lake. “Lake Maple was discovered way back when and this camp was built around it to preserve the landscape. There are canoes, swim gear, and a nice dock to carefully jump from. Make sure if you go to the lake that you have either Mister Sanemi or myself with you for safety.” Sanemi watches you recite the information you were supposed to give out, but you seem genuinely excited talking about the camp’s history. It was endearing… and the way your eyes gleam reminds him of when you were little, climbing trees and always reaching your hand out to him. You never left him behind. He sighs, turning away from your speech.

The next thing a camp needs is huge buildings where lots of kids can gather. “This is the mess hall, where we’ll have breakfast, lunch, and dinner! It’ll also be where some indoor activities are held. If we don’t gather here, we’ll meet up by the picnic benches back at Caterpillar Circle. Over there is the infirmary where Miss Shinobu will gladly help you out. The main office is the building you should’ve passed when you were dropped off, that’s where Mrs Yena will be with, sadly, the only phone that has any service.” You point out, then turn toward the woods on the other side of the main camp area. You gesture widely to the expanse, taking in a deep breath. “And this, my little squiggles,” the children giggle, “Is Maple Woods, where we will hike trails, explore the wonders of nature, and fight off the evil boss.” Without thinking you wink at Sanemi. You can tell by the way his eyes bulge that he wasn’t expecting it, but as the little heads slowly turn to watch his reaction he quickly winks back at you. You catch yourself sighing in relief that you wouldn’t have to lay in bed staring at the ceiling for too long tonight because of that.

A little girl you recognize from previous years – Himari you think – raises her hand. You nod to her in recognition. “Are we going to have the first-day campfire?” She jumps up and down, the girls around her getting excited as well. You glance down at your watch, then up to the sky, then do the girls.

It was already late in the afternoon, the kids would have dinner and then gather back at Caterpillar Circle for an evening get-to-know-each-other campfire session. You grin, kids always enjoy the fire for some concerning reason. “Way to steal my job Himari!” You laugh and she giggles along with you. “Okay everyone, you heard Himari, head back to your cabins and get ready for dinner. Then we’ll have some time to get closer before bedtime. We have a busy day of fun tomorrow.” When they stare at you blankly, obviously waiting for one of you to start leading the way, you start marching your way down the path with as much vigor as you can muster.

Soon enough, you and Sanemi are back in your positions on the stairs to your cabin. That comfortable silence blankets you again, like the setting sun’s warmth. “Ya’know you’re really good at this,” Sanemi begins before blowing out a breath and turning to face you. “M’glad we get to work together.” He finishes, a distant glimmer of emotion swirling around in his lilac gaze. You suck in a breath, a storm brewing in your stomach.

Sanemi was a good guy, that much was obvious, but all those years ago had driven a wedge between you two. He hadn’t said the words ‘I’m sorry’ yet, which was a small nuance in the grand scheme of things. Sanemi was never really the type to say an apology, instead, he showed you. You can’t expect that much to change within him and you’re kind of glad. He would make it up to you until you were sure the wounds had begun to heal. He was giving you time to make up your mind on whether or not you wanted to forgive him. “Me too,” You whisper against the breeze.

A whole column of picnic tables lined up edge-to-edge belong to your crew as you file into the mess hall. A couple of other groups are already sitting down with food, including the littles. Mitsuri and Kyojuro wave excitedly at you and Sanemi. You grin, waving back. “Alright squiggles, show me how nicely you can line up to receive dinner. Then come sit down and we’ll have a little camp saying before we start eating together.” They scramble toward the food and you kick your legs under the table part, deflating slightly.

Sanemi comes up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. It makes you straighten your back and whip around to look at him. His lips curl in a playful grin. “Want the usual?” You glance at the kitchen, your stomach growling softly. You look back to Sanemi, nodding eagerly.

As he walks away you think back to when he’d grab you dinner all the time, sitting in this exact mess hall. “Don’t disappoint me Shinazugawa!” You yell and he shoots you a smug grin as he scoots in line next to one of the boys in your group, Kenji.

Mitsuri peers at you from her table, glancing back at Sanemi. Something seems fishy, she just can’t put her finger on it. Before this month you were complaining about seeing him again and now you two appear to be chumming again. Did something happen that you weren’t telling her? She pouts, nuding Kyojuro. “Do those two seem friendlier?” She asks in a hushed tone. Kyojuro furrows his thick brows, humming as his gaze flips between his white-haired friend and you. He’s about to tell Mitsuri she’s off her rocker, but he catches Sanemi throwing a look back at you while you are otherwise occupied with kiddos sitting down next to you.

Kyojuro turns to Mitsuri, concern written all over his face. “Yes,” He hisses and now Mitsuri is concerned you may have ingested a little too much alcohol trying to help her out.

After a couple of minutes, Sanemi places a tray of vanilla pudding, tater tots, and chicken tenders with honey mustard sauce in front of you. “M’lady.” He grins, slipping onto the bench across from you with a tray of his own. Hana smacks Sanemi’s arm and he peers down at her with a surprised look. “What was that about Hana?” He questions, holding onto his arm where she hit him.

She puffs out her lips and points at you angrily. “Mister Sanemi, we just went over this. Miss YN is not your lady.” She crosses her arms glaring at him. His brows shoot up, giving you a look of amusement before patting Hana’s head.

She looks like she might bite him at first, but then she leans into his hand. “Only because Miss YN keeps rejecting me..” He smirks at you. Ha! As if!

You roll your eyes, but gather the attention of your tables. “Let’s sing my favorite camp song!” You lead them in the Camp Maple fighting song that ends with chanting the name of the camp. “Wake me up wake me up we’re going to camp! I can’t wait I can’t wait we’re going to camp! There it is there it is we’re going to camp! Which one which one!? C-A-M P…M-A-P L-E!” They seem to enjoy every second of it, mainly because they get to scream as loud as they can. Sanemi meets your gaze for a blissful second before you busy yourself with your food, biting into one of the chicken tenders. Delight rumbles from your chest as you swallow the meat.

Sanemi can’t help but watch you stuff your face. On one hand, he’s amused by how you still enjoy the simple things in life. On the other hand, he’s concerned when his heart races at you picking up the vanilla pudding. Being the heathen you were, as a child you’d just eat it with your finger. You claimed you could get more out of a cup if you used your finger. He grips onto the bench, gritting his teeth as you follow suit, sticking your pointer finger in. The creamy pudding sits there momentarily before you pop it into your mouth.

It’s a simple, innocent – completely fucking innocent – motion, but his thoughts shift to something more warm than the humidity. Fuck why was seeing you damp with light sweat making him hungry? When you let your tongue swirl around the tip of your finger it drives Sanemi mad. Is he panting? He feels like he’s panting.

A bit of pudding is on the corner of your mouth, waiting there. His heated gaze mimics how your tongue darts out to collect it. He sucks on his lips, regarding how your plump lips look so fucking delicious right now.

The only thing that snaps Sanemi out of his daze is Hana plopping a spoon in front of you with a disgusted look on her little features. “You know Miss YN, if you needed a spoon you could’ve just asked.” She grunts, shuddering. Your cheeks flush and for the briefest seconds, you gape, staring into his eyes. Your cheeks flush a vibrant pink and suddenly Sanemi is picking up the spoon and using it in his own pudding. Hana and you both gawk at him, but if he were allowed to feed into one desire this whole time, it would be watching you eat pudding with your finger. Especially if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

“This is the best pudding I’ve ever had.” Sanemi mumbles and Hana sighs frustratedly. “Something wrong Hana?” He asks. She whips her head toward him with a frown.

Sanemi has to roll his lips into his mouth to stop from laughing at how cute she’s glaring at him. “Yes, I’m going to have nightmares.” She huffs. Yeah me too, but they aren’t exactly going to be nightmares Sanemi thought.

Dinner finishes and children run around your feet as you walk out of the mess hall. The short walk back to Caterpillar Circle feels like an eternity with Sanemi walking silently beside you. “Can we wear our pajamas to the campfire!?” Aoi breezes past you yelling.

You quirk a brow. “How about we make it a race? Whoever is back at the picnic tables first… wins.” You eye the giddy looks on all of their faces. “Ready? Go!” You don’t expect Sanemi to bolt toward his side of the cabin. Oh, so he’s going to play it that way?

Kids scramble to their cabins, giggling and yelling. You’re also laughing as you quickly swing your door open. You spot the pajamas you’d laid out earlier this morning with a smirk on your lips. The one reason you suggested a race is because you had an advantage. Cheating? No, strategic gameplay.

You tug your clothes off, and toss them in the hamper beside your desk. A pair of shorts and an oversized shirt later you’re rushing out of the door in your slippers. You glance to your side, grinning mischievously when you don’t see Sanemi coming out of his door. You pump your hand in the air victoriously, spinning around in a mini victory dance. You proudly take your time prancing down the stairs, but when you turn to head toward the picnic tables Sanemi is leaning against the end of one with an amused smirk tugging his lips upward. Your mouth falls open, glancing back at his door. “How…? You…?” You slump in defeat as you reach him.

He chuckles softly, bumping arms with you. “Your victory dance was pretty cute.” He teases. You glare at him, shoving him back with your side.

Cute? In what way did he mean that? Sanemi must’ve talked too much with Tengen to pull one of those lines. You mutter a string of curses as you sit down in one of the green plastic lawn chairs. The arms dig into your hips and you grunt uncomfortably, pushing yourself into a less painful position.

Your thighs are pressed together as you squirm around in the chair and Sanemi finds himself ogling the space where your shorts disappear under your tummy. He wanted to run his tongue along that area while grazing his teeth along your thighs. A lascivious smirk pulls on his mouth as he clears his throat, turning his face to the sky.

The campfire starts with each kiddo introducing themselves, where they’re from, and three interesting facts about them. After the introductions, you bring out the s’more fixings with a twinkling grin as the kids scream enthusiastically. The night ends with you and Sanemi carrying some of them who fall asleep back to their beds. It was a euphoric space in time, something about today felt so right. Maybe the following weeks wouldn’t be so bad.

❦❦❦❦❦

You were wrong, so wrong. Sanemi stands to your side with his swim shorts on, assessing your outfit. “So… you’re not going to swim?” He cocks his head, quirking a brow. You lean back further into the armless beach chair, crossing your arms over your chest.

He closes his mouth, glancing at the group of kids playing with water toys in and out of the water. “Nope.” You reply. “Observing from a distance is more my thing.” You continue, sliding your sunglasses over your eyes so you don’t have to squint through the rays of the sun. Sanemi sighs, disappointment finding its way into his mind.

This morning when he saw you in a camp shirt with jean shorts he was sure you had a bikini on underneath. The only reason he got through a kid screaming about not getting any bacon this morning was the light at the end of his tunnel – you in a tight flattering bikini. “Y’know I knew you weren’t girly, but this is a whole new level.” Sanemi pokes at you, hoping that the fiery spirit within you will shoot out if he bugs you enough.

You glare at him, gesturing to your outfit. “This outfit is very girly I’ll have you know.” Sanemi shakes his head like he doesn’t believe you so you scoot as quickly as you can out of the chair. “Fine, watch the kids. I’ll be right back.” You snap. As you’re stomping back to your room you can’t help but think maybe you acted exactly how he wanted you to. If that was the case, then you’d give him what he wants, but he’ll pay the price. The malicious grin that forms on your lips as you pull out your lavender string bikini is grounds to have you locked away.

Sanemi throws a beach ball at a group of the boys in the face as they giggle. In the back of his head is a flurry of lewd images of you spread out on that damn beach chair with a revealing swimsuit on. The boys throw the ball back at him and it plinks against his chest. He shakes his head, reaching for the ball as the boys groan. Fantasies of you were a distraction so he couldn't even imagine what the real thing would do to him. “Woah…” He hears one of the boys whisper. He glances up, met with the heavenly picture of you walking down the bank in a light purple string bikini that laces across your front. The cups are simple triangles with a string wrapping around the back of your neck for support he would only suppose. The bottoms rise above the roundness of your hips, showing off the fullness of your body. Damn, his mouth felt dry as he can’t tear his eyes away from you.

His stomach was a trainwreck of emotions, the ball long forgotten by Sanemi. He blinks rapidly, trying to get you out of his eyes, but it was damn hard when you slowly lay back down on the chair, crossing your ankles over each other. He can see the side of your ass and for a beat, he feels like he might lose control. Then one of the boys throws the beach ball at him, it smacks against his face. This was torture. He expected you to look good, but the thin fabric allowed him to see the indent of your nipples – a vivid image he was never going to forget.

You smirk while lounging in the chair, studying the way Sanemi’s mouth falls open ever so slightly. It was a strange sense of gratification that he was so enraptured by how you appeared in the bikini. Almost like you were happy he was gaping at you, a fire lit behind his eyes that ignited something in your chest. If you weren’t careful you were bound to let it out at some point.

Since you were lost in your thoughts you hadn’t noticed Sanemi stalking up to your side. You squeak when he appears next to you, dropping a towel over your exposed skin. You glare up at him through your sunglasses. “Did you walk out of every boy’s fantasy?” He grumbles, running a hand through his damp hair.

Clicking your tongue, you toss the towel to the side and sit up in the chair. “Does that include yours Sanemi?” You inquire, pushing your sunglasses up through your hair. He stares at you for a while, mulling over what kind of response to give you.

Suddenly, he scoffs and turns his back to you. “Yeah. Yeah it does.” You swallow hard at his confession, the sun’s heat no longer feeling as hot. You scoff, leaning back into the chair. He gives you one last glance before running back to play with the boys in the water.

Was he being serious? He couldn’t have been…right? It wouldn’t make sense for Sanemi Shinazugawa, the guy whose seen you eat a bug, to have a fantasy – or whatever he meant about you. The confusion made the victory bikini less fun.

At dinner, the kids are enraptured in a conversation about tomorrow’s canoe outing in the afternoon. This might seem silly, with you being a sleepaway camp counselor that has a giant lake as its main attraction… but you never learned how to fully swim. You can keep your head above water if you’re able to touch the bottom. It's something you haven't mentioned to anyone due to the fact you would die of embarrassment. “How quickly can you go Miss YN?” Hana’s eyes are pleading with you to answer her inquiry.

So you smile, despite the obvious anxiety of where this answer might lead you. “Faster than Mister Sanemi.” You reply, jerking your thumb toward the white-haired male sitting a bit further down from you.

He perks up at the mention of his name, meeting your eyes. “Did you just say you’re faster than me?” He laughs, scooting down to sit across from you. Hana nods ecstatically before you can brush off the challenge dripping from his voice.

You sigh, shaking your hands in front of you. “Of course not. I wouldn’t dare reveal the truth about you being a slowpoke.” You tease. Sanemi quirks a brow, letting his eyes look you up and down. The simple motion makes your muscles tense with a buzzing sensation.

He hums to himself, leaning back with a shake of his head. “I bet you can’t win in the beginners' course against me.” Sanemi smirks, the boys around him snickering.

Your eye twitches at the smug look on his stupid face. You clasp your hands together, smiling with gritted teeth. “You’re on Shinazugawa.”

That was your second mistake of the week as you shakily got into a canoe the next morning dressed in a white shirt and comfortable black shorts. The kids were fine with pushing off the hike to another day to witness this extraordinary event. Sanemi is grinning victoriously already. It makes you want to slap him with the paddle you’re holding. “Ready?” He asks.

The grip you have on the paddle tightens as you nod curtly. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You respond. Sanemi nods to one of the kids who starts a countdown before they all scream GO! Everything is going fine until you reach the turn. Sanemi is already far ahead of you and this becomes more of proving you can do it to yourself than winning against that smug bastard.

With the paddle dipping into the water you manage to turn around the flagged buoy, children cheering your name. Your heart nearly explodes with happiness at the accomplishment. You make it a few more feet before you get too overzealous and the canoe starts to flip. As you crash into the water you knew you’d just have to flip yourself back over to – well, not drown. But something goes wrong and you slip out of the canoe, into the deep end of the lake. Murky water crowds your vision and a few thoughts crowd your mind.

Will you get out of this alive? Is this some sort of divine intervention about how you’ve been previously living your life? Was this your canon event? You’d laugh at that one if you weren’t still sinking to what felt like the depths of the lake.

Would your mother even care? Okay, that one stings, but it’s something you think about a lot. When you’re driving and have one of those intrusive thoughts about wrecking. Would she care? Noticing a creepy person walking behind you at night. Would she come to your funeral? And now, as you lose the will to breathe. Would she remember what you smelt like, sounded like, looked like?

Sanemi crawls out of his canoe, raising his hands in victory. He turns around to gloat in your face, but he’s met with your canoe upside down. You are nowhere in sight and after a second of you not popping back up, Sanemi frantically dives into the water. Where are you? His hands glide through the water, searching for any sign of your body. Where are you? Water fills his ears, only making the pounding in his chest louder with each stroke of his arms. He breaches the surface, gasping for air and twirling around to see anything – anything that would lead him to you. “Mister Sanemi! There!” A child screeches, pointing to the front side of your canoe.

He plunges back in after taking a large gulp of air. He will find you this time. He’s not scared anymore. Not like all those years ago. He couldn’t lose you, not like this.

Amid some plant life is your floating body. If Sanemi were above water he thinks he’d cry with joy. He quickly moves toward you, scooping you up and pushing both of you toward the surface. Please please please don’t be too late. Sanemi’s mind is whirling with anxiety and his heart is pounding with the lack of oxygen. You both break through the surface, Sanemi pulling you along with him to shore. He deposits your limp body on the sand, panting and scanning for any sign of injury.

You’re not breathing. Damnit. Sanemi’s jaw ticks as the children rush toward him. “Mister Sanemi give her CPR!” Hana yells, stomping her foot and mimicking the pushing rhythm he should be performing on you. He wipes his mouth, nostrils flaring as he slides to your side. His insides were twisting in unbreakable knots, squeezing his lungs of all air.

He pinches your nose and lowers his mouth to yours. “You can yell at me later,” He breathes quietly before connecting his lips to yours. As he pushes air through your lungs his lecherous mind drifts to how very wonderful your lips feel against his. They’re wet and taste like lake water, but they’re so damn soft. After a few more blows he worriedly looks at your chest. He doesn’t want to break your ribs, but if he has to in order to save your life – he’s going to.

Luckily, you chose now as the moment to gasp in air and then start hacking up lake water. Your eyes wildly scan your surroundings, locking onto the man hovering inches from your face. You squirm away from him, coughing into your hand. Sanemi and the children watch you with concern-stricken faces. You touch your throat gingerly, meeting the swirling lilac gaze of the male in front of you. “You saved me,” You croak out as it all falls into place, furrowing your brows.

Hana pops into your view shaking her head. “Took him a long time to kiss you!” She yells, an annoyed pout on her lips. You glance back to Sanemi, his gaze still locked onto you.

He cocks a grin in your direction which makes your heart swell. “I gave you mouth-to-mouth.” He explains and the worry about you being unconscious for your first kiss with Sanemi – not that you’ll have a first kiss with him – drifts away. The thought of his mouth on yours stays wandering in your head regardless. “Kids, can you hang out in the mess hall while I take Miss YN to the infirmary?” Sanemi questions, the children eagerly following instructions. He peers down at you once they’ve all scurried toward the big building.

With a grunt, he slides his hands behind your neck and knees, hoisting you up bridal style. You yelp at how easily he holds you against his chest. “Hey, I can walk,” You grumble, glaring at his concentrated expression. He shakes his head, climbing up the bank.

As he climbs you nearly tumble out of his arms. He cracks a smile, shifting you in his grasp. “Might wanna hold on tighter than that darlin’. Don’t worry, I won’t mind.”

Begrudgingly you wrap your arms around his neck. The walk to the infirmary takes less than a couple of strides when he reaches the walkway. Shinobu worriedly meets your gaze when Sanemi kicks open the door with his foot. She stands from her desk, hurrying over to his side. “What happened!?” She assesses you with a scrutinizing look. “Put her down on that bed. I need to go get another bottle of aspirin from the main office. Sit tight.” Shinobu huffs, running a hand through her hair before slipping out of the door.

Sanemi gently lays you on the bed, giving you a scan of his own. You swallow hard, wondering why your body feels so warm despite the brisk ac making your wet clothes stick to you. The way his lilac eyes regard you made something inside of you switch. He’d shown you how deeply he cared for you by saving your life. Granted, any decent person would’ve jumped in to pull you out of the water – but Sanemi looks shaken up. Like he almost lost you. It makes your chest heave, a heavyweight tugging on it as you reach up to touch his cheek.

His worried look turns to you, a slight wobble in his irises as your thumb strokes the side of his face. “Hey… I’m here. I’m okay. You did such a good job.” You whisper, but yet your voice seems too loud. Sanemi leans into your touch, shutting his eyes as he takes in a shaky breath.

It was all fun and games until he had to think of a world without you in it. The bottom line is he wouldn’t have a world without you. The grass would shrivel, the color would drain, and sunlight would simply cease to exist. “You should’ve told me you couldn’t swim.” His brows furrow and he opens his eyes to stare into your very soul. “Why didn’t you tell me? I was so worried YN.” He rolls his lips into a thin line, his chin trembling.

It’s like you lose your breath all at once. This man, the one you thought didn’t have an ounce of compassion for you, was about to start crying because you failed to mention your lack of skill. You bump your forehead against his head, kissing his hairline. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” At your words he jerks away from your head, his eyes wildly scanning your face. Your breath holds tightly in your throat as time seemingly slows.

Then his eyes fall to your lips and everything in the universe pulls you two together into a soft brush of the lips. Given the state of it, hidden behind a white curtain on the infirmary bed, the kiss felt too precious. Too wonderful. Your hand falls from his face and before you have a moment to give in to whatever was happening, Sanemi pulls away. He shoots to a standing position, turning on his heel. Your body cools instantly. Oh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have,” He begins, taking a couple of steps toward the curtain. Oh. He quickly glances over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He hisses, then rushes out of the building nearly bumping into Shinobu as she walks back with a pill bottle in hand. She jumps back, eyes widening as she watches Sanemi stalk toward the mess hall. If it hadn’t been for the heat she might’ve mistaken the red on the tip of his ears as something else.

❦❦❦❦❦

Weekends are set up for the kids to decide what they want to do. It’s a free period within reason. Most of them hang out in groups around the buildings, playing games or swimming. Weekends allow the leaders to get chores done around the campgrounds, like picking up trash, organizing things for the next week, arranging laundry, and supervising more involved things.

You happened to spend most of the first weekend with a group of girls who wanted to use the craft supplies for next week. Since Sanemi was your co-leader there were times you had to speak with him, which made avoiding him incredibly difficult.

The thing that upset you the most was even after he ran off, your heart still flutters at just the sight of him. Weren’t you supposed to be the master of your own emotions? It frustrated you to no end how you sought him out in crowds. At first, you tried to convince yourself it was a strategy to avoid him, but when he didn’t come to talk to you somehow your heart sank.

Before you know it, Monday morning arrives, casting a stormy forecast for the rest of the week. It’s pouring heavily outside the mess hall windows. Fortunately, your group of kids are behaving even though it couldn’t be easy stuck inside all day. Your eyes are drawn to the other group happily stringing beads onto yarn.

Sanemi sits amongst them with a warm smile on his face, actively trying not to glance at you. He can feel your gaze on him and it was making his heart feel weird, like he’d just run a mile or hiked up a trail. He presses his lips into a thin line, laughing absentmindedly at one of the boys spilling beads everywhere.

The kiss. That’s all he could think about and it was ruining his life. All night he tossed and turned thinking about knocking your door down so he could do it again. Regret ran through every fiber of his being when he walked away. He thought he’d gotten over his fears, but it turns out that realizing you might have feelings for your good friend is not the easiest situation to be in. He was in a panic, fucking terrified you would hate him for kissing you. He didn’t even ask you, it just happened. What kind of scumbag was he?

He groans, turning to face away from you. You huff, rolling your eyes. Fine, he could be that way if he wanted. He’s the one who kissed you anyway. This was all on Sanemi. Hana nudges her friends Keiko, Mai, and Akane. They all slowly turn to stare at you, then toward Sanemi. Keiko narrows her eyes while tying the knot on her bracelet. “Somethings wrong,” She mumbles, slipping the adorably crafted jewelry onto her arm.

Mai and Akane nod vigorously. “Why are they avoiding each other?” Akane hisses, glancing back at their other leader. Hana shakes her head, stroking her chin in thought.

Kenji appears behind the group, causing them all to jump. Mai slaps his shoulder and he giggles. “What’cha talkin’ ‘bout?” He pokes his head in between Akane and Mai’s shoulders. They collectively sigh, rolling their eyes at the annoying boy.

Hana gestures to both leaders, pinching her brow. “For some reason, Mister Sanemi and Miss YN are avoiding each other.” She explains snappily.

Kenji pops his head up, glancing at both of you. His mouth forms in the shape of an ‘o’. “Ah, this reminds me of when my mom and dad would fight and then ignore each other.” Hana perks up at his suggestion, slowly turning to look at her friends.

Mai raises a brow and then grabs a piece of yarn. “There’s only one way to fix this.” She valiantly collects a bunch of green beads to mix with lilac ones. She picks out two heart-shaped beads that sit on either side of a letter in the middle. When she’s done, two bracelets sit in front of her. One has an ‘S’ with two red hearts on either side, followed by a pattern of lilac and green. The other is the same, except in the middle is the first letter of your name. “Matching friendship bracelets,” She holds them up, smiling triumphantly.

Hana claps her hands together. “Wonderfully done Agent Mai, now let’s give it to them!” She grabs the ‘S’ one from Mai’s hands, running over to your side. “Miss YN!” She yells. “We made this for you!” Without much consideration for your wrist, she shoves it past your hand.

“Here you go Mister Sanemi!” You turn to see Kenji holding what seems to be the same bracelet in front of Sanemi’s face. A roll of thunder shakes the valley outside and his eyes meet yours momentarily. It sends a shock of emotions through you.

Later that night as the rain plips against your window you stare at your wrist in awe. A growl echoes around your room and it takes you a moment to realize it was your stomach. It almost makes you crack a smile. You would’ve if you weren’t in such a daze as you walk out into the living room area.

What you don’t expect to see is Sanemi leaning against the counter shirtless, with his sweats hanging loosely around his athletic hips. You swallow, taking your time to rake your eyes up his bare chest. When you end up meeting his gaze his lips tug into a smirk. “Enjoy the view?” He mutters, picking a peach up off the counter.

Your brows furrow and you cross your arms over your chest defensively. “As a matter of fact, no I’m not.” You snap, scoffing and lying through your teeth.

Sanemi shrugs, biting into the juicy peach tantalizingly slow. Juices leak from the broken skin, dribbling down his chin as he takes the flesh into his mouth. His tongue darts out to lick up a droplet escaping down the side of the fruit. You gulp as he continues to eat. The noises alone were enough to drive a woman mad, but the fact you were ovulating made everything so much worse. “Want one?” Sanemi asks, licking his lips of all the sticky juice.

If you were crazy your mouth would fall open, allowing him to put the one he was eating into your mouth. “No.” You grumble, yanking a can of Pringles out of the cabinet.

Sanemi watches how your ass curves as you stretch to reach into the upper cabinet. “Suit yourself,” He mutters, biting into the peach again. You roll your eyes and march right back into your room, tossing the pringles onto your bed. You ruffle your hair, silently screaming into the night. Fuck that guy for being shirtless. He waltzed around like a whore scrounging for some loose change obviously trying to get a rise out of you. Would the kiss go unmentioned forever? How were you supposed to be around Sanemi when all you could think about was how badly you wanted to jump his bones? You’re absolutely fucked. You grit your teeth together as you glare at the door. But damn did he have such a perfect body. The sweats, the lazy smile, the damn peach he bit into. It was all torture and he damn well knew it.

He wasn’t likely to figure out the full extent of your feelings– hell you didn’t even know exactly what you felt, but if he kept this up you might as well walk around with a neon sign on your forehead that reads I’d like to fuck Sanemi Shinazugawa. Maybe then your mother would pay attention to you. Not that you care.

You glance down at your wrist again, the letter ‘S’ spreading a grin across your face. This was stupid. So stupid. What if Sanemi was still in the other room? Or using the bathroom? What would you do then? You have a pit of desire and you wish Sanemi would clean it off with his teeth. Were you jealous of a peach? Groaning, you slip out of your bottom layer of clothing, discarding it on the floor. Things were getting dangerous. Your thoughts were supplying you with a fantasy world and you were about to become delusional. At least then you wouldn’t have to face the reality of this stupid – well, whatever it was.

Positioning yourself against the corner of your bed, you spread your legs apart. The cool breeze from the ac hits your damp pussy and the sensation makes you slump against the wall. If Sanemi were between your legs right now he’d probably lick his lips and spread them even wider so he could have full range to lavish his tongue against your sensitive clit. A tiny moan whines from your throat.

The image drives you to reach between your thighs, hissing when your fingers brush against your clit. His tongue would feel warm, wet, and slick as it laps at your folds. Your fingers plunge deeper, a strangled moan falling from your mouth.

Your breathing pattern stalls, hiccuping as you work yourself into a frenzy – the inside of your stomach feeling gooey and hot. His long thick fingers would slip into your pussy, teasing the entrance where you’d beg for him to fuck you later. He’d smirk, pleased with how you’re so desperate for his cock, for all of him. But he’d make you wait, good girls always wait for permission. You groan – a guttural pleasured groan. It rolls through your chest, cracking into a whimper at the end as you edge yourself closer to your crest.

It’s like you’re seeing stars with how your fingers feel, you only wish Sanemi were here, ready to please like he usually is. His words and touch always elicit a response from you. He had to know that. What kind of response would he get out of you as he lined the tip of his cock up at your entrance? Making you bed for him to fuck you unconscious. You’d be such a good little slut for him. Taking all of him inside your hungry cunt until he clung to your hips, spilling his seed inside of you.

A tense pinch of pleasure squeezes your core, crashing through your body with a string of perfectly pretty moans. Sanemi hadn’t meant to listen to you masturbating. It was an accident – he’d come to your door to apologize for allowing you to misunderstand his intentions. His knuckles had brushed against the wood of your door when he heard you gasp. Wondering if you were okay he pressed his ear to the door. Then, his muscles tensed as you purred out a moan.

Sanemi was a decent man – or so he thought until his hand slips down to his growing bulge. He hisses as you whimper, gasping for air – your bed squeaking with movement. He wants to swing the door open and take in the sight of you sprawled out. What kind of face were you making while moaning like that? More importantly, what were you thinking about?

You’re whimpering and the glint of the beads around Sanemi’s wrist sends his thoughts spiraling. The very same bracelet he wore on his arm was around yours. It was like he was between your legs, pressing his thumb against your clit to proudly watch you squirm in pleasure. His mouth waters, imagining how you’d taste after cumming. His cock aches to burrow into your wet warmth and stay there forever.

He presses his forehead to the wood, letting out a tight breath as he strokes his length through the cloth of his sweatpants. If he stayed here any longer it would surely result in him knocking down your door. Not the valiant way he had thought about confessing. Sanemi steps away from your door, cursing under his breath. He holds up his arm, staring at the matching bracelet until he notices the first letter of your name. His gaze slowly makes it way back to the door. Was there an ‘S’ on yours? For his name? His eyes flutter shut, a trickle of possessiveness racking through his body.

Tuesday is finger painting. The kids each get their own easel and insist you and Sanemi paint with them. The morning ends with Sanemi having paint smeared across his face and you with splotches on your arms. The afternoon is bubble painting, which results in bubbles being blown everywhere. Wednesday is crafting things with clay. You proudly present your monstrosity at the end of the day. Sanemi and the kids try their best to compliment whatever you had created, but you can tell they’re just being nice.

When Thursday rolls around the kids want to draw and color all day so Sanemi and you make sure they have lots of construction paper, colors, and other supplies. You’re sitting with Hana’s group of friends and Sanemi is across the room with a group of boys, drawing furiously.

Kenji peers down at what Mister Sanemi had drawn. “Hey, that kind of looks like Miss YN,” He points at the stick figure holding the hand of the other one. Sanemi covers the page and shakes his head.

Kenji somehow manages to push his arms off, grabbing the paper. “Oi! Brat, give that back!” He yells as Kenji runs over to your side. You smile down at him as he hands you the page.

You cover your heart and your smile grows. “Aww, Kenji did you draw this?” You ask, your voice softening.

He shakes his head vigorously. “Nope! Mister Sanemi drew you and him holding hands!” You glance up, meeting the flushed face of Sanemi standing over Kenji. His eyes look pleading as you drop your eyes to the drawing again. It did kind of look like you, but that would be impossible. Why would Sanemi draw something like this?

“YN, listen…” He starts, brushing up against you. Your body stiffens at his close proximity. “I hadn’t finished, I was going to draw the kids in next.” He explains. You wish he would step back from your side because his warmth is driving you insane.

Kenji giggles as he rushes back to his group of friends. “It wouldn’t matter anyway.” You state, handing the drawing back to Sanemi. “I could honestly care less what you draw.” You smile sarcastically and turn back to your group. Sanemi stands behind you for a moment, his heart yearning to reach out and touch you again – but he doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. He obviously already fucked up when he kissed you, after all you’d been avoiding him. It was best that he kept his distance to figure out how to talk to you and give you space so you’d listen to him.

The next morning you manage to chow down your breakfast before Sanemi enters the kitchen area. In all honesty, you were aware thinking about someone you were mad at while masturbating… wasn’t the best look. You didn’t want to think about the realities of what that meant for you since Sanemi was still being an asshole about the whole innocent kiss thing. The thoughts going through your head last night were far from innocent.

You’re sitting in a lawn chair, writing down some ideas for today’s craft. The kids had to make puppets and come up with a script to perform in the afternoon. With your group of kids, things were bound to go smoothly. You grin, shutting your notebook and checking the time on your phone. It was almost time for the kids to meet you and Sanemi near the picnic benches. You glare at your cabin, waiting for the white-haired male to step out of his door at any moment. The knob turns and you quickly act like you weren’t blatantly waiting for him. “Mornin’ YN,” Sanemi calls, jogging up to your side. You roll your eyes, glancing at the casually attractive outfit he has on. A pair of fitted black shorts that accentuate the size of his muscular thighs with a loose gray shirt tucked into one side.

He plops down next to you. “Why were you so late?” You interrogate. Sanemi quirks an easy smirk, eyeing you out of the corner of his eye.

Sanemi props one of his legs over the other, leaning further into the chair. “I had to take a shower,” He begins, raising his brows. “Could’ve used the company.” He cocks his head toward you, his lilac eyes filling with an expression you couldn’t pinpoint.

Your brows furrow despite the blush spreading across your cheeks. “Scared of showering by yourself just like you’re scared of kissing people?” You snap and his playfulness is immediately wiped off his face. Where were these words coming from? Were you going crazy? The inside voices are becoming the outside voices! It’s too late now to back peddle. You scoff, turning away from him. “Don’t, I know you regret and it’s fine. I just figured you would’ve cut back on the flirting.” You push out of the chair. “I’m not some girl you can flirt with for the summer and then fuck off to wherever, okay? If you’re going to accidentally kiss me then fucking own up to it and talk to me like an adult. You made me feel so uncomfortable because I somehow thought it was my fault. So this whole cool-guy act needs to stop. Until we have a real conversation about what happened I would rather go back to friendly hating each other.”

As you stomp away Sanemi feels the ‘oh shit’ factor roll through him. While he’d been trying to figure out his feelings toward you, he’d been allowing you to figure it out for him. You assumed he wanted some summer fun and thought better after kissing you, but that wasn’t it at all. Sanemi was falling, so fucking deeply in love with you. He had been ever since you were kids, but as a boy who grew up barely knowing what kindness was, it was hard to seek out those emotions. Now looking back to how he felt when you ran away into the woods that night… he realizes the panic of finding your mother was so you would be found as quickly as possible. No one saw you for a week after that and he’s still not sure what happened, but he knew it wasn’t good.

He was stronger now and he’d stand up to your demons, slaying them with you by his side. He would protect you no matter what, but right now he had to explain this misunderstanding before it was too late. Kissing you was the best thing to happen to him – accident or not. It made him forget how shitty his life was and how blissful it could be by just seeing you. He’d fucked up.

After cooling off you wandered back to the growing group of children that rush you when they spot you. It makes your heart warm that they’re so excited. Sanemi watches you from a distance and you’re glad he seems to finally be listening to you.

Leading the kids to the mess hall through the light morning rain is more peaceful than it should be. No one tries to jump in the mud, they stay in between you and Sanemi, walking politely. When you explain in detail what they’re supposed to do all of them get to work using craft paper and whatever was leftover from the week. The morning blows past and suddenly you’re sitting in a seat next to Sanemi as groups of kids put on puppet shows. Some of them make you snort with laughter and others are downright works of art. Then, Hana and her group of friends present their show. A spikey white-haired puppet and one that looks eerily like you pop up into the makeshift theater.

Your eyes widen realizing what’s going on. “Hi there darling! I sure do love your face!” Kenji yells, playing the white-haired puppet.

Slowly you and Sanemi make eye contact. “We should love each other’s faces forever. Then love our baby’s faces. Then love our-”

You shoot into a standing position, clapping your hands together. “Okay, that’ll wrap up the puppet shows everyone!” You demand, laughing nervously. What the actual fuck? You whisk around to glare at Hana and Kenji dramatically making the two puppets kiss. “Oi, William Shakespear and Agatha Cristi get over here, now.” You point to the spot next to you and Sanemi. Akane and Mai scurry away with the rest of the kids heading toward the snack table.

Kenji and Hana meander toward you; pouts puffing out their bottom lips. “Guys, you can’t keep doing this.” Sanemi gestures to the puppets on their hands. “Miss YN and I aren’t some story you can just use willy-nilly. We’re real people with real emotions.”

A scoffed laugh falls from your lips. “Mister Sanemi has a hard time with emotions anyway, that’s why this show wasn’t even true to life. He would never call someone darling.” You explain dully.

Hana shakes her head, pointing to Sanemi. “Nu-uh! He called you darling the other day!” She exclaims. You glance at Sanemi and then drag a hand down your face.

“Hana, this isn’t something you should be concerned with.”

“But we just want you and Mister Sanemi to make up.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s no fun while you guys are fighting.” Your eyes bulge as she talks. Did the kids care that much? And they noticed? Gosh, that was kind of sweet.

Sanemi leans forward, ruffling Hana’s hair. “Don’t worry about it kiddo, we’ll work on it.” He glances at you with a slight smile. A sigh rushes through you as you nod in agreement. Kenji and Hana rush off to the snack table to join their friends. You can remember a time when you and Sanemi played pranks on the camp leaders. A growing ache suffocates your next breath. You peek at him, wondering where things went wrong. Part of you was mad that he walked away after the kiss and another part was angry because you enjoyed it so much. No matter what happened it felt like you couldn’t be friends with him. It was like the universe was keeping you away from each other for a reason unbeknownst to you.

When you both get back to the cabin nothing gets talked about. It’s an awful feeling, like abandonment all over again. Sanemi didn’t care enough about you to talk or explain why he kissed you. Everything was so nice until that stupid kiss that you couldn’t stop thinking about. The fact that it was that good, yet lasted about two seconds drives you mad.

It’s not until Saturday morning as the sky quakes with thunder and heavy rain, that you decide enough is enough. If he wasn’t going to talk to you, then you’d have to take it into your own hands. That was until there was a knock on your outside door. You get out of bed and open it to find Yena holding an umbrella. Her eyes are filled with some sort of sorrow as she blows out a heavy breath. “YN, deary, I need to speak with one of your kiddos. Can you bring Kenji to the main office? His mother is on the phone.” She explains, a sad smile creasing her lips. You nod your head, looking toward the cabin you knew Kenji was sleeping in.

You look back to Yena, wondering how serious it was for her to be so affected by it. “Yeah. Let me get dressed and I’ll bring him over before 8.” You reply, a cool wash of anxiety coating your insides. Yena nods.

“I’ll see you then.” She turns to leave, walking out into the downpour. You study her retreating form before shaking off the dreadful feeling that was wrapping around you. After slipping into a comfy pair of shorts and a hoodie you run over to cabin 3.

Knocking on the door a sleepy boy answers the door. You recognize him as Mikey, one of Kenji’s close friends. “Hey Mikey can you get Kenji for me, please? Tell him to get dressed and meet me out here.” You explain and the little boy shuts the door.

A couple of minutes later Kenji pops out of the door, eagerly running up to you. He hugs your legs and bounces up and down. “Are we going on a special mission Miss YN!?” He yells, grabbing onto your hand. For some reason your heart aches, sensing something is off.

You bend down to his level anyway, putting on your biggest grin. “We sure are! I needed my bravest soldier to help me on a secret quest.” Your face becomes stern and Kenji giggles, running around in a circle.

“Don’t worry Miss YN! I’ll protect you! Did’ya know I’m stronger than Mister Sanemi!?” He squeals, punching the air. You stand up, laughing off his comment about your co-leader. All those years carrying you around and taking care of his little brother were bound to build up excess strength. Plus those muscles of his were no joke…

Kenji latches onto your hand again as you walk the path to the main office. It’s not raining as hard as it was moments ago, but thunder still rolls through the sky. You walk him through the main office door, Yena waiting behind the counter with the phone pressed to her ear. She spots Kenji and waves him over. He sends a look at you over his shoulder before releasing your hand to walk to Yena’s side. She hands him the phone and his face instantly drops.

The hands of your past crawl back into your stomach, clawing out anything good and leaving behind gouges of trauma, boiling toward your throat. Kenji’s eyes start trembling as he clutches the phone to his ear. “No! No! You can’t!” He suddenly yells, pushing the phone away from him, sobs flooding from his mouth. You take a step toward him but he angrily glares at you before bursting through the front door. Yena slumps defeatedly against the wall.

You glance at the door still swinging shut. “Yena, what’s going on?” You inquire softly, terrified of the answer she’d give you.

She looks up, a pained expression taking the light away from her face. “Kenji’s parents are divorcing. His father isn’t going to be there when he gets back.”

Her words coast around in your brain before you turn on your heel and bolt after Kenji. No, no, please no. The similarities between your past and this moment is laughable as you cut through the trees. Your eyes wildly search for little Kenji, anywhere, somewhere. Thunder claps above your head but you ignore it, traveling further into the woods. “Kenji!” You scream, rain spitting into your eyes. “Kenji please come back!” You yell, cupping your hands around your mouth. You feel empty, yet full of terror. The same way you felt back then when your mother kicked your dad out of your life. The man that would take care of you when your mother got too angry or too drunk. He was gone forever, your protector. Left you to be fed to the monsters your mother harbored.

You split through a clearing, breathing heavily as the rain comes down with torrential intent. You feel like crying, screaming, throwing yourself off a cliff even, but you catch a glimpse of Kenji’s red shirt huddled up against the hallow of a tree. “Miss YN!” He cries, holding out his arms for you. “I’m scared.” You rush to his side, bringing him tightly to your chest.

The both of you cling to each other under the cover of the tree, sobbing with the sky. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here.” You breathe, stroking his head. Kenji curls up in your arms, trembling with tiny hiccups. You knew these woods like the back of your hand, but as the rain blurs your vision the realization crashes over you.

You had no idea where you were.

Sanemi watches the rain from his window, wondering what you were doing right now. He grunts as he slides off his bed, heading through the kitchen area to your door. He knocks lightly, aware that you might still be sleeping. “YN?” He calls out softly, but you don’t respond. He furrows his brows knocking harder. “YN?” His voice is firmer, but yet nothing comes from your room. He reached for the knob, twisting it open with ease. The door swings open revealing your empty room. He glances around, breathing in your scent and trying to push down the excitement of being in your personal space. He moves around your room, heading toward your outside door. He walks through it, feeling the cool breeze of the storm against his skin.

Where were you? He spots a group of boys sitting outside their cabin. He jogs over to them through the rain, stopping under the cover of their deck. “What’cha up to?” Sanemi inquires, planning on asking them if they’d seen where you went.

One of them looks at him. “Miss YN took Kenji and we’re waiting for him to come back because he wanted to play games with us.” He explains and Sanemi quirks a brow.

What was that about? “Do you know where?” Sanemi pushes. The same one that was talking to him shakes his head.

“They were headed toward the main office, but I’m not sure where exactly they were headed.” Sanemi thanks the group of boys before running toward the main office. When he swings open the door Yena is sitting at her desk with her head in her hands. She glances up when he walks further into the door.

Her features soften, a worried expression crossing her face. “Oh Sanemi, thank goodness. I’m so worried.” She rises from her seat, crossing over the carpet to his side.

A sense of dread hits the pit of his stomach like a weight of bricks. What was going on? Where were you? Why did Yena look so anxious? “What’s wrong?” Sanemi glances around the office, wishing that you’d pop out to surprise him.

Yena places a hand on his shoulder, turning his attention back to her. “Kenji ran into the woods and YN followed him.” She explains.

The feeling of concern amplifies as his blood cools. Not the woods again. “When?” He snaps, a strike of lightning illuminating the sky. Yena sighs, glancing at the clock on the wall.

“About an hour ago,” She trails off, furrowing her brows together. “Sanemi, please, find them.” Without a second thought, he runs into the woods. A flash of when he was younger causes him to halt at the tree line. His heart is beating erratically in his chest as he stares through the trunks of thick forest. He’d been too scared to continue on back then, but you were probably frightened too. Who was he to love you if he couldn’t face your terror? It’s then that he lifts up his wrist to view the matching bracelet. He shakes off his nerves and starts jogging through the foliage.

The rain soaks through his shirt, slicking his hair to the side of his face. He had to find you. Just a week ago you nearly drowned on his watch because of a stupid bet and now you were lost in the woods during a strong storm. Were you trying to test his patience? No… you most likely ran after Kenji because of your inner child. Something wanted to heal that part of you. Being a child was difficult, especially when you were taught that emotions were wrong.

Sanemi can remember the way your mother screamed as he pulled you angrily by your arm. Her grip left marks on you, red splotches of hatred spanning your tiny arm. She was cursing, screeching about how much of an embarrassment you were, if you loved your father so much then why didn’t you go find him? She was a pure blur of her past demons boiling up into one entity – against her own daughter.

Now, he would plunge a sword through her heart and save you from the wild beast. Take you away somewhere safe. If only he’d understood more back then. It was all his fault. He had no right to have these feelings toward you when all he caused you was turmoil. Yet, he can’t help but see your smiling face, blushing cheeks, and sparkling eyes. The way you stop to smell the breeze of the lake. How joyful you are with the kids, genuinely caring for them. Your sassy remarks when he got too flirtatious with you. The way your lips felt against his in that blissful moment. He… truly loved you. Every ounce, curve, and flaw. “YN!” He screams, the beating of his heart echoing in his ears.

Sanemi wants to tell you everything, instead of running to someone else. This was between you and him. He couldn’t last another second without telling you how much you meant to him. “YN! Where are you!?” He’s scanning the treeline, worry creasing his brows.

You and Kenji still, then look at each other. “Is that Mister Sanemi?” He asks, eyes welling with tears again. You brush your thumb over his plump cheeks, soothing him.

It’s not helpful that your heart picks up its beating rate at the thought. Sanemi had come to find you – well you and Kenji. Regardless, you’re a little too happy about it. “Over here!” You scream, covering Kenji’s ears.

Sanemi’s heart thumps against his ribcage as he hears you scream back for him. He glances around his surroundings, his eyes finally landing on a hint of red in the distance. “Hold on! I’m coming!” He charges toward the area your voice came from.

He sees your face, a sloppy mess of tears and wet hair, and he wants to drop to his knees. “Thank goodness…” You whisper, letting Kenji run to hug Sanemi’s legs. His eyes are locked on your every movement, studying if you are okay.

“We need to get you back, I don’t think you could’ve made it out of the forest.” Sanemi holds Kenji’s hand, waiting for you to start following him. Something holds you back though, a sinking feeling of guilt or shame – you weren’t sure which.

You had cried and hidden away just like when you were younger. Sanemi didn’t come to save you… he came to prove a point. You were still just that little girl, running away from her problems. You’re silent the whole way back, emotions dancing with thoughts. Yena hugs you and then yells at you for running out without a map. Kenji is sent to get a check-up from Shinobu. Everything feels like it’s underwater, floating past you. Only when you’re in front of your cabin do you snap out of the daze, peering up at Sanemi. “You didn’t think I could make it out on my own…” You mutter. He turns to you, knitting his brows together. “I thought you were there to save me, but you were just there to prove that you could do it. It had nothing to do with me.” Your body feels frozen, numb even.

Sanemi opens the door to his room. “That’s not it at all. Just give me a moment and we can talk about this later.” He replies, closing his door behind him. Later huh? You didn’t want later. Now was later.

You rush to his door, swinging it open angrily. “No, you don’t get to walk away. We’re talking about this now.” You snap, taking in Sanemi without a shirt. Why did he always have no shirt on? You halt, mouth gaping.

He sighs, tossing his wet shirt into his hamper. “Fine, you want to talk, let’s talk. It was careless of you to just run after Kenji like that.” He hisses, motioning to you. “Do you know how worried everyone was? I understand why you did it, but what if something had happened to the both of you? What then YN?”

You march up to him, poking at his chest. “You don’t understand shit Sanemi! Kenji ran into the forest. What was I supposed to do? Stand there and wait for some big muscley man to go in and find him? I did what felt right and you cannot blame me for that!” Your voice is quaking, on the verge of tears.

Sanemi scoffs, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m not blaming you! For fuck’s sake can you stop thinking that everyone is out to get you!? I am not your mother. I care about you and blame myself every fucking day for what happened back then.” Wow. Did he really just bring up your mother? A tormenting ache twists your gut, sucking up any energy you had left.

His nostrils are flaring and your body buzzes with a newfound heat. It’s anger, it’s sexual frustration, and its adrenaline all wrapped up into one. “Yeah well, you have a real funny way of showing how sorry you are. It’s so funny how you can kiss me one day and then act like nothing happened the next.” You laugh tightly and watch as his brows shoot up.

A sarcastic laugh bubbles out of his throat. “Unlike you, I don’t face everything head-on. I was terrified after I kissed you, because yes I kissed you. Do you have any idea how confusing it is to realize after all these years that I’m in love with you? Then to realize that I’ve fucked up so massively that there’s zero chance of anything ever happening?” He hisses, rolling his lips into a tight line after his confession. This wasn’t how he pictured telling you, but at least it was out there now for you to hear.

Your body tenses, staring at Sanemi with wild eyes. Love? He was in love with you? It was like a slap in the face and a warm blanket at the same time. “Then fucking change my mind,” You order.

Sanemi’s eyes widen and his throat bobs with nerves. “Y’know I love it when you get bossy,” He whispers, grabbing your face with gentle vigor. The kiss starts off soft and genuine. Your hands travel into his soft hair, moaning lightly against his lips when his hands find their way to your ass. That’s when something animalistic awakens in the both of you. Sanemi spins you around and walks you back against the wall, pressing his knee between your legs. You groan through your mouth at the lovely pressure.

His lips work against yours, deepening the kiss into something feral and needy. “God, I want you.” You huff out between a break. You feel a cocky smirk on your neck where Sanemi nips at the junction of your shoulder. All those times you imagined the quick peck between you both was nothing compared to this. Kissing Sanemi was like pouring hot magma onto a frozen lake. Your body was alive with pinpricks of electricity.

You peer down, shakily watching him explore the planes of your body. This was all too much. He was someone you cherished, someone you hated… someone you – was it possible for you to even love someone? You care deeply for your friends, the kids, and this camp… but love? It's something so deep, so pure that it transcends everything. Did you love Sanemi Shinazugawa or were you crushing on him? The line was thin, but at the same time a cavern impossible to jump over. “Hey hey hey, where did you drift off to?” His voice breaks you out of the daze you were in. Your eyes blink up to meet his, soft and beautiful.

His warm hand reaches up to cup your cheek. “Do you need me to stop? I got caught up in my own selfish desires…” He trails off, looking away bashfully. Huh? Was this gruff man actually…adorable?

Leaning into his hand you shake your head. “I was just thinking about insecurities,” You laugh, meeting his gaze. Sanemi’s face softens and for once you wish your home life had been different. There were times you were grateful that what happened to you made you stronger, more resilient to people’s bullshit. Spinning it into a postive made you think less about the trauma. Now… you want to be something soft Sanemi can mold with his love. You yearn to fall into his blanketed warmth where somehow you’d be safe. “But I’m better now.” You finish, realizing all at once that it didn’t matter if you loved him, because you could love him. Love was something you were able to feel, eventually, that is. He could teach you. “Sanemi, I really like you… do you think – do you think we could continue kissing?”

An airy laugh blows through his nose as he guides you into a sitting positon on his bed. “M’course, just let me know if you want to stop.” His eyes light up micheviously, bending down to peck your lips teasingly. He sinks to his knees, sliding his hands down your outter thighs.

Sanemi was never someone you thought would stun you into silence, but as his gaze drops to the apex of your legs it suddenly becomes hard to speak. “What? Got no smart ass response?” He glances smugly up at you, rolling his tongue over his lips. Instead of replying you spread your legs apart for him. Your action brings his longing attention back to your clothed pussy, which clamps on nothing. “Mmm, I guess your body can do enough speaking,” He hooks a finger into your shorts, pulling them down your waist. “S’pretty.” He hisses, reveling in the way your panties cling to the dampness of your cunt. “All mine,” He’s muttering to himself like a mad man and maybe he was, but it brings a flush to your cheeks.

You squirm to fling your short to the side of his room, wiggling out of your underwear next. He watches like he’ll die if he looks away. “Sanemi I can’t hold back, please, I need you to do something.” You give him enough room to stay between your legs. His smirk worries you only slightly.

He stands, the girth of his cock outlined in his pants. “Just remember you asked for this. We’ll have plenty of time to take it slow later, but right now I can’t wait anymore either.” His eyes are a dark brooding purple as he slips the belt out of its loops smoothly. It’s one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed. Your childhood friend was about to fuck your brains out and the fact that you’d been fighting only made the tension in the room that much thicker.

Sanemi’s cock is longer than anyone you’d been with before and you can’t seem to look away from it. How the head weeps and is blush pink with untouched desire. He’s barely holding on, but the weight of reality slaps you across the face. “Do you have a condom?” You quip and he freezes. His cheeks blush as he glances at his nightstand.

“Can’t think why I wouldn’t pack condoms coming to a job where I’ve never had sex before…fuck. I can stop if you want to, I wouldn’t dare-”

“Sanemi, I could care less. Right now all I want is you. We’ll figure it out together.” You grab the back of his neck to bring him in for a kiss. As his lips work against yours he lines himself up at your entrance, brushing the head of his cock against the slick of your arousal. He hisses into your mouth as the tip slips into your warmth. A shaky moan echoes through both of you as you push your foreheads together to watch his cock slide into your pretty pussy.

You blow out a breath, throwing your head back in utter bliss. Sanemi fills you out beautifully, stretching your walls just enough to send shivers up your spine. “You feel perfect…you’re perfect,” Sanemi kisses you, slowly starting to move his hips. The muscles in your stomach tense with a hot iron of pressure.

“Haa, Sanemi, please,” You begin but he snaps his hips into yours. A loud slap of skin rattles through his room. Your eyes go wide and a sharp gasp pushes through your body.

He grins over you, sliding back on his knees and bringing you with him. “Mmm, shh babygirl, m’gonna take care of you.” He strings your legs over his hips, rocking you on his cock.

Moans burst from your mouth as you cling to his neck. “F’ Sanemi,” You gasp, his cock plunging deeper into your pussy than the previous postion.

“That’s it, let go pretty girl,” Sanemi burrows into you, a fucked out grin coating his lips. You feel like you’re almost split in two, but the sting bleeds into a sharp pleasurable throb. It radiates through your core, spreading tingles across your skin. Your head lolls to the side a bolt of electricity twisting around your stomach, coating it in the crashing waves of your climax. You’re both panting as Sanemi fucks into you, gripping your hips onto him.

The overstimulation makes you squirm on top of him, but he chaces his own crest, finally finding it when you grip the back of his head, fisting his hair. Warm cum coats your insides, Sanemi gently laying you back down on the mattress. You feel gooey inside, but there’s a silent happiness that brings a smile to your face.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I promise next time I’ll last longer- I, I…shit let me go get you a rag.” Sanemi pushes himself up on his elbows but you caress his cheek, calming the anxious glaze in his eyes.

“No, stay.” He’d finally found you… and you weren’t about to let him out of your sight for a long long time.

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